update on the hipster-to-robot-dinosaur transition

So I have been working on the Skully sweater from SNB for over a year now. It was supposed to be my sister Katie's Christmas present. I wrapped it up, minus one sleeve, and promptly took it back so I could finish it. It's still not finished. I feel awful.
Instead of wallowing in guilt, or you know, actually finishing the damn thing, I made her some consolation prizes.

(I brightened the photo a little and raised the contrast, since I didn't use the flash and otherwise the hat kind of blended into the background.)
Here we see the eyelet newsboy, the hat that disappointed me, then grew on me, in its natural habitat: Katie's head; and the robot dinosaur messenger bag, of which I have NO pictures but this one (because I was trying to keep it secret, you know, for the surprise factor). Oops. Anyhoodle, it's a fairly simple, squarish messenger bag in a fabric printed with dinosaurs and (inexplicably dog-like) footprints, on which I put a gray felt robot. I also did a couple of interior pockets, including a cell phone pocket of which I'm pretty proud. She seemed to like the hat and the bag, so I hope I'm forgiven for the dick move of Christmas past.

Also? Katie's boyfriend has a peg leg.

ETA: It now has two sleeves, and needs a neckband. Well, a neckband that I can fit over my head. Although I have a pretty big head, so maybe it'll fit over Katie's head just fine. The thing is, the proportions are awful. The armscyes are too big for the sleeves and the shoulders look all puffed out, and not in a cute puffed-sleeve way, but a 1980s, linebacker way. I don't want to give her a sweater that looks like crap. It's not a gauge issue either, because I used to knit much tighter and have loosened up, and also I measured. I could frog the sleeves and redo them, casting on a few extra stitches to take up the slack, but the key word there is "could"--I hate redoing things. I think the lesson I have learned from Skully is not to promise people stuff until/unless you KNOW you can pull it off. That said, I WILL finish it and give it to Katie. Someday.

Edited once more! I hope the above didn't come off as snippy, I know you guys were joking, and it is really pretty pathetic to have been working on it for over a year. Maybe I should make September the Month of UFOs and focus on Skully.

everybody needs a holiday, a little time to celebrate

My parents' backyard. I love me some rainy trees.

I love surprises, okay? Getting and giving. Fair warning: if I know you (and like you) I may spring something totally awesome on you with zero notice. (Alternatively, I may spring something totally awful that was intended to be awesome. But hey, the love was there.) So this past weekend I went home to PA, hung out with the 'rents (check out my slang, it's tots def dated) Thursday night and Friday, then Saturday we went to the Jersey Shore. Here's where it gets shocking, so hold on to your hats. My sisters, their menfolk, my nephew, and my step-niece-to-be (whom I hadn't met yet) went to the shore that day too, expecting to meet only my parents. There was some really flattering shrieking and running when they realized the strange lady walking next to my mom was me.

It was a gray and chilly day but that meant lots of huddling in sweatshirts, sitting on the blankets, cuddling shivery munchkins, etc. It also meant that the beach was less crowded than it would've been otherwise, which is good, since for the little ones' sake we had to go to a beach with lifeguards. (My dad used to be a lifeguard, and my sisters and I are all strong swimmers, so we usually go guardless and just keep an eye on each other.) The downside of the grayness and chilliness (besides the actual, you know, grayness and chilliness while you're at the beach) was that the water was pretty choppy and the overzealous lifeguards wouldn't let us go out very far. Knee-deep was the limit, in fact. Which is pretty damn ridiculous. It's not a wading pool. My dad was so furious when he was whistled in from the breakers that he went over to the lifeguard stand and argued with them. It didn't make a difference, of course. Damn the lawyers!
In closing, I present my new niece. Check out those curly pigtails:

I come not to build sandcastles but to destroy them.

p.s. that's right, no knitting content whatsoever.

grow, baby, grow!

