YARN OSCARS

The word "Oscars" is, of course, already taken, so the first order of business is to find a cute and memorable name for these annual end-of-the-year awards.  "Yarnies" is too obvious.  "Woolies" has a pre-existing negative connotation, as in, "That ugly haircut he just got gives me the woolies."  (or is that "willies"?)  Someone in my family, who shall remain nameless, suggested "The Itchies".  The gentleman in me precludes me from revealing what I said in response.  These are serious awards, ladies and gentlemen.  Levity is frowned upon.  If anybody has a suggestion for a proper award name, I am very willing to hear it.

There are only two criteria for being eligible for these as-yet-unnamed awards.  First, they have to have been carried as merchandise at Montoya Fiber Studio during the year 2012.  Second, the aesthetic quality of the yarn color's name must jump out at you and the quality of the yarn has to match its vibrant name.  Companies that name their yarn colors blue or red or green have no chance to win.  Where is the imagination that titillates a customer into purchasing something simply because of a fascinating name given to an extraordinary yarn?  Now if blue, red, or green had instead been respectively named, Hold Your Breath, Beet Juice, or Iago's Envy, well then, that's a different story.

The winners are listed in no particular order except for the Ultimate Award for best yarn color of the year which, of course, shall be revealed at the very end.  The winners' details are revealed in the following order:  1.) Color name   2.) Company name   3.) Yarn name 

Ladies and Gentlemen. I present to you the winners of the 2012 (name of award here).


BEST YARN NAMED FOR AN ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE
Sangria  (Dream in Color - Everlasting)

BEST YARN NAMED FOR A RODGERS AND HAMMERSTEIN MUSICAL
South Pacific  (Universal - Bamboo Handpaints)

BEST YARN NAMED FOR A TYPE OF PANCAKE
Buckwheat   (Berroco - Ultra Alpaca)

BEST YARN NAMED FOR A MEDICAL SYMPTOM
Feeling Blue  (Jojoland - Rhythm)

BEST YARN NAMED FOR A CHARACTER IN PETER PAN
Tiger Lily  (Lamb's Pride - Bulky)

BEST YARN NAMED FOR A TASTY TREAT
S'mores  (Crystal Palace - Party)

BEST YARN NAMED FOR A RADIOACTIVE ELEMENT
Uranium  (Manos del Uruguay - Wool Classica)

BEST YARN NAMED AFTER A RUSSIAN FLOWER
Siberian Iris  (Misti - Pima Silk)

BEST YARN NAMED AFTER A WINNIE THE POOH CHARACTER
Piglet  (Sublime - Cash Silk Merino)

BEST YARN NAMED AFTER A GEORGE GERSHWIN SONG
Summertime  (Mountain Colors - Mohair)

BEST YARN NAMED AFTER A COUNTRY THAT NO LONGER EXISTS
Zanzibar  (Misti - Baby me Boo)

BEST YARN NAMED AFTER A CITIZEN KANE REFERENCE
Rosebud  (Universal - Sensational)

BEST YARN NAMED AFTER AN OLD TV WESTERN
Gunsmoke  (Wildefoote)

BEST YARN WITH A FRENCH NAME
Douceur et Soie  (Knit One Crochet Too)

BEST YARN WITH A SPANISH NAME
Zarzamora  (Malabrigo - Rios)

BEST YARN COLOR OF THE YEAR
Orange You Glad  (Lamb's Pride - Bulky)


The other four finalists for Best Yarn Color of the Year deserve a mention.  Zane Grey by Wildefoote, Grassy Knoll by Lamb's Pride, Ripe Lychee by Jojoland and Partly Cloudy by Universal.  Those of you who don't get the brilliance of the name Orange You Glad, need to travel back to your childhood and remember every knock-knock joke you ever heard.

Should your curiosity compel you to do so, feel free to ask to see these award-winning yarns.  Just make sure that Cathy is in the store and not just me as I have a terrible time remembering where particular yarns are shelved.

THE DREADED ZEROS

The other day, at the store, I was doing some inventory work with the knitting  needles and I noticed the same size zero needles that were always hanging there.  They've been there for as long as I've paid attention to such matters.  I asked Cathy if she ever actually ever sold one of those skinny little monsters.  She replied that she did remember selling some size zero circular needles but she didn't recall ever selling a pair of straight needles of that particular size.

It doesn't take much analysis to figure out why these underfed sticks don't move.  What sane person would tackle the prodigious projects that ask for a #0 needle.  They must be absolute hell to knit with.  We're talking lace yarn, of course.  The thinnest commercial yarn there is.  The kind of yarn used for heirloom shawls or other similar time-consuming projects.  I won't deny the fact that these projects are undoubtedly beautiful when you actually finish one.  But how many people actually finish one of these demanding works of art.  For someone of my limited skills, I figure one row (150 to 200 stitches) is going to take me around an hour.  Why so long?  Well, the first obvious reason is that these are itsy-bitsy stitches being knit on teensy-weensy needles.  Unlike rows of four stitches per row on #35 needles, these baby stitches take time.  But the second reason is the really frightening one - the fear of making mistakes.  No one wants to rip out rows with lace yarn.  Just the thought of that makes me shiver.  Or even if you spot a mistake on the actual row you're working on, retracing your steps with #0 needles and lace yarn could easily drive you crazy.  So if I'm knitting with these tiny tools of torture, I'm going to proceed very slowly just to make sure there are no mistakes.  That's one hour per row with probably a million rows in a big shawl.  We're talking a long, long, long time.

So, it should come as no surprise to anyone if I admit that I am more than a ligttle frightened of these needles.  It's almost as if everytime I look at a a pair of #0's, the needles speak to me and say, "Keep on walking little boy.  I'm meant for serious knitters.  Certainly not for the likes of you." 

Demoralizing?  You bet.  But 2013 is going to be different.  I will face my fears and grab a pair of these intimidating needles and I will knit with them.  No, I'm not going to tackle one of those shawls that would take me the rest of my life.  But as the official window dresser of Montoya Fiber Studio, I can devise projects that will allow me to work with the zeros in something of a more reasonable nature.  I've been thinking of possibly purchasing a Barbie and a Ken doll and knitting some appropriate garb for their beyond-perfect bodies.  Even with size zeros, how hard can such a project be?  So once the new year arrives, keep your eyes open whenever you walk by the store window.  I'll show those needles a thing or two.  I'll show them who's a serious knitter!  And who knows?  Maybe I'll even buy a Midge.  Why should Barbie have all the fun wearing my original haute couture designs?    

