Pollyanna Rainbow Sunshine and the Needles of Doom

Lyda here.

It’s “Hug Mother Earth” Day!

So, here are some things that can help the planet. You’ve probably heard them before. Most of them are no-brainers. No brains? Zombie Army sad.  Some of them save you money. Some of them are even fun!

1. Use reusable bags instead of paper or plastic. You can make your own - extra points for using stash or recycling material you already have. Remember the 70s purses made from old jeans?

Or you could buy bags, like the ones from Envirosax. Right now, they are giving away free shower timers if you buy a pouch of 5 bags.

Okay, I got this link from Laurie’s post today. Recycling ideas - what, doesn’t that count as earth-friendly? 

Quick, distract them: Look, ya’ll, they have piggie bags!

2. Plant something.

Plant a tree. But first - really think about what tree will be happy in that spot forever. How tall will it be? How deep will the roots grow, and how far will they stretch out? Will the tree flourish and grow there for a hundred years -  or will it have to be chopped down in five or ten years because it is threatening the foundation, or its roots are in the sewer pipes, or its branches are in the electric lines?Think about water consumption too. There are lots of drought-tolerant trees available.

Pick the right tree for your area and for the spot where you are planting it. The people at the nursery can help you. A tree deserves to have a long and happy life, and you make that happen by planting wisely.

Sorry, I get carried away. But I hate it when a tree gets cut down because someone didn’t think about all this.

Or plant a bush or two, or some seeds. Ya’ll know to use organic stuff in the garden too, right? Right. Grow some herbs in a pot. Put a plant on your desk. If you have a brown thumb, try succulents, which I’ve found are harder to kill (sadly, I have killed many plants in my life).

Be aware that some plants are poisonous to pets and kids. They often don’t say this on the label, so you have to look it up or ask.

ZOMBIE PROTECTION: As far as I know, there are no plants that are poisonous to zombies, but they can be detered somewhat by tall thick hedges with thorns.

In case zombie deterrance is a consideration in your area.

3. Reduce your energy use. Switch to long-lift bulbs. Yes, they cost more, so every time a bulb burns out, replace it with a long-life bulb.

Switch to rechargable batteries (we even have them for the video game controllers).

Do what your dad told you - Turn stuff off when you’re done. Including your computer and monitor at work. Every day.

4. This one is simple, but hard: BUY LESS. I admit to having problems when it comes to fabric and books, and we all know about yarn… But maybe we can cut back in other areas.

5. Use the library. I haven’t bought a magazine in a very long time, and I no longer have any subscriptions - instead, I check out a lot of magazines. My library has movies and music too. I buy fewer books this way, but my reading selection is wider because I browse the New Arrivals section.

6. Shop for used treasures at garage sales, thrift shops, and resale and consignment stores. You get more unique items, at better prices, it’s better for the planet - and it’s an adventure! Think of the blogging potential! Plus, your money is going to a family or a charity instead of one of the Evil Empires. If you can afford it, antiques are earth-friendly too!

7. Swap with friends. This should be easy for knitters, who are experts at doing this with yarn. Parents do it with kid’s stuff already, but it can be expanded to include kitchen gagets, books, music, whatever…

8. Save water. Turn off the water while you brush your teeth. Do full loads in the dishwasher (and let the dishes air dry). Do full loads in cold water in the washer (and only dry your clothes as much as they need, or hang them to dry - saves energy and is better for the clothes too). Give your yard only the water it needs - and don’t water the sidewalk. Reduce, reduce, reduce.

9. For women - consider a menstrual cup and/or cloth menstral pads.

Personally, I’m done with all that, but a hysterectomy is kind of an extreme way to reduce one’s footprint on the earth…

10. Here’s the one that embarrasses my kid the most which is a total bonus!: Scrounge.

In my neighborhood, Saturday and Sunday afternoons are prime scrounge times. People put “Free” signs on stuff that didn’t sell at their garage sale, or that they are getting rid of. Some apartment complexes are good for this too - people leave things by the dumpster when they move out, so the best time to check can be at the end of the month. I have friends who call this “dumpster diving” but I personally have not ever actually gotten into a dumpster. Just wanted to make that clear…

I have a long and proud history of scrounging. My first couch came from neighbors who were moving - they first got it the same way - and went off to a new home thanks to a “free” sign. That’s at least four homes for one couch and there were probably more. 