In the works: Knitscene Central Park Hoodie in good old Lion Brand Woolease (and by "good" I mean "cheap, but quite soft"); Grumperina's Picovoli in knitpicks Shine; and the second circus freak jaywalker... still...to be worked on during another taped episode of Project Runway this evening.
I'm also working on a little something special for a special someone--I knit an octopus. It's almost finished, just needs a face, stuffing, and maybe some pretty beads on the ends of its tentacles, but that's the boring part, the hideous, dull, finishing details. Once it's past the exciting, winging-it-with-no-pattern, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, "hey, I'm making something" part I get bored. This may be why I never finish anything (grad school, I'm looking at you!). I will force myself to finish it soon though, because this special person deserves a knit octopus. And speaking of works in progress, here's another:

Several months ago, my friend Wendy and I went out for a walk in a nice, houses-not-apartments neighborhood near our building and passed a man messing around in his garden, who surprised us by looking up and saying, "hey ladies, want some iris bulbs?" He was thinning his irises and had a pile of bulbs that he was just going to throw out, so we took four or five each. This is the only one of mine that's made it this far.

saturday sky (sort of)

While watching "What Not to Wear" (you may not believe it, but I do sometimes do things other than watch fashion-related TV shows) my friend commented, "you really are a green-whore, aren't you?" when I shrieked over a pair of shoes--hey, they were moss-green suede! (Also, they had round toes. I'm a sucker for round toes.) So here's my Saturday sky, as modeled by a mountain-ash, a Douglas fir, and some aspens in the courtyard of my building. (See, I am a green-whore--I know my trees. Er, I mean, in a tree-hugger sense, not the Biblical sense.)

i made it work

At my Project Runway marathon tonight, I confirmed that I have lost my knitting mojo. I made myself work on my circus freak jaywalker (yes, seriously second sock syndrome). And I did something--two things, actually--that I never used to do, but lately have been doing like mad. I dropped a stitch, and I didn't notice until the next row. I didn't have a teeny tiny crochet hook (suitable for sock yarn) and even though my lovely hostess probably did, I didn't ask, because I decided I'd rather sit in total stillness and watch, and criticize. What is wrong with me?

I did do something creative today, though. I made a cake. My lovely hostess, the heroic cat-rescuer Shamsi, usually invites my friend Wendy and I over for PR, since we don't have cable. She's been on vacation for the last couple weeks, so she set up her VCR to record it and we had three episodes to watch, back-to-back. In honor of the magnificent Tim Gunn, I attempt some cake decor:


The rainbow sprinkles (or "wickety-wack") are in honor of Santino... and apparently also of Angela. It was red velvet cake (maybe next time I'll make lemon chiffon), and it came out pretty well. Shamsi also had the perfect plates for it:


Sorry for the blurriness, my hands were shaking in anticipation.