GRIMM TALE DISCOVERED .... MAYBE

Everyone is familiar with the folk tales collected by the Brothers Grimm.  What instantly separates them from your standard fairy tale is the cruel darkness that pervades all of the Grimm's twisted little stories - the hungry witch in Hansel and Gretel, the egomaniacal Rumpelstitskin, the conniving Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella's selfish step-mother and step-sisters, the evil Queen so jealous of Snow White's beauty.  These are are all deeply scarred individuals who are in serious need of psycho-therapy.  Well, maybe not the wolf, as he is only doing what wolves naturally do.  (Though his affinity for nightwear worn by grandmotherly types is rather suspicious.)  But in each of the over 200 published Brothers Grimm tales, there is always someone who is rather sadistic in nature.  And while these villains usually get their comeuppance, one must question the intent of the famous brothers for having put such hideous behavior into what are, after all, children's stories.

So a couple of weeks ago, Halloween night to be exact, Cathy sends me up to the attic to search for some yarn that she says is stored in an old cedar chest.  She claims that the yarn and the chest belonged to her grandmother, a rather eccentric German-born lady whom I had the pleasure of knowing for a few years before she passed away.  "It is time to sell all that ancient yarn," Cathy declared.  "Maybe we can get a dollar a ball."  So candle in hand, I went up to the attic and proceeded to search for the old, dilapidated chest.  Imagine my surprise when after finding it and after emptying it of its woolly contents, I found a secret compartment in one of the side panels.  It didn't take long to figure out how to open it.  And what did I find?  A few sheets of paper, browned with age.  They were handwritten in German and had the following intriguing title on the first page - Ungeschickt Clara und die Magischen Stricknadeln.  My German is limited to the following words:  Kartoffelsalat (Potato salad) and Gesundheit (Gesundheit), so, of course, I had no idea what the title or the content of the few pages were about.  But I did recognize the signatures at the bottom of the last page.  Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm.  "Gott im Himmel!" I exclaimed.  The very next day I took it to my good friend, Hans Hotterdenhell, the best knackwurst maker in the greater Chicagoland area.  He quickly translated the pages.  My next step is to have the papers authenticated to see if this truly is a lost Brothers Grimm tale.  I will have to travel to Germany.  In the meantime, I'd like my faithful blog followers to be among the first to read this very interesting folk tale.  So I now present to you the English translation of:

                                 CLUMSY CLARA AND THE MAGIC KNITTING NEEDLES

     In a small village, close to what is now called Dusseldorf, there lived a teenaged girl named Clara.  She lived with her mother, a very disciplined woman who was acknowledged by all her neighbors as being the best knitter in the village, if not the whole kingdom.  All the townspeople proudly wore sweaters and hats and scarves and mittens that had been knitted for them by Clara's mother.  There came a time when it was decided that Clara would have to learn how to knit.  A most severe form of arthritis had struck Clara's mother, rendering her hands practically useless.  Alas, Clara was most inept when it came to knitting.  She was quite good at milking cows but totally useless when it came to any kind of handiwork.  Try as she might, Clara could not pick up the essential elements of that most glorious of crafts.  She would be instructed to cast on 24 stitches and ended up with 87 crooked little knots on her knitting needle.  Then, she could not grasp the difference between a knit stitch and a purl stitch.  Two simple rows of 2 by 2 ribbing turned into an adventure in advanced mathematics.  Clara's mother tried desperately to fulfill her orders for new knitwear but her arthritic pain was too great.  "Worthless child!" she screamed at Clara.  "We will starve to death unless you pay attention and learn these simple steps."
     Little by little, the orders for knitwear began to dwindle.  Clara and her mother lived on nothing but the milk provided by the solitary cow they owned.  Soon, Clara's mother went into a deep funk, the type of depression that left her unable to get out of bed in the morning.  Twice a day, at the time for milking, Clara would confide in her cow.  "Oh Snooki (she was a purebred Jersey cow), what am I going to do?  Mother cannot make any money due to her crippling arthritis and I am as clumsy as can be when it comes to knitting.  A total klutz."
     Snooki the Cow responded with nothing but an empathetic, "Moo".  A donkey, the only other animal in the barn, let out a comical, "Hee-Haw!" as if laughing at Clara's dilemma
     And then one day, the King's Herald came to town. He was going from village to village announcing the marriage of the King's only daughter.  A major award would be given to the person who made the princess the most beautiful gown.  When questioned as to what the major award consisted of, the Herald merely smiled and said,  "A major award.  That is all I will say."
     Clara cried all day, even when she milked Snooki the cow.  During the late afternoon milking, the cow asked, "Why do you weep, Clara?" 
     Clara wiped her eyes and replied.  "Oh Snooki, there is a royal contest that I know my mother would win, but alas, she is unable to ---  But what is this?  Snooki!  You can speak?
     "I am a Jersey cow blessed with many gifts, Clara.  But please.  Continue your story."  Though totally dumbfounded, Clara explained the whole situation to Snooki the Cow.  "Arthritis," said Snooki.  "A most debilitating and unforgiving disease.  But Clara, perhaps you are not as clumsy as you think you are." 
     "Hee-Haw," brayed the donkey in obvious contradiction.
     "Quiet, you!" snapped Snooki at her rude barnmate.
     "Oh, but I am clumsy," said Clara.  I cannot cast on properly.  I cannot differentiate a knit stitch from a purl.  When I attempt yarnovers, the yarn slips off the needle entirely.  My cables turn out looking like the hair on Medusa's head.  I am nothing short of a disaster whenever I have knitting needles in my hands."  The donkey hee-hawed numerous times, as if  agreeing with Clara's self-evaluation.
     "Perhaps you are using the wrong needles." suggested Snooki.
     No, no, no," replied Clara.  "The needles are not the problem.  The problem is me.  Mother is right.  I am stupid.  I am incompetent.  I am useless ... except when it comes to milking a cow.  And I am clumsy.  That is who I am and who I shall forever be.  Clumsy Clara."  Another derisive Hee-Haw from the donkey.
     "Clara," said Snooki.  Tomorrow, when you wake up, just before coming to milk me, I'd like you to look under your pillow."
     The next morning, after having barely slept a wink, Clara awoke with a start.  She lifted her pillow and was shocked to see a complete set of knitting needles from a size 0 to a size 35.  There was even the always bizarre size 10.5.  Clara ran to her mother's room.  "Mother, Mother!  Look!
     Her catatonic mother looked absent-mindedly at the set of needles.  "Ivory," she mumbled.  "Quite rare.  Even has that goofy 10.5.  Hmm.  Clara, fetch some yarn."  Clara quickly brought her mother a basket overflowing with yarns of varying types and colors.  "Clara, take the red silk yarn and the size 5 needles.  Cast on 28 stitches."  In less than a minute, Clara had cast on 28 very, very even stitches.  "Very good, Clara.  Now knit one row and then purl one row."  Again, Clara had no difficulty whatsoever with her mother's instructions.  The black cloud that had been hovering over Clara's mother's head, ever so slowly began to vanish.  "Excellent," commented Clara's mother as she inspected her daughter's work.  "Not too tight, not too lose.  Now increase the next row to 35 stitches."
     Clara did some quick calculations in her head and said to her mother, "I will add a stitch after each set of four stitches. Do you prefer a yarnover or should I knit an extra stitch in the back of every fourth stitch?"
     Clara's mother beamed.  You choose, dear."
     It should surprise no one that Clara went on to knit a most elegant multi-colored silk gown for the Princess.  She was the clear winner of the contest.  Her major award consisted of nothing less than being asked to marry the Princess's younger brother, Prince Fritz.  At their wedding, they feasted on roast donkey, the very same donkey that had so unwisely ridiculed Clumsy Clara.  After the wedding, Clara, her mother and Snooki the Cow moved into the King's castle where they lived happily ever after.