Six Degrees of Couch Ownership.

Okay, maybe not a proud history…

But think of how much I personally have kept out of landfills - Awesome!

Lyda here. Worked on the Increasingly Inaccurately Named “Easy” Heart Quilt last night and most of today.

All the teeny tiny squares are now sewn together into rows.

I now have 36 rows of fabric.

Now, to iron all the seams (so many many seams), and then pin together the rows. And sew thirty-five more seams. At least these will be longer than two inches each.

Then I will have a quilt top. At that point, I will choose the backing fabric (at this point I’m thinking I’ll just use solid red, since it will be hanging against the wall but we shall see).

Which is good. Because I have all kinds of new ideas for the next quilting projects… I know, I know, I’ll never learn…

Today I also ventured out into the garden to do battle with the weeds. Scary, kids! I got most of the little garden cleared out, including dumping the dead stuff from the pots. Time to start fresh. Some of the plants in the ground survived the long dry winter - including the bush with the red flowers that has made it through all my gardening disasters so far. It’s a really resilent plant. I’ll see if I can find the name and add it here, in case there are any other neglectful  sporadic gardeners out there who need a shade plant.

Tomorrow, I will watch two movies - one has ZOMBIES! and the other is a chick flick, reviews to come - and work on the quilt. And also, run some errands. Like grocery shopping. ‘Cause Sith Masters demand food every single day. They are weird like that. All that non-fiber stuff can really interrupt the important crafting!

Lyda here.

The truly horrible horror movie I watched during the Lost Weekend was….

drum roll please…

“The Dark Half”.

Ya’ll, this is a 1993 adaptation of a Stephen King novel of the same name, starring Timothy Hutton in the lead. It got good reviews. There’s a fan club and everything.

Maybe none of the reviewers or the fans are from the South…?

In other news:

The new back wall is now about chest-height. I’m hoping that they will keep working on it and make it be higher - 6 feet at least. The best part is The Twisted Tree is still standing and will not be cut down. Woo-hoo! The bush is still there too; it is a real survivor.

One of the hummingbirds was enjoying the nectar from both plants this morning as I sat out on the patio.

Peace returning…

Lyda here. Speaking of messing about with the word “lobotomy”, and I believe we were… I came up with these and had to share with ya’ll:

Llama-tomy = brain trauma resulting from being separated from fiber for too long

Lambadomy = brain damage from too much salsa dancing

In other news….

The concrete brick wall is now five or six bricks high, and the tree is still standing. It has survived the disruption more gracefully than I have.

The Resident Sith Master’s friends started school this week, so it may be a bit quieter in the evenings now that they have homework too.

And this week’s official Best News In The Universe Of Space And Time:

drum roll please…

Second Son “Chuck Norris” coming home!!

He’s moving back and he’ll be here this weekend, although we won’t see him right away. I guess his “real” mom gets first shot… but soon, he’ll be able to visit, and then

Let the wild rumpus start!!

Lyda here. I feel a compulsion to write a post, even though I don’t really have anything to say. But then, as Anna-Liza will tell you, I’ve never let that stop me…

“To blog, or not to blog, that is the question…”

The Twisted Tree was still standing when I got home last night. I’m starting to hope that maybe it won’t be cut down after all. But I’m afraid to believe, because then it will hurt all the more if they do cut it down.

I’ve spent a lot of my time being afraid. Afraid to believe. Afraid to trust. Afraid to try. Afraid of what others will think.

Yeah, that old enemy.

Anna-Liza bought me a book years ago, “Getting in Touch with Your Inner Bitch” by Elizabeth Hilts. You need to read this book if you answer “yes” to one of these questions: “1) Have you ever wanted to give someone a piece of your mind and eaten a piece of cake instead? 2) How about the whole cake?”

I have read it so many times that it’s falling apart. I pull it out when I’ve been being too nice. ‘Cause too much nice and soon a lady finds herself in her nightgown in the middle of the street, screaming at the top of her lungs. At which point they may take away my pointy sticks.

Marge Simpson knows what I’m talking about here.

“How do I blog thee, let me count the posts…”

Afraid to believe… in anything, sometimes. Douglas Adams called it “The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul.”

There have been times when I didn’t believe that the sun would come up again. Ya’ll know what I’m talking about here. And yet, somehow, it always did.

Now I find it comforting to know that even when I can’t see the sun, it’s still there, blazing away in space.