100 things

So the "100 things about me" meme has come and gone, I know, but I'm doing it now because I have no real knitting progress to report, and because I'm a rebel, dammit.
1. I already know I'm going to have trouble making it to 100
2. Unless I split things up.
3. Like this.
4. Just kidding.
5. No, really.
6. Or not.
7. Okay, plunging in. I'm not a morning person. I don't know why morning people think this is funny. I never torment them when I'm wide awake in the late evening. And I'm perfectly pleasant if left alone.
8. I'm not a "crowd" person either. Last time I went out for Fall Crawl I got groped like four times before we even got into the first venue. So I don't go anymore.
9. I live alone. I like it. I have two sisters. I did a lot of sharing. I'm taking a break from that. It's nice.
10. I don't like to knit for charity. I'll give my time, my money, my voice, my vote, whatever, but not my knitting.
11. That said, I learned to knit as part of a Hats for the Homeless project.
12. I knit so tight that my hat was just the right size for a homeless baby. Which is so freaking sad. The homeless baby, not the amateurish knitting.
13. I had cast on 20 extra stitches, too, because I have a big head and one-size-fits-all hats really don't.
14. I have since loosened up. But not much.
15. I used to be an archaeologist. I'm taking a break from that too. Which is also nice.
16. I used to live in hotels approximately three weeks out of the month. I had no social life except sitting around my coworker's hotel rooms drinking. That got old.
17. I also got tired of being the physically weakest member of the crew. I don't mind being the only woman, unless they mind. Which some of them did.
18. I'm not the kind of woman to slam a door in a man's face after he's opened it for me, but I am the kind to get angry when you lift heavy things for me, when lifting heavy things is part of my job.
19. I have a serious punctuality problem. My theory is, it's my passive-aggressive way of lashing out at the world's high expectations of me.
20. Oh yeah, and I overanalyze things. See for example #19.
21. My favorite colors are red and green.
22. I kind of like to wear them together.
23. I don't mind looking Christmassy because I love Christmas. Also Thanksgiving. And Halloween.
24. But I hate New Year's.
25. Again with the crowds. Also the drunken drivers, the pressure to make it the Best! Night! of the Year!, the emphasis on time passing, and the whole "kiss somebody at midnight" thing. I'll kiss somebody when I feel like kissing, thanks.
26. I don't usually do swaps or KALs. I'm not much of a joiner.
27. Except for the occasional meme.
28. I like to make people stuff. But I want to do it when the mood strikes me, or when I think they need something in particular, even if it's just a treat. So deadlines and themes and me? We don't mesh well together.
29. Things like this make me miss the East Coast.
30. I'm from Pennsylvania.
31. Yes, that's still East Coast.
32. My town has like 2000 residents. And it still has more of a city feel in some respects than Albuquerque does.
31. People don't make small talk with you, for one thing.
32. I always get weirded out when strangers talk to me in public. In fact, kind of annoyed.
33. Also, you can flip people off in traffic. It's no big deal. It's kind of like waving hello. But in a "screw you, jerk" kind of way.
34. After I moved to ABQ I flipped somebody off and got a talking-to by a cop.
35. Another time, the lady followed me to my destination, parked her car so that it blocked my exit, and screamed at me as I walked away.
36. Her skin looked like Victor Yuschenko's. I'm pretty sure she was on meth.
37. I don't flip people off in traffic anymore.
38. My middle name is Ann.
39. My mom and sisters have the same middle name.
40. My family is super-creative on this whole middle-name thing.
41. But at least I'm not named Madison. Or Addison. Or any of those "we want you to be a tough girl so we named you, our daughter, something that ends with son as if the only way to be strong is to be masculine" names.
42. Carl Sagan's daughter is also named Cari.
43. I get called Carl sometimes. It happened a lot more in the days of the dot-matrix printer. The i runs together, or people just assume.
44. I have a big thing about people just assuming.
45. Like when you spell your name for someone and they write it down wrong anyway.
46. What's up with that?
47. My last name is Polish. It's only been pronounced right on the first try 4 times in my life.
48. Three of those times were by people who have difficult Eastern European names themselves. So.
48. The last time it happened I squealed with delight. Yes, out loud. Yes, at work. Yes, I saved the phone message.
49. My favorite season is winter.
50. I love cold weather, cloudy skies, and wearing sweaters.
52. Yes, I know I'm in the wrong state.
53. I also love snowboarding. I've seriously considered moving to a teeny-tiny mountain town and making it the core of my existence.
54. Which would actually be great, since my existence doesn't have much of a core these days.
55. (Because I'm done with my field archaeology career and not ready to move on to... whatever's next... yet.)
56. I don't mind slacking off right now because I went straight from college to grad school, and never had a job that wasn't archaeological, except an outlet store I worked at one summer in high school. So I've never had much time to explore my other interests.
57. My lack of direction only bothers me when people who don't know me well start pestering me about it.
58. One guy at work has actually set a deadline by which time I must "change my life."
59. It's January 2007, if you care.
60. I don't.
61. He also called me a "lone wolf" once. In response, I howled.
62. I was a total tomboy. Still am, really.
63. I did have a pedicure this morning though. My second ever. I dig 'em. 64. I used to keep track of how many scars I have. If you're really nice to me, maybe sometime I'll show you my x-rays.
65. I talk to myself.
66. I sometimes crack jokes. To myself. And then I laugh, and people are like, "There she goes again. [shudder] Hide the knives."
67. My apartment is a constant mess. I like it that way.
68. Except when I can't find stuff, like my DVD remote.
69. Which is preventing me from watching my current Netflix, Goodbye Lenin.
70. I took three semesters of German in grad school. I was surprisingly good at it.
71. I meant to keep studying it on my own. But it's hard, when you've got so little self-discipline.
72. So I watch a lot of German films (but with subtitles!) and sometimes listen to Deutsche Welle's German-for-dummies podcasts.
73. I'm listening to one right now. Apparently there's something going on with drei Soldaten in Lebanon.
74. I'm much better at reading German than listening to it. It sort of reminds me of Shakespearean English.
75. I once starred in a German-class skit in which I had to yell "Ja, ich bin einen Mann!" (Yes, I am a man.) I played a drug-addicted transsexual thief. My friend played a cop.
76. My current top 5 most played songs on itunes are "Evil" by Interpol, "Goodnight and Go" by Imogen Heap, "Disposable Parts" by Enon, "I Hear the Bells" by Mike Doughty, and "I Think I Need a New Heart" by the Magnetic Fields.
77. Enon was at the Launchpad a couple years ago.
78. My friend Amy wanted to go.
79. We didn't for some reason. I wish we had.
80. My best friend's name is Jessa. She lives in DFW.
81. The first time I saw her, she was wearing light blue pants with red lobsters embroidered on them.
82. I knew we would be friends.
83. I mean, lobster pants. Come on.
84. The smell of the self-tanner I used earlier today is really getting to me.
85. There's a pool at my apartment complex. I've never used it.
86. I love to swim.
87. But I don't like having to talk to my neighbors fully dressed. In a swimsuit? Forget it.
88. If only I had a waterproof ipod.
89. Science needs to stop looking for a cure for cancer and get on that.
90. Oh wait, apparently you can buy a waterproof case.
91. Eh. I don't trust it. These newfangled inventions, I tell ya. The more parts they have, the more parts there are to break.
92. That's why I like driving a stick, hand-knitting, etc. So that when the end times come, yes, I'll stay down here on earth with the rest of the heathens, but at least I'll have something to wear and drive when the antichrist destroys automatic transmissions and the ready-to-wear garment industry.
93. My favorite colors are... oh, I already said that.
94. I have two orange backpacks and two yellow backpacks. Graduated sizes. Two with hydration systems. Archaeologists need a lot of backpacks.
95. So what the hell am I supposed to do with them now, I ask you.
96. Save them for the end times, obviously.
97. When the antichrist will also destroy purses, messenger bags, rucksacks, briefcases, and totes.
98. And we'll have to carry everything in our bare hands.
99. Thank God this is almost done.
100. Because I'm rambling on about backpacks, ferantichrissakes.