                                                           THE END



         
    

HALLOWOOLEEN

Every now and then the public should consider grabbing hold of a tradition and shaking it up a bit.  Take, for example, the great Broadway musical  ¨Fiddler on the Roof¨.  It´s main theme is the destruction of tradtion. The Jews of early twentieth century Russia are forced to change habits that have served them well for years and years, but they slowly learn to adjust to these cataclysmic changes in their lives.  Then there is Baseball.  In one of the two Leagues, the designated hitter rule radically altered the game by not having the usually weak-hitting pitcher hit.  Do I personally like that this rule exists?  Not really.  But has it destroyed the game of baseball?  Of course not.  It has created a brand new tradition that many people enjoy.  I myself cannot deny that some games have multiplied their level of excitement by having that extra strong bat in the lineup.  I could cite further examples of how the altering or even the destruction of certain traditions have made certain aspects of life a little more interesting.  But it is time to talk of one well respected tradition that I would like to vary just a little bit.  Halloween.

There is argument about the exact origins of Halloween.  Some scholars cite ancient pagan traditions while others specify a definite Christian beginning.  But no matter how it started, the term ¨trick or treat¨ certainly doesn´t carry the impact it used to have.  The ¨trick¨ part is pretty much an idle threat nowadays.  On second thought, I would bet that the amount of eggs and shaving cream purchased on the 30th and 31st of October is probably a little higher than normal.  But anyway, the concept of - If you don´t give me a treat, I might do some serious damage to your property. - is pretty much history.  But what if we were to offer a brand new alternative to the word ¨trick¨?  Something that is certainly less offensive, having no element of danger whatsoever.  A word that will offer an interesting choice for the typical costumed trick-or-treater.  What about the word ¨Knits¨?  Knits or Treats.  Yes, I like the sound of that.

Here´s how it would work.  Like always, kids dressed up in silly costumes would come to a door, ring the bell  and yell out ¨Knits or Treats¨ to the home owner.  The home owner might then say, ¨Well, Mr. Frankenstein, you look like a lad who could use a little bit of knitting in his life.  So here´s a nice ball of 50% wool and 50% silk for you to play with.  Now you be sure to have your mom or dad take you to your local knit store tomorrow so that you can purchase a pair of knitting needles.  I´d recommend a 12 inch long, size 8 for this particular ball of yarn.  And you be sure to knit a small square so you can get a proper gauge before you actually commit to a project.¨  Soon, children all over America would take up knitting and every 1st of November there would be a run on knitting needles. 

There is one small problem with this tradition-busting concept of mine.  The Candy Industry.  They would not be pleased.  If this idea of mine took hold, their October sales figures, which undoubtedly are in the billions, would plummet drastically.  And what if my unorthodox idea went even further and instead of  ¨trick or treat¨, we would have ¨tricks or knits¨?  I would be a marked man.  The Candy Industry would put out a contract on my life.  I would have to go into seclusion.  But it would be worth it as Cathy´s business would be absolutely crazy in the month of October and I´d finally be able to buy myself that double extra-large vicuña sweater I´ve always longed for. 

YARN SAVES EARTH FROM MARTIANS!

There are two things that come to mind when I think about H.G.Wells classic science fiction novel, “The War Of The Worlds”.  First is the famous 1938 radio broadcast by Orson Welles.  Now there was one slick fellow.  Welles, not Wells.  He wasn't called an enfant terrible for nothing.   He had dramatized the novel in the form of a newscast so when people who hadn’t heard the introduction of the show tuned into it, they actually thought the Earth was really being invaded by Martians.  Quite a number of people freaked out.  The second thing I remember is that the ending in the book had such an unexpected twist to it.  In the story, the Martians were a far superior race than the people of Earth.  Their weaponry was way more  sophisticated so they had little trouble in conquering the Earth.  But an unexpected ally came to the rescue.  Microbes.  The Martians had no natural defenses for microbes.  For earthlings these were the type of bacteria that would give us a common cold or perhaps an allergy of some sort.  But for the Martians, these basically invisible creatures were totally devastating.  Even though they had humiliated the people of Earth and were clearly in control of the planet, it wasn’t long before the Martians started dropping like flies.  While Earth  did emerge victorious, it was left to clean up a huge mess and it was forced to face the fact that it wasn’t the King of the Hill it thought it was.

I have great respect for H.G. Wells.  He wasn’t what I’d call a riveting writer, but the fact that his imagination came up with such a wild tale way back in the nineteenth century when space travel was barely a dream, well, you do have to tip your hat to him.  But had I been around back in the late 1800's and had I had the pleasure of knowing Mr. Wells, I might have given him the following unsolicited literary advice.

“Herbert, it’s a damn good story but it is drier than the Mojave Desert.  You need to inject a little humor into this massively depressing tale.  What about this?  We throw out the microbe ending.  Let’s have the Martians die of something else.  Something really unexpected.  Now earlier in the book you’ll have to develop the idea that the Martians had a keen sense of fashion.  You would go into great detail how first, their fighting armor and then, their everyday clothes were more original in design and in materials than anything the earthlings had ever come up with.  You would have a chapter detailing how, even though the Martians had little respect for anything made by man, especially their insignificant weaponry, they would have been quite smitten with the concept of knitwear.  You know, sweaters, vests, scarves, hats, the whole works.  It turns out that Martians have no equivalent of wool back home in Mars so they were terrifically fascinated by the whole knitting industry.  Once their invasion was pretty much under control, the Martians would have quickly learned how to knit and how to make pretty things for themselves.  But here comes the kicker, Herbert.  There would be something in sheep’s wool that would be absolutely deadly to the Martians.  It would be so itchy that all the Martians would be unable to stop scratching, even after they took off the offending garment.  Yes, Herbert, they would scratch themselves to death.  Yarn would have saved the day.”

