A Knitting Update

I’ve shirked a knitting update, but I have been busily working away on various projects in the background.

After my Minnesota trip, Liz surprised me with a sock-knitting book in the mail, one that I’d been drooling over: Wendy Johnson’s Socks from the Toe Up. I’ve already finished my first pair from the book, using Louet Fingering Gems yarn from that recent trip and in the process tried out three new techniques detailed therein.

First, there was a new provisional cast-on for the toe. Up to this point, whenever I’d made a toe-up pair, I’d been dependent on the ever popular short-row toe, but Wendy detailed a new way to create gussets and turn the heel (my second new technique). And when I reached the top, there was a new bind-off technique, one which had use knit 1, purl 1 ribbing, then separate the stitches onto two separate needles and graft to finish. The first two were very useful, but I think I still prefer the sewn bind-off. It seems to boast more stretch, as well as requiring less preparatory work beforehand.

However, I will say that Wendy is very clear in her explanations. I’d encountered the above-mentioned bind-off in another pattern, but there were no accompanying photos and the description seemed awkward, so I avoided trying it. This book has several socks that I’d like to try, as well as another heel. And the photos are generous, showing several large color pictures from various angles for each and every pattern.

Here is my finished pair of socks from the Diamond Gansey pattern in the book, informally called the Liz Socks since the book and yarn hold memories of my trip.

It seems appropriate to showcase these socks now in Liz's honor since she is getting married this weekend, and I won't be able to attend. Instead, I will be touching base with old high-school friends at my reunion and sending all my wishes for wedded bliss her way. I feel blessed for my friends, both old and new -- it's a shame I haven't yet discovered how to be in two different parts of the country at the same time.

Book Recommendations

When it comes to books, I tend to gravitate to enjoying the classics. I’ll read recent works, but the details and background given in classics satisfy my desire to get inside everyone’s heads to learn their motivations.

However, in the last couple months, several of the recently published books I’ve read have been quite delightful. I’ll be brief, as I prefer to know as little as possible when beginning a new book, but I hope one of these might tempt you. Here they are, beginning with the most enjoyable.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
This was by far my favorite. I had to read an excerpt based on the title alone, and then I was hooked. The majority of the book is composed of letters among the protagonist (an author) and others in the period shortly after World War II. By happenstance she begins corresponding with a number of Guernsey islanders about their experiences during WWII while they were closed off from war communications. The final section of the book deviates from the epistle format; while I understood the reasoning for this, I preferred the former exchanges. I tend to write down favorite lines and passages I come across, and this had a number, testifying to the authors’ skills to perfectly capture the way things are. The characters are endearing and believable and filled with life.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
It can’t hold a candle to The Kite Runner, but it affected me more profoundly, if that can be. The experiences of the women in Afghanistan through the regime changes are detailed, as well as their loss of freedoms and how others manipulated this for their own aims. It’s a depressing read, but I didn’t feel patronized with a manufactured happy ending.

The Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford
This is the story of a friendship between a Chinese-American boy and a Japanese-American girl, beginning around Pearl Harbor and continuing through internment camps and beyond.

Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri
I enjoyed Lahiri’s earlier work The Namesake, so that led me to pick up this book of short stories. Some are more gripping than others, but I appreciate Lahiri’s rhythm and the accounts aren’t formulaic. I respect an author who doesn’t shy away from portraying realistic endings.

Still Alice by Lisa Genova
The verdict is not yet in on this one. It’s the account of a woman diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s and the transformations in her family relationships as her condition worsens. I haven’t been gripped yet, and I’m a third in, but it hasn’t been discarded either.

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
If you humor me to jump back to books I read last summer, I also recommend this memoir that’s depressing and redemptive all in one go. I might rank this one highest of all, but it’s hard to compare memoirs to novels since their motivations are so different. Walls has experienced quite the life and yet it didn’t break her. Frustrating and hard for me to read, but valuable and one that has stuck with me.

The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
And another short memoir from last summer was one that has made the rounds. I cried throughout as I read his account of facing death and coming to terms of preparing for his imminent departure from his wife and young kids. He sprang to stardom after his lecture of the same name made the rounds on YouTube, and this book was borne from that response.

If you’ve read any good books lately, do share. I’m always interested in discovering new ones to read.

Introducing Dante

Every Christmas, my sister’s and her husband’s cats repeatedly act out the various scenario with Augustine.