the no-frills version

So I had this post all written out earlier with links and photos and all, and Blogger ate it.

#@#(#$*^**(^*#!@!!!

So here's a quick recap of this weekend's activities:
1. made Radar from M*A*S*H* hat according to this tutorial:

2. made belt-loop-hanging ipod cozy a la this tutorial, which is actually for a lipstick cozy:

3. Have monkey toes:

saturday sky

Up my street.

The mountain wears a toupee.

i'll sell this screenplay for dozens and dozens of dollars!

My friend Damien used to say he was looking for the romantic-comedy movie ending, relationshipwise; if my quest for a digital camera were a movie, it would be something like "Green Card" or "Fools Rush In." My camera and I met, I bought it, took it home, and then fell in love. It's so little and shiny! And it has all these different modes and stuff! And it's totally easy to use, but not in a dumbed-down way! And it's got enough detail that you can see my individual eyelashes and eyebrow hairs and stuff when I take a picture of myself with the camera at arm's length! For example:

I think this was taken with night mode, which is why it's all romantic-candlelight looking (or am I just that much in love?)

I just noticed that I cropped that pic right in middle of the white of my eye, and it's creepy as hell, but I'm leaving it that way because a) I'm lazy and b) I think we need a little creepiness to cut the sweetness of this post. So you have lots of better-quality photos to look forward to, once my Vivitar Vivicam 5386 and I have gotten to know one another better.