Now H.G. Wells might have liked that suggestion or he might not have.  But one should never underestimate the hidden power of yarn.  Years from now, when the first astronauts finally land on Mars, if I were NASA, I’d have them take a ball or two of really itchy wool yarn, just in case.      

STASH

Knute’s International Knitting Dictionary defines the word “stash” as follows:  Unused yarn which is discreetly stored in a house, apartment, garage or any other space with storage capabilities.  It goes further and states that there are three types of stashes. The first is described as yarn that is specifically earmarked for a future project.  The second is defined as yarn that is left over from a finished project.  The third type is bluntly described in the following manner:  Yarn that was bought while suffering from temporary insanity, without a specific project in mind, and that will most likely never be used.  These definitions demand further analysis.

The word “discreetly” intrigues me.  I myself have only been knitting for a little over a year so I have not had the opportunity to amass what could be considered a MONSTER STASH.  Indeed, I am a little ashamed to say that my stash consists of two bags of yarn.  Is my stash stored in a discreet manner?  You bet.  With such a miniscule amount, how could it not be?  But what of people who have copious amounts of unused yarn?  “Discreetly” suggests that this extra yarn is stored in such a way as to be visually unobtrusive.  I’m curious as to whether or not this is true for all knitters.  The only stash I’ve seen is Cathy’s and that doesn’t really count because yarn store owners don’t really have stashes.  Every ball of yarn they have, even if it’s stored at home, could technically be called inventory.  But I really would love to see how people store their excess yarn.  No doubt, there are those that are super-organized in their yarn storing process.  And no doubt, there are those that do their storing in a more relaxed and possibly haphazard manner.  In ten years, when my stash has multiplied in a manner similar to rabbits, I suspect I will be in the latter camp.  But no matter how sloppy it may look to an outsider, if you were to ask me in ten years, “Fred where is that half a ball of pink angora you had leftover from Cathy’s Christmas present from 2015?, I will know exactly where that half a ball is.

Though the size of my stash is small, I can state that I do have the three types of stashes defined in the aforementioned reference book.  One of my two bags has yarn that will be soon be transformed into a blanket.  Not this year, but definitely in 2013.  The other bag has odds and ends left over from already finished projects.  And it also holds one ball of that third type that was so curiously defined.  I should say now that whoever the lexicographer is for the esteemed tome, Knute’s International Knitting Dictionary, he has a twisted sense of humor.  Temporary insanity?   I’m sure there are some of us who at least one time in our lives bought a ball of yarn or maybe two where we later might say, “Yikes!  Why in heaven’s name did I ever buy this monstrosity?”  I caught myself saying this just the other day while I was re-organizing my small stash.

The few times I’ve visited other yarn stores I always make it a point to buy at least one thing.  I might purchase an appealing yarn that Cathy doesn’t carry or perhaps something interesting in the sale bin.  But there was one yarn store in another state where the yarn that appealed to me was stuff that Cathy already carried.  And there was nothing in the sale bin that pleased my eye.  But I had already told myself that I would buy one thing.  Well, I finally made a rather rash decision.  I bought a ball of really ugly novelty yarn.  Why?  I don’t know.  I have no desire to knit with it.  It is truly hideous.  It sits in the bottom of my tiny stash waiting for its moment to shine.  It’s going to have a long wait.  But I insist I wasn’t temporarily crazy when I bought it.  Honest.  I’m proud of my stash.  Even that one mistake of a ball that is better left undescribed.  I suppose I will use it one day.  It would make a lovely wash cloth with which to clean a dirty lawnmower or something. 

RINGO'S STICKS

Everyone is entitled to one addiction.  Mine just happens to be You Tube.  If you don’t know what this is, then please, don’t go looking for it.  You could end up as besotted with it as I am.  As addictions go, I suppose it’s not the end of the world if I, now and then, waste a few hours doing what I call, musical investigative research.  Though it’s not always the music that sucks me in.  I've used You Tube to see old sporting events, documentaries, scenes from favorite movies and so many other fascinating things.   More than a few times I’ve used You Tube as a reference to reinforce a new knitting technique that Cathy has taught me.  But more often than not, it’s the music.  You start by looking up one song and that song leads you to another, and then another, and another, and so on.  Before you know it, three hours have passed and someone’s yelling at you to get off the computer.

So the other day, everything started off very innocently.  I just wanted to see who had the best interpretation of Cio Cio San’s aria, “Un Bel Di”, from Madame Butterfly.  After hearing a number of sopranos emote their way through this beautiful and dramatic piece of music, I noticed a suggested link to a Japanese singer who recorded a quasi pop version of Puccini’s aria.  This led me into the previously unexplored genre of Japanese pop versions of non-Japanese songs.  I’ll tell you right now, the highlight of that research was a version of “The Tennessee Waltz” sung in Japanese by someone named Chiemi Eri.  Around the seven and a half hour mark, I was thoroughly enjoying Japanese interpretations of classic Beatles songs.  At the nine hour mark, I finally decided to end my You Tube fix for the day with the Beatles themselves performing.  By this time my mind was in a psychedelic blur.  Everything was decidedly unreal as my fragile, unfed body struggled to listen to “I Want To Hold Your Hand”.  Suddenly, I’m looking at Ringo Starr effortlessly banging away at his drums and something shakes me out of my You Tube induced stupor.  Ringo is drumming like a madman, but in his hands are not traditional drum sticks, but rather a pair of knitting needles.  For a moment I thought I was hallucinating.  But I kept going back to the spot where they had a closeup of Ringo’s hands and there was no doubt about it.  Size 13 needles.  Possibly bamboo, but more likely wood.  I don’t know if bamboo needles were yet in fashion in the early 1960’s.