Juris and Asher: Wow, we’re so glad you’re here! We’ll be happy to show you the best places to hunt for crickets or spiders, and the window ledges are really wide, which is great for watching everything going on outdoors. Speaking of that, sometimes there’s this cat that comes in the afternoon to see us, and we’re friends, and we watch for her and talk through the window at her, and you might get to meet her. And you can have some of our food and water -- can we have some of yours? -- and we’ll show you how to meow through the doors when everyone is upstairs and…

Augustine: I’m going to hiss at you through this door and hide under the bed, okay? Please don’t try to come after me, or I will be forced to swat my paw at you.

Juris and Asher: Ooh, you have a litter box – can we see?! And then we’ll show you the best closets for exploring and there’s a really awesome jungle gym we play on and there are some really comfortable chairs and couches and then this bed is great for sleeping on and we’d also like to smell you and let you join in our chasing games and chewing on ribbons and bows and…

Augustine: Get thee behind me, Satan!

Lest you think I jest, I offer into evidence the following photo of the first Christmas Augustine met Juris.

Finally, this past year, she started warming up to them, insofar as she could lay on the floor in the same room as them without having a panic attack every single moment.

Is now the proper time to tell you we adopted a new kitten? Yes, we’re gluttons for punishment, but we had been considering a second pet and we saw a sappy news story about how people were being forced to give up their pets during this trying economic time because they couldn’t afford to feed them. So we decided we could certainly feed an additional cat, and Augustine has gotten a little [ahem, quite] portly seemingly overnight, so forced exercise might be a convenient bonus.

We scoured Petsmart and the representatives plying their animals from various shelters, all while trying to decide which feline would freak out Augustine the least. We were leaning towards a male because they seem more agreeable, and age was a strong factor. We hypothesized a small kitten would be perceived by Augustine as less threatening than a peer would have been; her maternal instinct might kick in, or more likely, she could smack him around to let him know the pecking order. I’m sure the cute factor played no part in our decision-making; it was all purely logical because I am a philosopher’s wife and that’s the way I roll.

Enter Dante from a local humane society. Dante is about nine weeks old and weighs two pounds. He’s a sweet, affectionate little guy (Eric’s favorite part). He’s quiet (my favorite part). And he’s polydactyl (our veterinarian’s favorite part). The jury is still out about his response to yarn, although early indications are not promising. There will be continued interventions on this front.


We brought him home and kept him quarantined for just over a week until he got a clean bill of health from our veterinarian. During that time, there arose minimal hissing and growling from Augustine, but they sniffed at each other through the closed door, and later through a screen of sorts that allowed them to see each other.

I hardly dare suggest that they’re friends since it’s been a mere three days of exposure, but the drama has been nonexistent. Augustine has been caught grooming Dante (I know!), and they’ll sleep near each other (more Dante’s doing than Augustine’s). I think it’s safe to say we dodged a bullet. I had prepared myself for months of fighting and animosity, and given Augustine’s prior behavior with Juris and Asher, that was a safe assumption, so you can understand why we’re still in shock that it’s been so anticlimactic.

Eight Months Later

While the pain is still deep, the tears are less frequent now. I think several things have alleviated my suffering, a couple of which I’ll mention here.

One, I was in such a cloud for the entirety of my hospital stay that the experience is this hazy memory. I think I got a total of a (very short) row and a half knit on the first day of bedrest, but my eyesight was such that knitting and reading were out of the question. I dictated work and personal emails to Eric and the TV gave constant coverage of the political scene during the primaries. If I didn’t have evidence of fading stretch marks or the pregnancy experience in general, I would hardly trust my memories. I guess that’s one grace of having been so sick, but there is an irrational part of me that wishes I had been more alert so I could have capitalized on every moment of Katherine's life instead of being unable to control my exhaustion. I understand my body was just trying to recover from the surgery-preeclampsia-HELLP Syndrome trifecta, but the feeling is there.

Two, since Katherine was never brought home, in one sense our house was never touched by her presence. There are memories everywhere – the overflowing box of cards, Julie’s painting, the photos of her and the prints of her hands and feet, small items of clothing both purchased and knit. But there aren’t the memories of crawling out of bed to tend to her cries or holding her as she slept. No memories of her nursing or of introducing her to Augustine or changing soiled diapers.

Just these disjointed, foggy memories of her birth and that beautiful wail she let out as she tested her newfound lungs. Memories of first being wheeled down to the NICU, then trying my legs at walking. Memories of sitting by the side of her incubator and talking to her as I stroked her frail body. Memories of pumping and Eric or Heather running the collection tubes down to her. Memories of the nurses or Eric updating me to her steady progress, then the memories of holding my little girl as she left this world.