“You don’t have to see something to know it exists.” (Movie title, Marin? Starred Tim Allen…)

One of my school books said that the sky is always there. Sometimes it’s covered with clouds, but the blue sky is always there.

“I blog, therefore I am.”

Afraid to trust… oh, trust is a scary one. Trust a man and he could hurt me. Trust is something that I’ve often given too soon and later paid the price.

In school, I learned about “discernment.” Not rejecting anyone out of hand, but discerning whom I prefer to spend time with and what I choose to share with them. I can now look inside and say, ”Am I interested in getting to know him better?”

Believe me, this is a A Giant Leap for Lydakind. I lived for a long time in Just a Girl Who “Cain’t Say No” Land. Ya’ll maybe know what I’m talking about here.

Suddenly this year, I saw that trust can be built over time. Hey, I hear that relationships can be built over time too. I’m interested in trying this out, instead of demanding that they spring full-blown from Zeus’ forehead, or wherever the hell I thought they came from.

“I’ll blog it my way…”

 Afraid to try… So we come to this one. Am I brave enough to try again? Can I truly sing: “I’m ready to take a chance again…”?

“That’s pretty brave talk for a one-eyed fat man.” Hey, in that movie, the guy who said that got his hat handed to him by none other than John Wayne.

If John can do it, so can I.

Line forms to the right. Those bearing gifts go to the front of the line.

But this time, you must pass the Gauntlet of the Knittas before you get a key to the castle.

Be warned! There be Pointy Sticks here, matey! Argh!

Lyda here. Humpin’ as in Wednesday. Hump Day. Really, ya’ll. I mean, thanks for the faith in my ability to lure men into my lair, but really, it’s just ’cause it’s Wednesday.

Dribs and drabs today. She’s drib, I’m drab, together we are Drib and Drab!

Last weekend we cleaned the Resident Sith Master’s room. The room is shiny clean - and now there are 4 huge paper grocery bags of books sitting in the garage looking for a new home.

Inexplicably, at 16 he seems to feel he’s done with the picture books. But I kept one bag of special books for young visitors but mostly for sentimental reasons. And yes, just in case, some day a long long time from now, RSM might possibly maybe might gift me with grandkids. Or my newest grand-nephew wanders by with his parents.. But no pressure. And anyway, I can keep some of RSM’s baby stuff if I wanna, so there! But I digress…]

Yes, we had 5 huge bags of picture books. That’s AFTER many years of sending books to Anna-Liza’s boys. What? I used to be a preschool teacher, plus I review children’s books for Awareness Magazine (you can read my writing on line! Oh, you’re already doing that…) And I write children’s books. (Know any publishers?) And I love children’s books. And there was a hole in my tennis racket…

We still need to go through his closet (which is huge and stuffed with toys, yes, he has outgrown most of them too, hey, no use rushing into these things…), but that is a battle for another weekend.

After that, I’ll donate it all somewhere.

Or have a garage sale.

Or a drink. Or three.

This weekend, I will be working on my room. For one thing, it hasn’t been dusted in a dog’s age.

Pointless Sidebar: I was fixin’ to say “coon’s age” like my grandma, but some people might get all bent outta shape. How long is a coon’s age? Racoons live from 2 to 7 years in the wild, up to 17 in captivity. We are definitely talkin’ ”a wild raccoon’s age” here. Actually, it’s probably only been a few months since I dusted, but “in a coon’s age” sounds all Southern. But I don’t want to offend anyone. So I changed it. And then I put all this in anyway. Please don’t be offended. Wait, come back!

Quick - distract the audience with a joke…

Look, here are some things every Southerner knows. Like what general direction cattywumpus is. Anna-Liza at least will laugh. 

Methinks the lady doth digress too much…

As part of the August of Cleaing Madness, I have some ideas to fix up my bedroom, but I’m not sure yet which will actually happen over the next three days. Gotta get supplies. Gotta consult with Anna-Liza. Ya’ll will be the first to hear about the progress. Except for Anna-Liza of course, she will have to hear all my ponderings… Pity her. Send her fiber and stiff drinks.

Meanwhile, in another part of the castle: 

The Garden Destruction AKA “Wall Building” is proceeding apace… at a slow pace actually. They start at 7 am, and then stop around noon. This allows them to make the maximum amount of noise and mess while actually accomplishing much. It also prevents the RSM from sleeping in, which as we all know is one of the Basic Teenager Summer Rights. The right to pizza, video games, and sleeping past noon…

So I’m guessing the construction guys are in for some lightsaber wounds any day now. Or at least force choking.

