Some assembly required

Our garage had become more than a little cramped, what with the tools a person living in New England requires.

We didn't want to follow the lead of many true New Englanders (use the garage for storage and park the cars in the driveway - those frugal New Englanders have figured out that during a storm the cars keep the snow off the asphalt and you need only clear them off and drive away), so we  hied ourselves to Lowes to look at storage.

We found the Holy Grail:  33 cubic feet of storage, made of plastic in America.  It had sides, a roof that could be lifted doors, even a place to put a padlock.  We were so there!

The box was 2'11" x 5' x11" - it would fit in the bed of the P. T. cruiser!

My sister went to prep the car while I struggled mightily to get the box off the shelf.  That was a huge problem.  The box weighed less than my briefcase at times, but it was in that space with no room to spare.  I couldn't tip it, couldn't shift it, couldn't find a service rep (in their defense they were busy with other customers).  I was pulling and tugging and softly swearing in Japanese when a nice young man in a NASCAR baseball cap came over, asked what I wanted to do and calmly lifted the shelf above, goods and all, so we could lift the box out.  He said something about how his mama taught him to help others and went on his way.

I trundled the thing to the register (the cart steered like a bad grocery cart).  We paid, trundled it out to the car, loaded it and drove triumphantly home.  And the fun began.  It only had 8 large pieces, 4 hinges, 2 lift plates, one door latch and 42 screws but the easy assembly instructions, if you took out the text looked something like this:  















But we soldiered on and about 4 hours, 3 broken nails, 2 bruised shins and a partridge in a pear tree later we had our shed and wondered if we might have been better off assembling the box.  But it's loaded now, and all I can think of, when I look at it is "what a waste,  I could have stored most of my yarn stash in that.

Customer Service, Anyone?

So, I'm at the local grocery store waiting my turn at the Customer Service desk; the checker had overcharged me.  I reached the head of the line and laid my problem before the woman.

The phone rang.  With the speed of Pavlov's dog responding to the bell she turned and picked it up, turning her back on me.

The call went on: someone checking the price of season tickets to the local 6 Flags and, it seems, the cost of cakes.  A line was forming as they nattered on.

I cleared my throat.

No response.

I finally, with some difficulty, made eye contact.

"Repeat after me," I said loudly.  "I'm sorry,  I'm with a customer, please hold."

She jumped, put the woman on hold and turned to me.

"I have to answer the phone," she started to argue, but I cut her off.

"I've been in retail," I countered, "and you never abandon a customer in the middle of a transaction.  Now, about my refund?"

Sadly, this is not an isolated instance.  It has happened a lot lately.  It happened the same day at an
LYS that is famous for its customer service.  I received an apology, not an argument, at that store.

Missing Dad

My father died earlier this year.  A good and brave man, he faced his illnesses and life in general with the same courage he faced battle in WWII and with the honesty and integrity that had marked his life.

I got the word of his final illness while I was at work and left to be with him and my mother as quickly as I could.  I had to return briefly, and he slipped into the next world before I could get back.

The next weeks were a blur, as we moved through all the things you have to face when a loved one dies.  So many of my friends and my family were wonderful in their support of my mother, brothers and sister as well as me and the love and support was truly welcome in that time when the pain was at its most raw.

But a strange thing happened.  My co-workers, people I've known and worked with for years, ignored it. As if it had not happened.  I came back to work, and we had lavish baby and bridal showers.  But nothing was said to me.  With time, and with people asking about my "vacation" I began to learn that really, no one was told of the death of my daddy.

I was hurt; I still am.  You see, I was told that when one of the people who did know asked if they were going to send a card, they were told it really was none of the company's business.  A wedding is the company's business, it seems, as is a having a baby (a very intimate act, I would have thought) but not a death in the family of an employee.

I bless and thank those of my coworkers that found out and sent me their personal notes.  I've told the ones who learned late and were upset that it was not their fault.  I hope in time to forget.  But this night, as I approach my first Christmas without him, I'm having a little trouble letting go of my anger.

My loss is not as tragic as some of the things I have seen in the news: while you never are ready for the death of a loved one my father lived a full life and was much loved.  So I ask you to remember all who are grieving and keep them in your prayers, and I wish you all remain, in this season, surrounded by those you love and who love you.

Merrily we steek along

I love stranded knitting.  Or any other charted knitting, for that matter (lace, cables...)

So over the past few months I've been working in a sweater for me. I started with this pattern:



Kauni Rainbow Cardigan, per pattern

...but of course I can't knit anything normally, so I tweaked it.  On the fly.  While I was knitting it.

I added a picot cast-on, converted it to V-neck, and inset the sleeves more.

Then I realized that I didn't know what the heck I was doing

The V-neck started too high, so I ripped it and put it to one side.  My cat claimed it as her bed for a few days. 

I wrestled it back from the cat and finished the body.

Do you know how much fun it is to freak out your coworkers?  Just pick up a pair of scissors and cut apart your knitting.  There were a few anguished NO!s, until I explained that I was supposed to cut it open.

I picked up the stitches for the sleeves and the button band:





And finally I completed the sweater:


I may go back and add toggles, but for now I like pinning it.

 

NaNoWriMo

Okay, I've been absent.  I've been working on a stranded sweater in Kauni, of my own desing, that I finished this week.  Picture to follow tomorrow night.  But tonight, after a month of effort with a week off for Thanksgiving I did this.   And I'm pretty pleased with myself.  Now I can cast on the standed mittens for my mother!

Work - the curse of the knitting class

It's early in the morning.  The house is filled with the sounds of a household preparing for the day's work.  My tea is beside me and my cat is on my lap.  I have a quick shawl on the needles beside me and a complex stranded sweater opinion my knitting bag.

I really don't feel like working after the day I had yesterday.  Some days are like that,  I know, but dealing with a few irrational folks have me wanting to just hunker down with a fire in my wood stove and knit until I'm serene (or as close as I ever am to serene) again.

Why wasn't I born a Astor?  Never mind, I wouldn't have had the parents I had or the childhood I largely enjoyed.

Off to figure out what to wear for work.

Why I don't have as many finished projects as I would like

I have pest - I mean pets.  I love them all.  Jesse pesters me to get exercise (after all, a dog needs a walk).   

Orlando reviews my work: 

Which may explain all the spelling errors.

It's DaeDae that is my real problem.  In her eyes any knitted object has to be intended as a cat bed.

 And if not, why not?