Some nights, though, as Augustine comes looking to cuddle with me as I drift off to sleep, I cradle her little ten-pound form in my right arm just so – exactly as she insists – and as she settles down and lays her head onto my chest or against my neck, my throat turns raw and my face constricts as I think about how I wished I were instead cradling my precious daughter.

A Weekend in the Twin Cities

This past weekend consisted of a whirlwind trip to and from the Twin Cities. Late Friday night, Liz met me at the airport, and we spent the next few hours driving and talking into the night.

Caffeine did its part in our trip Saturday as we woke up after four hours of sleep to wander some yarn shops in the Twin Cities.

I did my best to dissuade myself from impulse purchases by trolling Ravelry beforehand and running some advanced searches within my library and my queue for projects that took 750 yards or less of yarn. With that list, I tried to focus and commit each yarn purchase to a specific project.

First stop, Three Kittens. This is where the infamous milk yarn and corn yarn could be found. I bought a skein of each, even without projects in mind. After all, when fiber is made from foodstuffs, it’s practically written that thou must buy. Furthermore, these are what all those “One Skein” books were written for.


Second stop, the Yarnery. Our steps quickened once we saw the “SALE” banner out front. All yarn was twenty percent off, some thirty-five percent off. Those discounts made it easy to pick up some sock yarn as well as some yarn for a baby sweater.


Third stop, Borealis Yarns. This place had some drool-worthy yarns, but I was starting to be overwhelmed. They had some beautiful roving, but with a non-functional wheel, it was easy to avoid that purchase.

Only after much deliberation did I settle on some more Cascade 220, this time for a sweater from a book given to me by a dear friend from high school.


I hadn’t yet shared here the windfall of some amazing books. This fall an old high-school friend offered to let me look through her mother’s knitting books and adopt what I wanted. Her mother was an amazing knitter, particularly specializing in sweaters. I felt so honored to be given stewardship over these books – they’re my own connection to Nancy’s memory. I am now in possession of some Kaffe Fossett, Alice Starmore, Meg Swanson, Barbara Walker, and others. And while I can’t promise I will go to the extent that Liz did to commit to make something from every single book I own, I vow to familiarize myself with them enough and try to come close.

Anyway, back to our trip. By early afternoon, we were spent, both fiscally and physically. So away we drove, Liz dreaming of which projects she was going to cast on within moments of walking in the door, and me berating myself for having no extra needles, thus subjecting myself to working on one of my (three) in-progress projects. Good conversation, barbecue, and coffee continued into Sunday.

Sunday morning, after experiencing some torrential rains, we found my sister, and the second part of my visit commenced. I was able to visit her church and meet some of her good friends, followed by helping her in the studio on her sculpture project. This involved me helping her stir and pour two hundred pounds of concrete.

Then she later dropped me off at the house for the third and final part of my visit. Another friend had offered to let me crash at their place since they’re not far from the airport, thus making my mid-day return that much easier. We spoke a few hours, until society dictated we turn in for the night. I spent a couple leisurely hours with their darling dog the next day before starting my journey home.

First off, I feel I should give a defense for finding the need to include three different knitting projects on a trip of less than 72 hours duration. But each served its purpose, as my fellow knitting readers know. First was the lacy drop-stitch scarf, fairly mindless but the thinness of the fiber made it fiddly and not the best choice during the turbulent flights. Second was the garter-rib sock, truly mindless. Third was the faux-cable sock, which allowed me a little mental engagement. However, the latter required me to follow a chart, and while I wanted to make progress during the weekend, I didn’t want to have to spread out on the airplane, especially if I had neighbors who wouldn’t appreciate my set-up.

In addition to sharing time on three different knitting projects, I read a couple books on my trip. I made progress on Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth and I finished Jamie Ford's Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet. Again, like my yarn defense, I need to be prepared in the literary realm for whatever mood might strike me (I’m hoping you’ve all forgotten that I have nearly 30 unabridged volumes on my iPod, but those are all classics, and sometimes a girl’s gotta read a book written in her lifetime).

All in all, a successful and rewarding trip.

Still Spinning

Quick update on the wheel. I basically have two options.

One, find someone to make a flyer for my wheel. Not very difficult for a carpenter, and if we were closer to home I would try to enlist my father in this project, but this is unlikely since we’re separated by a couple states and I don’t know any woodworkers here in the area.

Two, buy a flyer kit (then the next decision is which type: jumbo flyer, lace flyer, or standard flyer) and tweak my wheel to make it work. Not too daunting, but requiring a little time and money, so that’s going to go on hold until I can decide what I want. Ideally, someone would have an unused flyer kit to sell cheap, but I’m guessing this is also unlikely.