Later that night, I’m lying in bed, unable to sleep and pondering the deep meaning of what I had witnessed.  Why was Ringo drumming with knitting needles?  Was Ringo a knitter in those days?  Did he ever try to turn on the other three Liverpool lads to the wonderful world of knitting?  If he had succeeded, could the Beatles’ songs we all love so much have ended up with completely different lyrics?  I finally fell asleep, but all night long, Beatles’ songs with slightly altered titles kept invading my dreams.  “Yellow Submarine” was now “Yellow Sub-Merino”, a song about mustard-colored wool from second-rate British sheep.  “You’re Going To Lose That Girl” was now “You’re Going To Lose That Purl”, a song about some slippery stitches on even numbered rows.  “Day Tripper” became “Day Ripper” which deals with a woman who knits by night but then looks at her project in the morning, doesn’t like what she sees, and proceeds to undo every row and start all over.  “Penny Lane” was transformed into “Penny Skein” a song about a shop in Liverpool where you can buy the cheapest yarn in the world.  “She Loves You” became “She Loves Ewe” which now deals with a woman who will only knit with wool shorn from female sheep.  "Baby You're A Rich Man" changed into "Baby You're A Stitch Man", whose new lyrics tell the story of a woman who falls in love with a man who's a better knitter than she is.  “If I Fell” changed into “If I Felt”, relating the musical story of a woman who is considering throwing all her woolen knitting projects into the washing machine.

And then there’s the Beatles’ classic, “Yesterday”.  Not only did my dream change the title, but some new lyrics were actually conceived by my sub-conscious.  Now titled “I Crochet”, the song begins this way:

I crochet.

I don’t knit, or quilt, or macramé.

All those other crafts are so blasé.

Yes, I’m so glad that I crochet.

Thankfully, the alarm went off and I was no longer subjected to this butchering of some of the greatest songs ever written.  But I would like to share one last snippet of another lyric change that my sleeping self concocted.  The song “Norwegian Wood” begins as follows:  “I once had a girl.  Or should I say, she once had me.”  In my dream, the song began like this:  “I once knit a hat.  Or should I say, it once knit me.”  Interestingly, it then becomes a song about who is really in control, the knitter or the knitting project.  This is a fascinating topic that merits further exploration.  But for now, I’ll just let it be.

T. REX ... AND HIS ARMS

There are those who say that Nature played a mean practical joke on the fiercest creature that ever inhabited this planet.  I speak of none other than that superstar of all dinosaurs, Tyrannosaurus Rex.  Besides his imposing size, T. Rex was given powerful jaws, ferociously large teeth and muscular thighs that are equaled only by the upper echelon of Olympic gymnasts.  But look at his poor arms.  Like an afterthought, those puny little appendages dangle helplessly from T. Rex’s terrifying torso.  He couldn’t even scratch the top of his head with those useless things.  But wait.  What some see as a terrible joke perpetrated on the scariest of dinosaurs might have been a blessing in disguise.  How so?  Well, it is obvious to me that Tyrannosaurus Rex was given the best arms ever for the wonderful art of knitting. 

Consider the arms of a human.  Really, they’re way too long for knitting.  It is because of this length that there are knitters that suffer ailments in the shoulders, and in the fingers, and in all parts in between.  Tendinitis, Arthritis, Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, these are only some of the maladies that one can acquire or aggravate from excessive knitting.  I myself have to be careful when I knit.  Anything more than seven consecutive hours and my left shoulder will bother me for days.  I still can’t figure out why this happens.  But look at a picture of T. Rex.  Those arms might be useless for many things.  The Heimlich Maneuver, for instance.  But they are just perfect for knitting.  Talk about economy of motion.  Talk about unmatched fluidity.  The arms would barely move at all.  T. Rex would have flown through any knitting project.  What beautiful booties he could have knit for himself.  What stunning 50 foot scarves he would have made for his buddy, Brontosaurus.  What beautiful berets he would have knit for the itsy bitsy head of a Stegosaurus.  What elegant horn warmers he would have created for Triceratops.  The list of knitting possibilities is as long as the wing span of a Pterodactyl.

So no, Nature did not make a mistake in assigning those little arms to Tyrannosus Rex.  Nature’s mistake was giving T.Rex a brain the size of a thimble.  With such a sorry excuse for a brain, there is just no way that this otherwise magnificent creature could ever have mastered Fair Isle Knitting.

Those of you who’ve read my blog from a couple of months ago titled “The Alpacas”, know that I proclaimed myself the official Window Dresser of Montoya Fiber Studio.  I don’t know if my article did the trick, but all those stuffed alpacas were sold soon after that particular blog appeared.  Alas, the next shipment of alpacas does not arrive till late October.  So what to do with the windows?  Well,  right now, one of the two window sections has Bert and Ernie, from Sesame Street, proudly exhibiting their love of knitting.  The other window section is being used to visually prove my point that Tyrannosaurus Rex was meant to be a knitter.  Next time you are at the store, feel free to check out this fierce reptilian display of yarn manipulation.       

YARN, YAMS AND YOGURT

No one can state that one cannot exercise while one knits.  At the major international marathon races you will occasionally find a few people who will continuously knit while they lightly jog through the 26 plus miles that a marathon entails.  Granted, these people are not going to be setting any world records, but you still have to tip your hat to them.  But let’s face it.  For those of us who wouldn't dare run a marathon, knitting is a sedentary endeavor.  With traditional knitting you might burn seven calories per hour if you’re lucky.  If you’re one of those folks, like me, who could stand to lose a few pounds, then knitting, as rewarding as it may be, is not going to get you down to your ideal weight.

I’m sure everyone knows that the proper way to lose weight is to eat less than you normally eat and to exercise for a few hours a week.  The pounds will shed ever so slowly, but they will shed.  However, it pains me to think that if I start exercising, then I will no longer have time to knit.  There must be some other way to get that trim waistline.  Well, by golly, there is.  In the tradition of the Scarsdale Diet, the Atkins Diet, the South Beach Diet, the Pritikin Diet, and others, allow me to introduce to you - the Knitting Diet.

The logic behind this diet is so simple that I’m amazed that no one has thought of this before.  The Knitting Diet is based on the concept of the three “Y’s”.  Yarn, Yams and Yogurt.  The proper daily dosages of these three elements will lead to a trim body and lots of finished knitting projects.  Here is the basic daily plan for the Knitting Diet:

Breakfast:  Immediately before eating, a 15 minute walk while knitting.  A word about this.  It will take a little getting used to.  One must not walk too fast in the beginning as this could lead to one’s tripping, which, in turn, could lead to falling and being impaled on one’s own needles.  So for the first few weeks, I recommend using circular needles and easy stitches.  Do not attempt anything with cables on the first day!  Or even the first month.  After the walk, sit yourself down to a nice breakfast of one boiled yam and one cup of plain yogurt.  After eating this delicious eye-opening morning meal, walk another fifteen minutes - while knitting, of course.

Lunch:  No walking before this meal as many are limited to a half-hour lunch.  But if you get an hour for lunch, then by all means do the fifteen minute knit-walk before and after your meal.  This midday meal will consist of one baked yam and one cup of plain yogurt.  Unlike a baked potato, one should not eat the skin of a baked yam.  Though the yam skin is full of nutrients, the taste leaves a lot to be desired.