They haven’t cut down the tree… yet. Or pulled out my other plants over there.

So I’m watering it over the fence early in the mornings before they get there. 

That’s right. I’ve been reduced to Stealth Gardening.

“Someday, when the construction is done…” (sing it, Snow!)

 in a giant tortoise’s age (177 years or so)…

“in the year 2525, if man is still alive”… [Yes, welcome to another episode of "Name that TV Theme Song!" Thank you for playing...]

Oh jebus, will the digressions never end?

Eventually, when the fields are white with daisies… (heh! are you still here, Gorgeous and Available Engineer bro?)

Apparently no end to the digressions. It doesn’t seem to take much to amuse me…

Eventually, I plan to train some vines or something up their new wall. Hopefully they will soften the concrete brickness of it all. Plus, I will grow them higher than the wall. Because you can see into my garden from the second story of the new house on the other side of the wall.

I am not giving up sitting out there in my robe. Not for them, not for anyone.

Besides, I might want to practice some of my wild pagan rites out there, and I don’t want anyone watching.

They might turn into zombies. And turning one’s neighbors into zombies is not neighborly, ya’ll.

Unless you are from the South, and they criticized your fried chicken * or your jambalaya.**

Then they brought it on theyselves, ya’ll.

* Crazy Aunt Purl’s Fried Chicken recipe is in that link up there and that one right here. You have to scroll down a bit…

** Some random jambalaya recipe, I can’t vouch for it but it sounded pretty good…

They make fair jambalaya at New Orleans Square in Disneyland…

Run! Run for your lives! I hear another digression coming on! Save yourselves!!!

Lyda here.

I live in little house-like apartment. I have a garage which shares a wall with the neighbor’s, but otherwise my place stands alone. I have a tiny little patio and yard. I mean tiny, ya’ll; the patio is maybe 4 feet across and stretches along one side of the little house, and the  yard is 3 or 4 feet deep and stretches along the back wall of the house.

There is a little patch of earth where these two spaces cross. It’s about 3 foot by 4 foot. Because of the 6 foot fences and the builiding walls, this little patch of earth doesn’t get much sun.

When we moved in, there were two trees in this tiny space, and they both looked dead.

In the spring I realized that one of them was dead and the landlord had it taken out.

The other tree was in bad shape. There really wasn’t room for it, and its branches reached into the power lines at the back of the property.

The tree had grown up all twisted and stunted. It leaned against the fence as if its own weight was too much to bear. Someone had hacked big branches off at various times. There’s a wide long scar on the trunk. In the winter, the tree looked as if it had died a horrible lingering death.

But in the spring, the tree put out little bright green buds.

I trimmed the dead branches off, and watered it. It responded with lots of leaves, so I kept watering it. It burst into bloom, small trumpet-shaped lavender flowers.

The hummingbirds came every morning to drink the nectar. They sat on the branches, singing their fast chopped songs and sunning. They chased each other in and out of the leaves, their wings a blur.

That fall, my son and I cleared the thick tall wild grasses away from the trunk and dug out the biggest stones from the dirt. The tree stood alone in the little patch of dirt, leaning on the fence and blooming far into the fall, bringing joy and hummingbirds.

During the winter, the tree stood like an ancient sculpture. I strung holiday lights on it and hung ornaments and a wind chime in its branches.

And the next spring, the tree bloomed again.

I worked a whole weekend adding good soil, blistering my hands and covering myself from head to toe with mud. But I didn’t get a sunburn, because I worked under the canopy of leaves.

I planted lavender and sweet pea vines and annuals. I planted a bush with dark green leaves and fiery hanging flowers. They grew and bloomed and brought more hummingbirds, and butterflies, and crickets to sing at night.

Sweet peas only last one season, and the flowers died in the winter. The lavender stopped blooming, but the leaves smelled heavenly every time I brushed against them. The bush grew bigger and thicker.

Last spring, the landlords had the trees trimmed, but not my tree of course. As it had been for most of its life, it was overlooked.

The tree trimmers dropped palm fronds into my garden and then raked them up, killing what was left of the flowers, and damaging the bush and the lavender.