ETA:

short'n'sweet

...that's me! Just kidding, I am actually average height. No, I just wanted to reassure the knitblogiverse that my green cotton hourglass was successfully shrunk in the dryer. (Also just wanted to spell something with 'n' in the middle, because I'm cheesy like that.) Although it is still baggier than I'd like, it's wearable now--I wore it to dinner last night. You may all breathe a little easier now. Sir, please, step back from the ledge. I know how you feel. But it's going to be okay.

Still hunting for the right digital camera. It's like dating at this point, i.e. irritatingly fruitless, but on the other hand I don't want to just settle, you know? Well, who knows, someday soon that special camera will come along and blah blah whatever. I'm off to Target with Wendy, who wants a new tent. (And they also sell cameras.)

the pit of despair

So I wore my lovely green hourglass sweater to work today and discovered some things. Things that have long been known to knitters. Things which I nevertheless disregarded.
1. Gauge swatches are important. (Duh.)
2. Cotton really does stretch out a lot.
3. Even if you have made a sweater in wool that looked fabulous and fit well, if you make one from cotton from the same pattern, you still have to do a gauge swatch. And knit a size down. Possibly two sizes. So that you don't have to come home on lunch break and change because the damn thing is so close to falling off your shoulders that your back starts to ache from all the hunching.

Also, I dropped a stitch on my Picovoli and may have to frog back like 15 rows. Son of a BITCH. Also, the t-shirt I changed into is one that I ironed an explodingdog image onto with that eighth wonder of the world, iron-on inkjet paper for dark fabrics, and the edges of the image are curling after only two washes, which did NOT happen with my iron-on inkjet paper for light fabrics. (I don't think I ever posted it here. So here it is:

...slightly wrinkly from my ever-worsening posture, based on this.)

sneak preview

Guess what's blocking:

Hourglass #2. Hopefully real FO shots tomorrow, when it's dry. And maybe with a real camera!

ETA: the color of the sweater is quite accurate. The color of my skin is quite Impressionist. I seriously see a rainbow on my neck. And since the rain (beautiful, beautiful rain!) has stopped here, I'm going to look for one (a rainbow, not a neck) in the sky. (Wouldn't it be awesome if I did see a neck in the sky? You know that oldies/possibly country song "I love a rainy night"? Well, when I was little, I thought it was "I love a rainy neck." I thought it was a song about a guy who didn't have a hood on his raincoat, and cold trickles of rain kept invading the space between his hat and jacket. Make sense? No. Entertaining to a five-year-old? Heck yes. I actually do love a rainy neck. Time to go get one.)

it's ALIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!

So my days of 60-hour workweeks may be over, which means that I may actually blog again, and even better, I may actually attend an SNB again one of these weeks! (A coworker just returned from short-term disability. Which is good, except that I can't stand him, so even though I was run ragged without him, and with a couple of other people quitting at a really inopportune time, I'm not really glad he's back.) Anyhoodle. Before the Never-ending Month of Ridiculous Overtime, I actually did some crafts. I made the ever-popular McCalls 5137 (check out the many versions rounded up at Dress a Day) as a shirt, and now that I've gotten some distance from it (I always hate whatever I've just finished) I really like it (and will like it better with an actual hem!) and want to make another, dress-length. I think for the dress I'll use something slinky, as recommended, instead of regular ol' cotton. And I am almost finished with my cotton Hourglass. I would be finished already, except that I decided to do something funky with the collar, a la Glampyre's Cathode. I'm kind of disappointed with the way it fits--it's a little baggier than I would've liked, but that's what I get for not doing a gauge swatch. It'll be a good casual top, anyway. (And really, when do I wear anything but casual?)