Dinner:  If you did not walk during lunch, then you must put in half an hour of knit-walking both before and after dinner.  Otherwise, the usual fifteen minutes will suffice.  For dinner you will enjoy two mashed yams and a cup of plain yogurt.  You may drizzle a brown sugar glaze on the mashed yams if you like, or even a couple of tablespoons of maple syrup, but then you must double the walking time after dinner.

There are those who cannot stomach plain yogurt.  I understand your concern.  It took me decades to get used to that taste.  Luckily, there is something that can make plain yogurt more palatable without adding the ton of extra sugar that most flavored yogurts contain.  It is a berry, unknown to most, that is not used commercially, but can be obtained at certain Farmer’s Markets.  It is called the yuckleberry.  Mash up a third of a cup of yuckleberries into your cup of yogurt.  Absolutely delicious.  A warning about the yuckleberry.  It is not very pleasing to the eye, being extremely wrinkly in texture, but it does have a strong, invigorating flavor and very little sugar.  It also cures warts when vigorously rubbed onto those offensive skin blemishes.

There you have it.  Simplicity itself.  Yarn, Yams and Yogurt ( Yuckleberry Yogurt optional).  Now I won’t have to buy 20 balls of yarn for that Double X sweater I was going to knit for myself.  12 balls for a Medium sweater will do the trick, I think.

HEAVEN AND HELL AND KNITTING

I will leave the question of whether there is a heaven or a hell to those who are better equipped to argue such a delicate matter.  Theologians, philosophers, astrophysicists and others who have a professional interest in something so weighty.  But I will go out on a limb here and say that if heaven and hell do exist, then knitting will be allowed in both places.  Not just allowed, but actually mandatory in one of the two. 

When I was young, I devoured books on Norse and Greco-Roman mythology. These fascinating stories had a magical appeal for a boy who needed literary fuel to power up the fiery furnace that was his imagination.  I’ve forgotten most of those stories so I’ve promised myself that one day I will reread as many of those tales as I can find.  While there are loads of forgotten stories, it’s rather curious that I  have no problem remembering those that dealt with eternal punishment.  Those ancient cultures had a wacky sense of justice.  Consider Loki, the Norse God of mischief. Because of one terrible sin, he was tied up to a rock.  A serpent hovered over him, letting its vile venom drip from its open mouth.  Loki’s faithful wife held a bowl underneath the serpent’s mouth so that the painful poison could not reach her husband’s skin.  But every now and then, she had to empty the bowl.  While she did this, the poison, something akin to sulfuric acid, would fall onto Loki.  He would writhe in extreme agony until his devoted wife returned with the empty bowl.  This cycle went on and on and on and on.  Then there was the Greek Prometheus who was similarly bound to a rock.  During the day, an eagle would slowly munch on his liver until it was all gone.  Prometheus was immortal so the liver would regenerate itself during the night.  The next day, the eagle would return and start all over again.  This cycle also went on and on and on and on.  As a final example, I offer Sisyphus.  Granted, the guy was a jerk during his human life (This is a G rated blog so I can’t go into details.), but what a frustrating and horrible punishment he was given.  When he arrived in Hades, the Greek equivalent of hell, Sisyphus was ordered to push a big boulder up an imposing hill.  Just as he was on the verge of reaching the top, the boulder would slip out of his hands and roll down the hill.  Again, this cycle would go on and on and on and on.  We’re talking eternal punishment, after all.  I’m not sure about Loki, but Prometheus was eventually rescued from his cruel fate.  Meanwhile, poor Sisyphus, to this very day, is still trying to get that boulder up the hill. 

I can envision a hell where knitting is one’s eternal punishment.  Picture this:  You must knit a blanket using cheap, synthetic, super-bulky yarn but with size 1 needles.  Every stitch is a purl and every row has ten thousand stitches.  You are doomed to count every stitch after finishing each row.  Now and then, you will count only 9,999 stitches or sometimes you will maddeningly end up with 10,001 stitches.  You will have to go back and try to find the mistake and then correct it.  Occasionally, you have to rip out rows because you suddenly notice that ten rows back, you inadvertently knit a row rather than purled it.  And finally, the blanket has to be long enough to extend from one end of the universe to the other.  Yikes!!  But as bad as this may seem, were I to end up in hell, there are worse knitting punishments that I could be tormented with.  Knitting a yellow sweater for myself, for instance.  And then another, and another, and another, and another, and so on, until the end of time.  (I promise to one day write a blog entry on my aversion to yellow sweaters.)

And then there is heaven.  That place where everything is the pinnacle of perfection.  Here, all your knitting dreams come true.  There is no such thing as a difficult pattern.  Dropped stitches never occur.  All scarves lie perfectly flat.  Everyone knits at a hundred stitches per minute.  I think you get the picture.  I have to wonder, though.  Would endless perfection not eventually lead to boredom?  Here on earth there is a little bit of perverse pleasure in finding a mistake and then fixing it before it gets out of hand.  And undoubtedly, there is a much higher level of satisfaction when finishing a difficult lace shawl that took you a year to knit than when quickly finishing an easy scarf in three days.  Where is the pride of the hard work put into something if all projects are equally easy?  Because of the interminable perfection, might heaven not turn into a different kind of hell?  That’s why these mystical definitions of the afterlife are better left to the experts.  Trying to rationalize the existence of either of those hypothetical places just gives me a headache.  And if I want a headache, I’d rather go knit myself a pair of socks.    

DISQUALIFIED!

Perhaps "disqualified" is not the proper term.  Yes, I suppose “ineligible” is the more appropriate word.  I am referring, of course, to Cathy’s First Annual Design Competition.  The specific details for this contest can be found on Cathy’s website: montoyafiberstudio.com, but I’ll share with you the general story behind the whole thing.

Cathy just started carrying this wonderful new yarn by a Swedish company that I myself was not familiar with (So many yarn companies.  So little time.).  The yarn is called Kashmir Alpakka.  As the name suggests, it is an alpaca-cashmere blend.  For this contest you have to come up with an original design using three skeins or less of this lovely wool.  There are other rules, and they're all on the website, but those are the two most important ones: Original design, three skeins or less.

I was thrilled when I first heard Cathy’s idea not too long ago.  I was going to temporarily abandon my other ongoing knitting projects and devote all my energies to the contest.  But then, Cathy nonchalantly informed me that I would not be allowed to participate.  I explained to her that there wouldn’t be any conflict of interest as the people voting would have no idea that I was married to the person running the contest.  Alas, Cathy did not budge.  Well, if I can’t win the contest, there is nothing wrong with my divulging the strategies I was going to use to win the $100 gift certificate.