The bush struggled back again, and the lavender grew wilder and flatter, surviving in the shelter of the gnarled old tree.

Last summer, one of my cats died. I hung his favorite toy in the tree branches.

This spring the water heater burst, and the plumbers broke branches off the tree while getting the new water heater into the back yard.

The tree bloomed anyway.

This year, six huge houses with no yards were built in the narrow lot next door. But every morning I sat on my patio, and wrote, and watched the hummingbirds play tag through the branches of the tree.

This Saturday someone came to my door. “I need to get into your back yard, to rip the back fence out. We’re putting in a concrete wall between the properties.”

I opened the gate and walked toward the tree with him, to take the lights off the fence.

“Oh, and we have to dig up your garden for the footing,” he said.

“And we are going to cut down your tree.”

He looked at my face, and said very softly, “I’m really sorry.”

Lyda here, with a baker’s dozen of Ways to Have a Wicked Weekend.

1) Friday night, the Resident Sith Master and I ate fast food. Delicious Wickedness.

2) Plus, we rented the first ”Die Hard”. Bruce Willis, barefoot, sweaty and takin’ out the trash. Hot Wickedness. (Although I think he looks better bald, don’t you?)

3) Saturday, I cleaned the bathroom. Ugh. Nasty Wickedness transformed into Shiny Clean.

4) I also took a trip to the grocery store - lots of diet soda. Addicted Wickedness.

5) Then I used the fact that I was doing the laundry as an excuse to sit on the couch and knit.

But instead I took an unexpected nap. I slept about three hours. Lazy Wickedness.

6) Later I worked on the Twisted Sister scarf. So named because it’s for Diva-In-Training, the Sith Master’s sister.

And because of the evil twisting of the ribbon yarn.

And mostly because it makes me want to scream “No more Twisted Sister!” (Bonus points: Name That Movie.)

Knitting the ribbon yarn is definitely Crazy Wickedness. But not in a good way.

7) The Sith Apprentice Cat stages an intervention and sat on the yarn. Trying to save what’s left of my sanity. When I reached for the yarn, he bit me. Feline Wickedness.

8.) Today I had a breakfast date. I got stood up. Again. (Yes, it was Mr. Stick-A-Fork-In-Him-He’s-Done Mud. I know. My bad for believing his excuse last time. No more, I promise.) There isn’t a bad enough word for that Wickedness.

9) So instead, I sat out on the patio for my first diet soda of the day, and plotted Payback Wickedness. 

10) Eventually I noticed that my garden paradise was a bit less paradise than it used to be. My plants have been suffering from the heat and especially from the Week of No Watering (when I was in class). Wilting Wickedness.

11) I thought, “Hm, half an hour of gardening work and it will be wonderful.”

Three hours later…

But Weed-Whacking Wickedness was worth it. The garden is wonderful now.

12) I decided that my patio counts as a room, so I made progress on the CAP-inspired Deep Cleaning of the Century. But my hands hurt from all the work. So, Overwork Wickedness.

13) Later I watched episode one of “Craft in America” on PBS about crafting in America, with interviews and film of people doing all kinds of interesting artistic crafts. Inspiring Wickedness.

14) That led to getting out the quilting. I’m trying to decide on the pattern for the Cosmic Prince quilt. It’s not going well. The fabric is not behaving. More Fiber Wickedness.

Okay, that’s more than a baker’s dozen. But counting wrong is the least of the wickedness this weekend.

Ya’ll know.

Hi, Lyda here. Finally…

I survived my 6-day lab for school. But it’s so worth it and if you haven’t checked out the University of Santa Monica website, do it now. (I’ll wait… gives me a chance for a nap…)

Right now, I’m pretty spacey from all the learning and the spiritual high and the hugs. I’m tellin’ ya’ll, if you want to get lots of hugs, sign right up! The folks in my class are so yummy - loving on the inside and gorgeous on the outside, each and every one a 10+. (And the menz hugged me and kissed my cheek! MENZ!!!)

Something else was making me spacey too… oh yeah, lack of sleep, right. Intense 12-hour classes do take their toll.  Yesterday it was 7 hours with no meal breaks -  okay we had a 20-minute snack break. I WENT WITHOUT LUNCH, YA’LL. Alert the media! 