As usual, please ignore the crappy camera-phone/bathroom-mirror pics. One of these things I'm thinking about treating myself to with all my overtime pay is a digital camera, so if you have any suggestions about a good point-n-shoot for the photographically challenged, let me know!

the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated

...although I'm dead tired. I've been working an average of 60 hrs a week lately. It's supposed to slow down soon. In the meantime I comfort myself with thoughts of big fat overtime checks. I really have to get on top of my plan to become a millionaire recluse on a mountaintop somewhere. Sort of like this:


...only with shorter hair now. And of course I'll be snug in one of my two (!) hourglass sweaters. I'm almost finished with the second one. Hopefully next post will feature some knitting content. Maybe even *gasp* an FO pic.

meme rhymes with dream

...which is what I should be doing right now. 47 hrs of work in 4 days. I'm a supa-stah.
And yet here I am, in front of the computer. I always need a little downtime when I get home. I can't just walk in the door and crash. I need to sit around and be home for a while. So here's my Blue Book Meme, seen at Pomo Golightly and Hedgeblog among other places. The story of my blue book is a little weird. It begins a little over a year ago, when I was doing archaeology in Texas on land owned by a real live honest-to-gosh Texas oil bazillionaire. I swear and declare, he had the hat, the enormous belt buckle, everything; he owns approximately three counties' worth of land; and according to a coworker who'd worked for him before, he once rolled down his truck window while driving across his land, threw out his bottle of Jack Daniels, pointed to the spot where it landed, and said to his henchman (foreman?) in the passenger seat, "I want an oil well right there, tomorrow morning." So let it be written, so let it be done! Well, this bazillionaire is weirdly generous and apparently gives out steak dinners and shots of Jack like there's no tomorrow if you catch him in the right mood. Apparently we didn't, because he gave each and every member of our crew a copy of Don't Throw Away Tomorrow: Living God's Dream for Your Life by Robert H. Schuller, the Hour of Power guy. I hate to criticize this book since, well, I haven't actually read it, but suffice it to say it's not my typical reading material. It's a hardback book and I can't bring myself to just throw it out, but I haven't made a trip to the Goodwill in over a year, either, so it just sits in its blue dust jacket on its appointed place on the floor by my desk, between the file cabinet and the stack of as-yet-unfiled papers. And when I opened it up to do this meme, I discovered the reason he'd given the books to us. They were cheap. About thirty pages are upside-down and backwards, with the edges trimmed weirdly. Thanks for this awesome religious manufacturing defect, Bazillionaire! Anyway, on to the meme.

Closest Blue Book Meme
1. Grab the nearest book with a blue cover.
2. Open the book to page 86.
3. Find the first full paragraph.
4. Post the text in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find, just the closest blue book.

My grandson E**** M**** attended the summer football camp held by his secular high school athletic department. "They had some really strong rules, Grandpa," he told me. "Respect your own body and respect the bodies of others' was the first rule. 'How do you do this?' the coaches asked. The players answered, 'Say no to substance abuse... no to alcohol, drugs, tobacco, and pornography [technically, a substance!]. Say yes to exercise and a healthful diet. Say yes to discipline.'"

Well, all right, so it's actually pretty good advice. I didn't say the book was WRONG, I just would never have bought it for myself. I can sum up my opinions on the pop-psych/self-help/religious genres by stating that I howled (with laughter, but the word "no" was involved too) at Bridget Jones' question, "Can self-help books actually help self?" I'm off to have a bedtime beer now. (Sadly, no accompanying bedtime pornography. Although I hear you can get that stuff on this here internet now!)

dammit jim, i'm a knitter, not a... oh

So yeah, I haven't finished anything lately. That's because, as of lunch break on Wednesday (aka right now) I've worked 42.5 hours so far this week. Yeeeeeah.

However, I did get my new ipod shuffle on Friday and have been checking out the knitted ipod cozy thread on Craftster trying to figure out what to make for it. Because I just can't have a naked shuffle. Hee. Pretty cool side benefit of buying directly from Apple: you can get stuff engraved on the side for free. I was considering "someday we will all be robots" or "this ipod is a pipe bomb" but decided in the end to go for... my name. I know, creative, right?

Mmmkay. Back to work. Blargh.

because there's no knitting progress

Another meme. One Word, seen at Pomo Golightly:
Please leave a one-word comment that you think best describes me — it can only be one word long. Then copy and paste this into your blog so that I may leave a word about you.

it's a beautiful day for a meme: proximity!