Before I was given the bad news, I had already narrowed the possibilities of my designs to two options.  Because each skein is only fifty grams, one is limited to a hat or a baby sweater or a neck warmer or anything that doesn’t require much yarn.  A baby blanket would have been my first design option but three skeins is really cutting it close.  So instead, I opted for a hat. 

I will freely confess that I am not much of an artist, so coming up with a beautiful design based solely on artistic ability was out of the question.  But one can also be creative in a totally haphazard manner.  The drawing-outside-of-the-lines philosophy, if you will.  My idea was to write out the instructions for different rows from different patterns on separate strips of paper, and then put about a hundred of these different instructions for different rows in a box.  I would pull out one set of instructions for my first row and I would knit as the directions stated.  The second row and all even rows would be purled.  Even total chaos demands a teaspoon of organization.  I would continue pulling out different instructions for every odd row until the hat was finished.  On a small scale I’ve actually goofed around with this concept.  Narrow scarves for about a foot or so.   Here is a hypothesis I’ve developed from doing this random knitting technique:  Ninety one times out of a hundred the finished project will look like garbage.  Actually, even worse than garbage.  Eight times out of a hundred you will look at the project and say, “Hmm.  Now that’s kind of interesting.”  And one time out of a hundred you will have a masterpiece in your hands.  I mean an absolute masterpiece.  There will be beauty and harmony and cohesion and balance and all that other good stuff artists aim for.  This approach is risky, however.  I believe that there is a late July  deadline for having the contest entry in the store.  With this random approach to art, the 100 to 1 longshot masterpiece might occur early or it might occur late or it might occur not at all.  One of those high risk-high reward type of deals.

My other option is a sure winner but I’m still ironing out some of the kinks in it.  Engineering kinks, if you will.  The knitting aspect is not too hard.  A profile of Pinocchio done in garter stitch over a stockinette background.  Here’s what happens when one wears this hat.  Like I said, it has the standard Disney Pinocchio in profile and with his normal nose.  When one wears the hat and one tells a lie, right before your very eyes, the nose on the hat will grow.  If the lie is a real whopper, the nose will extend around the entire hat.  How is this done?  Well, on the advice of a patent lawyer, that is something I cannot share.  As soon as I perfect the mechanics of the whole thing, I will be mass producing these hats and all politicians will be obligated to wear one whenever he or she makes a public appearance.  Right now, when the hat wearer tells a lie, the nose grows, but it grows in a most crooked manner.  I just have to figure out how to get that nose to follow a straight line.  I’ll tell you one thing, though.  My Pinocchio hat would have won the contest.  Guaranteed.  But since I am not being allowed to enter, then that means that anyone, maybe even you, can win this contest.

Creativity abounds in all of us.  I urge all of you to flex your creative muscles and come up with something both bold and beautiful.  I realize the term “original design” might scare some of you, but consider this: There are no more original stitches or combination of stitches left to be discovered.  An original design is merely a person’s unique way of combining and arranging already established stitches or small repetitive patterns.  Throw in the concept of color and the possibilities are endless.  It’s like being a songwriter.  Every composer uses the same notes.  They just use them in different orders.  I look forward to casting my vote for the best finished product.                   

TYKKÄÄN NEULOA

There is a very, very, very elite club that I wish to join.   The members of this club are people who have set foot in every country in the world.  As you might imagine, there aren’t many people who have done this.  Two major obstacles stand in the way of anyone who is seriously contemplating accomplishing this goal.  Time and Money.  I’ll address the money issue a little later.  Having joined the ranks of the retired last year, the time element is not a problem for me.  If someone were to hand me an unlimited free pass for every airline in the world right now, then tomorrow you just might find me in Timbuktu (though I’m not really sure where that is).

I’ll have you know that I’ve already begun preparing for this whopper event.  How?  Well, to start I have been purchasing as many of those foreign language phrasebooks as I can.  You know the type.  They have the basic phrases that every tourist needs to know.  Phrases like:   “Good morning,”, or “How much does this cost?”, or “What is that you are eating?”, or “Quickly, where is the nearest bathroom?”, or even “Excuse me, Mr. Cabdriver, but where exactly are you taking me?”  But do you know what essential phrases are not in any tourist language book I’ve ever seen?  We are all knitters here so I hope you are as outraged as I am because they have omitted the following:  1.) “I like to knit.”  2.) “Are there any yarn stores here?”  Would it have killed the publishers to add these two simple sentences?  Because, let’s face it, if I’m going to go to any foreign country, then I am definitely going to explore their yarn stores.

So now we come to the mysterious title of today’s blog.  “Tykkään Neuloa” is how the people of Finland say, “I like to knit.”  If I am going to visit every country in the world then I’m going to learn how to say, “I like to knit.” and “Are there any yarn stores here?” in as many languages as I can.  Not every language in the world, mind you.  Even I will acknowledge that that is too daunting a task.  Besides, in some languages, terms like “knitting” and “yarn over” and “circular needles” and “mohair” might not even exist.  I seriously doubt that any of the people of those primitive tribes in the sweltering jungles of the Amazon wear sweaters.  Though you never know about yarn stores.  Every little village has one or two crazy entrepeneurs.  But even in what most would consider standard languages, this translating is not going to be easy.  I am fluent in Spanish, so that won’t be a problem.  Indeed, it takes care of a lot of countries.  But that’s it as far as my foreign language knowledge goes.  Ahh, but we live in the age of the computer.  Anything is possible with such a contraption.  Also, I have a secret weapon. 

About a year ago, I began tutoring ESL (English as a Second Language) students at a Community Center in Chicago.  I’ve had the privilege of working not only with Spanish-speaking pupils but also with gentlemen and ladies from Asia and Africa.  Currently, I tutor a woman from Mexico, a man from Ecuador and a young lady from India.  The most exotic language I’ve had the pleasure of hearing in my ESL work was spoken by a former student of mine, a woman from Sierra Leone.  Her native tongue was a fascinating language called Susu.  So here I have access to this Community Center where I am surrounded by people from countries from all over the world.  This will be interesting.  Students at the Community Center are going to be looking at me and wondering, “Why is this crazy man asking me about knitting stores in my country?”

I’d like to share with you the few languages where I have already accomplished my phrasebook goal.  Who knows?  Maybe some of you might soon be visiting one of these very countries.  Feel free to use my research.  Though one word of caution, you’re on your own as far as pronunciation goes.  If any of you are fluent in the languages I include today and you spot a mistake or you can improve my work, then I would be very pleased to hear from you with your corrections and/or suggestions.  And if any of you are fluent in a language not included in today’s list, then please feel free to contribute.  Here goes.