And since I’m not crazy enough to get on the LA freeway at 5 pm on a weekday - I went to dinner with some classmates. Turns out there were 20 of us - the restaurant was awesome about handling such a big group unexpectedly and the food was great. El Cholo Mexican Restaurant on Wilshire (near 10th or 11th Street). The food was awesome, they told me the drinks were great (the margueritas looked good, ya’ll, but I had to drive), and the pretty waitress was a saint. So go there and enjoy. But maybe don’t tell them the happy noisy people sent you. [When I got there, I told them I was looking for the people with the big smiles. The waiter said, "Oh, upstairs." That's us - the Smiley People!] 

Friday I had a late lunch/early dinner with a classmate at a pub… I’ve got the name here somewhere… hmm… I’ll figure it out and add it later… It had traditional English/Irish food and beverages (my friend had never heard of bangers and mash! I weep for our educational system… but I digress…).  There were a few pool tables and a foozball table, and wallpaper that looked like a library of books in the hallway to the bathrooms. Best of all, they had wonderful comfortable couches and chairs. If I lived in Santa Monica, it would totally be my local. Would be a great Drunken Knitters meeting spot. Or even non-drunken KIP - they were very cool with us not drinking (on our way to class, ain’t we good girls?).

I told Mary Mary, the friend/classmate who put me up for the week, that it was the best bed-and-breakfast I ever stayed at (not that I’ve stayed at many… or even one… but I digress…). Lovely woman, lovely home, delicious to only ride a few minutes to and from class each day. And I slept in her son’s room, with posters of young men surfing and skateboarding and playing volleyball. It was fun being in all that Teenage Guy energy for the week.

Last night, drove home after dinner and hugged Tommy the Sith apprentice cat as much as he could stand. I really missed that kitty, evil or not.

This morning I went out and viewed the devistation that is my garden now. I think the boys forgot to water it. I watered it of course, but I fear it is too late for the herbs. Hey, they fed the cat. And the house was clean and tidy.

But best of all, best of everything all week:

This morning my very own Resident Sith Master and “Chuck Norris” came tumbling out from the Sith Master’s dad’s car… They didn’t even seem to mind that I hugged them for five minutes each.

And then I was late to work because I was talking to them… oh well, one must have one’s priorities.

 Must go collapse now… more later… and I promise to tell you about the party too…

zzzzzzzzzzz

Lyda here. Actually, it feels like Round #475,671. I guess that’s about right, since I’m coming up on the end of the spring quarter of school, and almost the end of the first year. Wow, almost halfway to my masters degree. I’d get all pumped up, but I just had a conversation with my brother the Wonderful-and-Available Engineer who is about to start work on his PhD. We believe in education in our family. I’m the last one to get a masters, as a matter of fact. Hey, I was busy raising my son the Sith Master before. But he’s 16 and (gulp) almost driving, so he can rule the Universe with the Dark Side of the Force without me now. (Actually, I’m on the Light Side myself, really. I don’t know how this whole Sith thing happened, but I blame the cat. It’s always the cat’s fault, yes?)

I’ve almost got the Endless Homework defeated again (although it certainly will rise again, ya’ll).  Enough that I looked around my apartment for the first time in a couple of weeks - scary, ya’ll! I’ve got a lot of stuff that needs doing, from cleaning and organizing, to writing my book reviews, to dealing with the bills, to finally planting the plants I bought a month ago for the garden.

So of course instead I sat and knitted last night for an hour or so on the Bumpy Stripe Scarf (newly named by the Sith Master, who said last night, “But it’s got bumpy stripes.”). It is two rows garter stitch, then stockinette stitch for 3 repeats, then two rows knitting. (Knit two rows; knit a row & purl a row x3; repeat.) (Hey, my second pattern! Although this is really Jane’s pattern.) The garter stitch rows are the bumpy stripes. This is Jane’s solution to my frustration with the Evil Curling Stockinette.

This scarf is still on its first skein of yarn with 3 more to go, and I’m not sure I’m likin’ it because the edges are still a bit curly. Last night I thought, maybe I should just frog it and then garter stitch the damn thing. But how many times can you frog the same yarn? I mean, it’s going to disintegrate at some point, right? Or decompose back into its component fibers. So I am perservering.

Like little Natalie Wood, I’m repeating as I knit, “I believe, I believe, it’s stupid, but I believe….” It worked in Miracle on 42nd Street, so this will work for the Bumpy Stripe Scarf.

And if I really don’t like it when I’m done…

well, I can always frog it again…

Ribbit ribbit.