Bag n' Basil

I've been plugging away on my orange bag that I may or may have not previously mentioned ... a bag to hold the recycling that I actually take to the recycling place (as opposed to put out at the curb) so that I can get my nickles back. Nickles back from the state, as in cash money, not Nickle Back the religious band.

Anywho, I had a problem where every eight or so rows I would twist and turn and knit my yo before my stitch and though it was on the bottom of the bag, it still made my eye twitch which usually means RRRRRIIIIIIIPPPP. But this was the bottom of the bag where only grimy dirty bottles and cans would see, so ripping wasn't totally necessary, if I could only tinker down and fix it. Ha! For the life of me, I could not figure out how to tinker back and undo my goofs. I tried and was unsuccessful. Heck, I even sought help that was not helpful. Which, it turns out, is because I am a dummy! You see, the yo's were adding stitches every other row so even though it looked like the goof was on the first or second stitch, it wasn't. It was way down in there. I needed to ladder down at stitch ten or twelve not one or two ... and this is making NO SENSE. But let me just say that I was sitting in a comfy chair, with my feet soaking in a massaging, bubbling, pedicure bath while my husband worked on the computer on some boring work thing when TADA! The light bulb went off. Unfortunately, due to home remodeling projects, Boo and I were trapped in the same room and he was working and had told me I was only permitted in the room if I promised not to talk to him and so I was unable to share my TADA moment. But in my head? I did a cartwheel and let out a WHOOP! I was WAY IMPRESSED with myself. I mean WAAAAYYYY IMPRESSED. So, the light bulb went off, I figured out my goof and fixed one of them. The I fixed the other. Then I went to fix number three, then final goof, and hubris kicked my ass and somehow I unraveled something critical and the next thing you know, I am ripping back to the cast on row. Which, fortunately, I was able to salvage as I couldn't make the cast on work and someone else did it for me. The lesson being something along the lines of don't get so cocky or you'll take a cock in the ear. Well maybe not, but there is a lesson there. But all is well now, and I am plugging away and the bottom is no longer twisted and I am happy AND without an eye twitch. Score.

Speaking of score. With my bountiful basil I have had to branch out since pesto is yummy, and creamy pesto is yummier, but too much pesto is tedious. So, I branched out and made this salad and it was DELICIOUS! I suspect she has a real camera as her picture looked like that and mine looks like this:



Do not, however, let my crappy photograph dissuade you from making this salad, you know, if you are tomato-mozzarella-basil-salad inclined. It was quite good, both alone, and in leftover form as a topper to my steak. In fact, I am making more tonight!

Delectable

She looked so damn cute, I just had to share!

W-w-w-wwwhhheeewwww

Barely, but yes!



Now listen Dummy! Don't do that again!

C-c-c-cccrrraaapppp

Binding off ... EZ's sewn bind off ... Will I make it?

Bling II

I never did my F.O. blog post on my pink sparkly sock because I didn't like how the pictures came out.



I kept thinking that I would ask my husband to take pictures of my socks but it never came up. Or, I would think of it when he wasn't home. Or, I'd think of it when he was mowing the lawn. You know, at all of those opportune moments.



And, at some point, I totally forgot that I had shitty pictures I wanted to replace. Then I broke my foot, got a sexy new shoe, and decided to wear hand knit socks every day and create a photo journal of them (which I will be posting because a) I am a dork; b) I am lame; c)'Cause I want to, so there!). It was about this time that I remembered that my pink sparkle socks were never photographed nicely and, being that my feet were two different sizes - pregnancy minor swell and broken shit major swell - the nice pictures were no more than a pipe dream. Which, kinda sucks but really, in the grand scheme of things? No biggy.

But then, because yes, I am a drama queen and there is always a BUT. THEN. But then, my sweet angelic little love child decided to play with the pink sparkle socks, and how could you blame her? Pink! Sparkle! Hello? But then, her play resulted in one being left under the desk in the office and the other being buried in a load of laundry. This might not seem like it is worthy of a BUT. THEN. but wait! BUT. THEN. My husband did that augmented load of laundry and the sock survived ... the pompom did not!



Now if I had actually done that F.O. post, this would be TEAR JERKING! You would know that:
a) This yarn was a left-over yarn swap for which I only had enough for one pair of peds;
b) Worried about yarn yardage, I was skimpy with the heel flap;
c) The skimpy heel flap was problematic as my shoes ate my sock after a single half an hour wear;
d) I MacGyvered a resolution ... POMPOMS! Pompoms prevented the shoe from eating the sock ... a very attractive speed bump, if you will;
e) Remember that yardage concern, well, post pompoms, I have no more yarn left over. None. Nil. Not one tiny fiber.

Had I finished that F.O. post, then I could have gone with my original post idea which was:

One of these things is not like the other ...



But alas, I did not. So you get a rambling post and I get to relive, through poor photography, how much I enjoyed those pompomed pretties! Oh, and in case you are curious as to what a pompom looks like when it comes out of the dryer ...



This is all that remained in our lint filter. Pathetic, eh? I'm not sure what I am going to do as I can't seem to bring myself to remove the other pompom. I loved those pompoms. For so long as I wear my gimp shoe, which I really hate, I can probably get away with the mismatched pompomedness, though the gimp shoe did eat my sock creating a uncomfortable and slightly painful situation. I suppose I could go out and buy more yarn, but $20 or so for a pompom, that seems a little excessive.

Until I decide, this is gonna be my F.O. post, but it might also be the R.I.P. post too.



Yarn: Berroco Sox Metallic in Guava, #1375.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: Standard toe-up ped, using the cast on, toe, and heel mentioned here.
Time: Two weeks.
Care: Machine wash warm water. No bleach. Lay flat to dry. FOR THE LOVE OF COOKIES DO NOT PUT THIS IN THE DRYER!

Futility

Isn't there a saying that goes something like, insanity is the act do doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result? Although, as I type that, I feel like that must be wrong because isn't that scientific theory? You repeat the same things over and over and if you don't get a different result, well then, hot damn, you done invented or discovered something sciencey? I'm going to vote science and say that despite my many years of trying to grow herbs and killing them, and again trying this year and having things look, well, bleak, I am a scientist at heart. A cautiously pessimistic scientist who decided to fix her broken herbs by adding more dirt to the pots. My husband had the good idea that we should stake the stuff, but when asked to elaborate and explain how we woulod do this, he gave me a shoulder shrug and said, "I thought you said I only needed to help for a moment, this is taking way longer than a moment." You could say he moved past cautiously pessimistic and into, YOU ARE WASTING MY TIME WOMAN! Anywho.

With my husband's help, I went out to tend my plants and add more dirt to their limp broken stems. I didn't have much more dirt, but I used up the rest that I had and built little dirt mounds around the bases. I also used the white plastic herb/plant labels as counter-weights to prop things the opposite direction of which they were leaning. While I was out there, and much to my was-only-suppose-to-have-to-carry-dirt-I-may-have-been-duped husband's dismay, I decided to also trim back my basil and limp weed dill weed. The tomatoes being are left to fate, and she seems to be a cruel bitch.

I had not planned on trimming back anything, and so I had no vessel in which to transport my bounty. Improvising, I borrowed my daughter's lego box lid. I'd like to say that this, like my dirt mounds, plastic label counter-weights and homemade icepack (water with a little isopropyl rubbing alcohol mixed together in a ziplock, left in the freezer for a few hours, makes a perfectly cold slushy icepack) are ingenious. MacGyver-esque. My husband, he has taken to calling me MacGruber. If I could catch him, I'd show him my MacGruber alright. In the meantime, I am going to feed him homemade pesto and he is going to like it.