Oh.  I almost forgot.  I said I would talk about the money issue.  Buying airplane tickets to every country in the world can’t be cheap.  But not too worry.  Cathy and I are just going to have to sell a lot more yarn.

SPANISH  -  Me gusta tejer.  Hay tiendas de lana por aqui?

FRENCH  -  J’aime a tricoter.  Est-ce qu’il y a un magasin de tricot pres d’ici?

ITALIAN  -  Mi piace lavorare a maglia.  Ci sono negozi di filati qui?

GERMAN  -  Ich mag zu stricken.  Gibt es einen strick shop hier? 

PORTUGUESE  -  Gosto de tricotar.  Existem lojas de trico aqui?

RUSSIAN  -  Ya lyubyu vyazat.  Yest vyazaniye magazini zdyess?

CHINESE  -  Wo xihuan bianzhi.  Yo meiyu zheli de sha dian ma?

NORWEGIAN  -  Jeg liker a strikke.  Er det et garn butikk her?

POLISH  -  Lubie dzianina.  Czy istnieja dziania sklepy tutaj?

HUNGARIAN  -  Szeretek kotni.  Vannak uzletek kottes itt?

JAPANESE  -  Watashi wa nitto ni sukidesu.  Koko de itodana wa arimasu ka?

KLINGON  -  Ggrzzt aqkh morv pzzanagrakh.  Ddreckh zerph lerkkizt tygvillfr nazg?

FINNISH  -  Tykkään neuloa.  Onko lankakauppoja täällä?

HINDI  -  Maim bunan karane ki li pasand hai.  Vaham dukanom yaham bunai?

SWEDISH  -  Jag gillar att sticka.  Finns det stickning buttiker har?


Fifteen languages down, seven thousand nine hundred and eighty five languages to go.

THE ALPACAS

Those of you with a keen eye will have noticed that there are alpacas of various sizes on display in the window of Montoya Fiber Studio.  They are stuffed animals made in Peru and covered in authentic alpaca fleece.  They are a wonder to behold and a delight to touch.

Some time ago, the middle of last December to be exact, I found myself with nothing to do at the store.  Up till then my responsibilities had consisted of ringing up sales, unpacking newly arrived yarn, putting the correct prices on that yarn, arranging the yarn on the shelves so they always looked neat and tidy, and taking out the garbage.  On this particular day all these things had already been done and there were no customers in the store so I started wandering around.  I noticed that the alpacas looked rather forlorn.  They needed a splash of color in their lives.  I found some unwanted yarn remnants, I grabbed a pair of needles and I began to knit one of the alpacas a scarf.  Nothing complicated.  All garter stitch.  In less than an hour there was a warm decorative scarf wrapped around the alpaca’s neck.  He seemed happier, as if I, with one simple creative stroke, had transformed his life.  His existence was no longer drab and empty.  “Hmm,” I said to myself.  I knew that it was too late for Christmas, but I vowed that I would knit something for all the alpacas for Valentine’s Day.  There were five of them at the time.  Whenever I found myself with some spare time at the store I’d start a scarf or a hat or a blanket to drape over their backs.  Shortly before the 14^th of February my new line, all red of course, was ready.  The alpacas were pleased.  And now that they had personalities, I sensed that they would also like names.  They were christened Zachary, Millard, Rutherford, Grover and Harry, in honor of five of my favorite U.S. Presidents.  St. Patrick’s Day was right around the corner so I found it necessary to inform Cathy that I would be appropriating some of her green yarn.  The alpacas would now be female so the new line would be a little more sophisticated.  Different stitches, different shades of green, that sort of thing.  After all, you can’t just go and dress lady alpacas in all garter stitch outfits and have them all clad in the same boring green.  Naturally, their names also changed.  They were now called Margaret, Abigail, Lucy, Frances and Bess, the names of the respective wives of the aforementioned Presidents.  Frances was sold in late March.  A sad day at Montoya Fiber Studio, but business is business.

Last week while I was in charge of the store while Cathy was away, I declared myself the Official Alpaca Holiday Dresser.  That same day I also issued a proclamation naming me the Poet Laureate of the store.  The Yarn Bard, if you will.  The duties of this office are to write poems for special store events.  Like for whenever the alpacas change outfits.  The way I figure it, the more responsibilities I have in the store, the greater the possibility of Cathy naming me Vice-President of Operations for Montoya Fiber Studio.  Once somebody becomes a Vice-President, then profit sharing is just around the corner.  Anyway, the Independence Day designs naturally involve red, white and blue.  This increase in the amount of color easily allowed for a bolder design element.  The new outfits also demanded some new names.  The four alpacas were now called Ed, Dwight, Sue and Hamilton.  An official poem was begun, though not completed.  And then tragedy struck!  Without my authority and on a day that I was not in the store, someone had sold Dwight.  No names will be mentioned.  The outfits, so carefully designed for each alpaca, were now all wrong as Dwight’s outfit had been split up between Ed and Sue.  The balance, so necessary in all haute couture, was now destroyed.  Worst of all, the poem commemorating the four alpacas was now useless as the alpaca population went from four to three.  I share with you the unfinished poem.  I pray that I have the strength to tackle a new one.

A quick word about my poetry style.  I have always fancied myself a hybrid of Ogden Nash and Sylvia Plath, two poets who have had a profound literary impact on me.  So, without any further ado ….

                               THE ALPACAS ON THE FOURTH OF JULY

                                           Ed, Dwight and Sue

                                          Wore red white and blue.

                                          And Hamilton sported the same.

                                          They went to the zoo

                                          To see Eunice the Ewe

                                          And found her all bloody and lame.

                                          Her wool had turned orange,

This is where I was in the poem when I heard that Dwight had been sold.  Back to the poetry drawing  board, I guess.  Oh yes.  One quick question while I have everyone’s attention.  Does anyone know of a word that rhymes with orange?  You wouldn’t believe the number of unfinished poems I have in my poetry drawer, all because of that troublesome word.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

              

Congratulations to the nine people who successfully completed the crossword puzzle.  You have my respect and admiration as the puzzle was burdened with a few clunky entries and clues.  Alas, only eight of the nine of the entries were eligible for prizes.  Though everything was above board, I felt it best to disqualify my father-in-law’s entry.  Can’t have a family member winning, after all.  And besides, what’s he going to do with a pair of knitting needles?  If I know him, he’d use them for shish-kabobs.  Cathy and I pulled three names out of a hat on May 17 with Cecilia G. winning the Knitters Pride Cubics Needles and Ann L. and Margene L. winning the other prizes, two cute little knitting pouches.  For those who were stumped, here is the completed puzzle.