Leftovers.

Brand new, shiny, gleaming has been left by the way side.  Garage sales fill our newspaper, a weekly run to Goodwill penciled in the calendar.  Reduce, reuse, recycle our mantra out of necessity. 

Previous weekend ribs transform into last nights BBQ pork sandwiches.   Homemade sauce, homemade bread, grocery store avoided, money saved.  Plates greedily cleared.

I've been blessed with a stash of yarn that a great deal of, I did not have to buy.  From the day my needles took off in the Fall of 09, I've been on the receiving end of bag after bag of others RRR lifestyle.  That's not to say the UPS truck never stops here, just not as frequently as my obsession would otherwise require.  My last project was spurned on by my desire to use up, not order more.

Ridiculously cute. 
130 yds of leftovers. 
Not enough for a hat. 
Ridiculously cute. 
I wanted a small bag for small projects.  Something to tote around a hat in progress or that airy little shawl. 
Taking the 130 yds of leftovers and creating something I almost love more than the original intent. 
Making the most of what we have, not constantly pining for something better.  Trust me, purchases were made.  I did not whittle the handles and Elijah did an amazing job of picking out the lining.
Ridiculously cute.

A series of small projects comes to an end.  Casting on a lace vest that may very well erode the last bit of my sanity.  Again, using stashed yarn.  Beauty to emerge from a Ziploc hiding in a dark basement.
Value will be found in whatever the underbelly sends forth.

No Two Snowflakes...

In technical terms it's called SSS~Second Sock Syndrome.  I find a pattern that's calling my name..."Shannon...knit me...I'll look so cute on your feet..." 

Round up yarn, needles, pattern and settle in.  The first one takes shape rather quickly.  Some short row shaping, a little lace, nice!  Sew some seams, voila!! One down.

Wait.  I have to do it again?  The same thing?  I just did that.  I don't want to do that again. 

A full day and half passes before I hunker down and pick up number two.  What should for all intents and purposes be identical, is of course not.  Rows miscounted, right stitches not picked up, corrections made, discrepancies only I can tell.  Seams sewn, buttons attached, two identical slippers stare floppily.  They were calling out for me to knit, but not calling to be knit for me.

Some days, as groggy eyes come into focus and bare feet search the floor for the pair that does fit, my thoughts repeat. 

"Do I have to do it again?"

"The same thing?"

"Didn't I just do this yesterday?"

And then the homepage emerges and I thank God for a kitchen floor that needs to be cleaned of paw prints, again.

I thank God for three children breathing under covers, whether wet or dry, sheets rise and fall, again.

I thank God for a husband at a job before the sun comes up, returning as it goes down,  providing for us, again.

When the hardest decision I can make in a day is if I should play it safe by getting an extra skein, that's when I rejoice at all my agains.

House in order, laundry caught up, bathroom shines, time to pick up needles.  Again.

Grey.

Two Ibuprofen were desperately utilized, fingers and wrists swearing off cotton indefinitely.  An unhealthy yearning for animal fiber remains.  Ultimately, I do love it.  Bamboo lends softness and shine, the cotton will keep me cool.  It is finished.

I thought I knew the plan. I thought it was all laid out, black, white.

But, as with most patterns I follow (I use the term follow rather loosely) I had to improvise a bit. 

My stitch count is tighter, figure it out. 

My waist is shorter, figure it out.

Don't want the hip as wide, figure it out. 

Seldom is life black and white.  Grey rules most days.  Grey makes me use my head.  Grey allows, even encourages creative license.  Grey causes me to reach out to others, not relying solely on my own limited understanding.

One day my kids won't think I'm the ogre that wouldn't just do it all for them.  Making them search for the lost who-knows-what, when I alone am privy to the location.  Having them get their own snack because they can, not because I want to finish one more row.  Suffering consequences out of love not spite.  Embedding deep in their beings not only the ability but the drive to simply figure it out.   Whatever it has been thrown at them. 