From strangelittlemama:
Take a look around you. Apart from your computer and its peripherals, and your computer desk/table/milk crate and chair, what, in order of their physical closeness, are the five things nearest to you right now?
1. Empty beer bottle
2. File cabinet
3. Two 200-CD CD cases, from back in the day, before downloading
4. Student-style futon couch
5. Bookcase & ornate craft-supply shelving system

Consider yourself tagged. I hope your stuff's cooler.

be true to your school

...or your parents' school, if that's who you happen to be knitting for. I hereby ruin a Christmas surprise:


Here's my latest acquisition, Illini sock yarn from Scout's Handpainted Swag! Sadly, the colors, which are the whole point of the photo (do you hear me, camera phone? I'm talking to you!) are distorted--the orange looks quite pink, but it's actually a true school-colors orange. The Illini colorway was originally created as a custom order for someone else. I saw it on Scout's blog and knew I had to get some and make socks for my dad, who (along with my much-less-enthusiastic mom, also a U of I alum) roots for the Fighting Illini. Even if he only wears them on game days, I know he'll like them. I can't wait to see how this puppy knits up. (I like to call things "puppies," don't you?) I think I'm going to break with my time-honored tradition and do a swatch. When I do, I'll post it here so that anyone who doubts Ms. Scout's amazing yarn-dyeing prowess will hang their heads in shame. It'll make you say "Oskee-WOW-wow!" (super-cheesy and obvious Illini-fan inside joke; yes, I'm ashamed of myself, and also reminded of the Continental).

ETA that today (now that it's past midnight) is my parents' 36th anniversary. They met at U of I. He took her out for pizza. She knit him a sweater. They managed to put up with my sisters and me. They still hold hands in public and won't let anyone sit between them at restaurants. Awwwwww.

we did it... we beat cancer

...well, not yet, actually. Tomorrow is the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, and I'm doing it, along with my friend and intermittent work-out partner Wendy (sadly, she doesn't have a blog; she doesn't even have a cell phone), and a bunch of my favorite ladies. I've never done it before, but always wanted to--I'd always see it on the news later that day, after the race was over, and be like, "Ohhh I should've done that. I'm against cancer!" So I'm glad that Scout, and the Village Wools team, lit a fire under my ass this year. Here's why:

That's my grandmother. Her name was Lois, like Superman's girlfriend. She was a WAC in World War II. She was a secretary for some important general, whose name she was forbidden to disclose even years later when my mom was a curious kid, and who was involved with the Manhattan Project. She had a lot of important documents in her office, and because of that, she was required to keep a gun in her desk and do markmanship training, at a time when very few women were allowed to use guns. The Manhattan Project is where she met and married my grandfather, who was also in the army. Since they were stationed in Oak Ridge, and everything was all super-secret and they couldn't tell their families what they were doing, they had only their Army buddies there as witnesses, and as far we know, there were no wedding pictures. (We went to the museum at Oak Ridge when I was a teenager, hoping to find some trace of them, but we didn't.) Her sister Carole, my great-aunt, once told me that during the war, she and Uncle John had saved up enough gas ration to drive to Florida (from Iowa) on vacation, and she suggested to Grandma that they stop by for a visit. Since my grandmother couldn't tell her why she wasn't allowed to visit, she had to let Aunt Carole think it was personal. Aunt Carole said, "I didn't know why she was mad at me. I was so hurt. Then after the war, when we found out, I was so proud."

My grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer in the 1970s, had a mastectomy, and thought she was done with it. But it came back. She never got her regular bloodwork done, like you're supposed to after you've had cancer, and by the time she felt sick enough to admit it and go see a doctor, it was too late.

My mom was there at the end, watching her carefully, because even at death's door my grandmother would never admit pain. If the nurses asked if she needed more morphine, she'd say she was fine. Mom and the nurses had to keep a close eye on her, to see the tension coming back into her body as the pain returned. Yeah, my grandmother was a tough old broad. I'm proud of her too. She died in September 1995. So tomorrow I'm running for her.

Dammit, now I'm all weepy.