Spring arrives.  Shoulders bare.  Umbrella's raise. Grey never looked so beautiful.

cluck, cluck, ugh.

5:20am, frantic chickens baw-gocking, bye-bye sleep, buh-bye.  I used to leap heroically out of bed, robe in hand, racing to the rescue.  Visions of soaring bald eagles, heading towards the highest pine with their feathery cache tight in their grasp. Now I know it's probably a small hawk circling above, or a crow, or maybe a butterfly.  Possibly they wanted to inform the others of a pill bug on the patio and then forgot so they send out the call again, only to forget and again send out the call, only to forget... You get the picture.

Regardless, I'm up.

God has graciously granted me another day that my feet hit the floor.

Currently, surfing seems to satisfy.  A quick check of fb re-assures that life really is pretty darn good.

Thoughts of fluffing house, feeding brood and sending them all off tower.  Ridiculous blue sky with sun, yes sun, is calling my name.  Garden in, a shady spot to watch the youngest romp seems the natural route for the day.  To sit and knit.  Ugh, knit.

When I started my latest project I was drawn to the beautiful lace and the simplicity.  That evil, evil simplicity is what gets me every time.  Straight knitting.  Fifteen inches of sport weight, straight knitting.  Will it ever end?  I'm not that tall, I can make it shorter right?  Am I really too old to wear a midrif?  Straight knitting.  I'd like to chime in here and say how I've been toiling for a month and not getting anywhere but it's only been an official week.  That would be 2 days of employing my brain in lace and 5 turning it to jelly.  Straight knitting.  The goal is in sight with about 4 inches to go, another lace border caps it all off so cognizant functions should return.  In the mean time I'll be searching out my sunbeam.  If this is as hard as my day gets, than hens cluck away.  My own are slowly emerging, so it begins.

Casting On...

Wet hens are not mad.  I know, I have 15 hens.  They are seldom, if ever, what I would call angry.  Wet hens are determined optimists.  A sprinkle from above does not deter their focus on the goal.  Only when the rains come down, do the worms come up.  Wet hens are patient.  The heavens may open up.  Minds unable to comprehend such massive amounts of water being held in fluffy clouds.  We watch in awe as gutters overflow.  A hole dug by persistent, young hands becomes a wading pool.  Hens gather together.  Keeping each other warm, while they wait.  Clouds wane, worms come up. 

So begins a new venture.

Casting off the old and heading into where only He leads.

When I began my first blog I was a new stay at home mom, fresh out of the wine industry, culinary degree under my belt and deeply in love with all things food.

Three years later, I am first and foremost a wife.  One who enjoys snuggling up on the couch with my husband and a good vintage port, no longer pining for the 'industry'.   I am a mother who knows the meaning of every sound, scent and eye roll my three kids try to hide.  I will always love food.  I will create what I can, but have no qualms buying it when necessary.  Fresh bread is a staple, but a loaf from the store currently resides in the pantry.  Homemade granola is nestled next to the Frosted Flakes.  I garden, but am not a gardener.  I plant three times what I need to account for the inevitable failure by my own inattention, weather or feather.  Finally, I knit.  After years of anxiety ruling my being, I picked up needles and cast on my first scarf.  Well, what was supposed to be a scarf at least.  When I knit, I am calm.  When I knit, I can think, I can pray, I can ponder and I can relax.  When I knit for someone else,  I am thinking of them with every little stitch.  Frustrations are worked out, love is worked in.  Insights gained with each new skein.  Making intricate beauty out of flat and straight.  Seeing what will be, not what it is now.

The Wet Hen Chronicles, will tell the story of phase two.  In knitting terms FO's are finished objects, projects completed.  Rest assured, there will be plenty of knitting.  UFO's are un-finished objects, projects I'm currently working on, the kids will remain UFO's indefinitely.   All else would be WIP's, works in progress, the garden, baking, me, simply life day to day. 

Determined optimist, patiently waiting.  A lofty goal but a goal none-the-less.

Casting-on.