So while those ideas marinate, I’ll show off my newest work. First, I finished spinning singles of my brown BFL and then I made a yarn cake with my yarn ball winder.

Aubrey demonstrated how she plies from a yarn ball. Under her tutelage, I plied and my result was 64 yards of my beautiful two-ply yarn. I still need to wash it to set the twist, but I think I will do so in the coming days.

If you needed further evidence of my growing addiction, over the long Easter weekend, I spun up eight ounces of roving (hand-dyed BFL in the “As Above, So Below” colorway, also from Crown Mountain Farms).

Here’s the before shot of the roving.

And the singles on the spindle.

Finally, the plied yarn, which is just over 215 yards.

The colors are beautiful. Spinning it, I was enamored with the subtle changes from dark greens to aquas and then blues and milder greens. Once you ply it together, though, it becomes more uniform in color. While I haven’t yet measured, it looks like it’s worsted weight, but it’s growing ever thinner – and more consistent – and I haven’t given up hope of creating some sock yarn down the road.

Alas, I have come to a predictable end. My time with the borrowed wheel is in the home stretch, and I am out of roving, unless I count the cashmere-merino blend I was reserving for a pair of thrummed mittens.

A Wheel of My Own

I admit that when I first get something in my head, it consumes me. This is true for knitting, sewing, life in general. That is why it was dangerous to get these spinning lessons and borrow a friend’s wheel. As I began to understand the process and feel more comfortable, I really got excited about the prospect of owning a wheel of my own.

And that’s where the problem came in. Spinning wheels aren’t cheap. I’m borrowing a used wheel that was found on ebay for $150, and that was a great deal. Buying new can easily be over $400, especially if you want the wood to be finished.

And I’m impatient. I recognize patience is a virtue, and I do display a modicum in other areas of life, but delayed gratification is tough when it comes to hobbies. However, much as I wanted to go charge one and do my part to single-handedly turn our economy around, I was ready to buckle down and start saving up for a spinning wheel, which meant sometime this late summer or fall I would be the proud new owner.

I should also add that if you ever cross paths with me on any casual level, you’re likely to know my reigning passion. It goes something like this:

You: Um, could I get help registering?

Me: [shoving my knitted socks or handing you my spindle of newly spun yarn] Thanks for asking about this! I just knit/spun this up! I’m so excited!

Anyway, rewind to Friday. It was no surprise that my coworkers were familiar with my current obsession with spinning. One of them, K, attends auctions. She and her husband find ones that offer items of interest to both of them. She likes the fabric, yarn, sewing machines and kitchen items, and he goes for the power tools. She told me about one of Saturday’s auctions was slated to please them both. There in the list of items were three simple, glorious words: wood spinning wheel.

She said since they were already attending, she’d be happy to bid on it if I gave her what to look for and a top price limit I’d be willing to pay. I was ecstatic. Here I was, drafting some items to guide her, someone with absolutely no idea on what to look for in a wheel (i.e., where I was just a month ago).

She knew the auctioneer and I called to see if it would be possible to get a photo before Saturday. He didn’t have access to the storage facility until 7 AM the following day, but he did tell me he thought the wheel was not an antique and was functional. He speculated it was going to go for around $20-30, which made me think he didn’t know what he was talking about since some people troll auctions looking for long-forgotten spinning wheels.

So Saturday I waited expectantly, since K had both my home and cell numbers. I was all excited when the home number rang – most friends and family call our cell. It was a survey.

A couple hours later, she did call. She said it looked like it worked, but she couldn’t find an identifying brand on it anywhere, perhaps revealing that it was handmade. She added that it looked like a photo of an Ashford Elizabeth that I had sent her with, but she wasn’t sure she should have spent as much as she did given the condition. My stomach tightening with the prospect of paying way too much for a nonfunctional wheel, I asked what she paid. She laughed, since she had me going. A whopping five dollars. The auctioneer started at $35, and with no bids, he kept lowering the starting bid. When he reached ten, K offered $5, and no one else countered, so it was mine! Beforehand, she had also noticed a box of 30 spindles and other accessories that she informed them belonged with the spinning wheel, so she thought I should be completely set.

She brought one of the spindles in to work to show me, and it was much smaller than I expected and was missing the groove I was used to seeing on the other wheels. However, I’m most interested in spinning thin yarn, so even filling one of these, while not as accommodating as a full-size spindle, might still have yielded decent yardage.

I took ownership of the spinning wheel Monday evening. Immediately I noticed that it was missing the flyer (the object that connects to the wheel via a band and as you pedal, it turns and wraps the yarn onto the bobbin), and I strongly suspect the 30 small bobbins I have don’t go with the spinning wheel.

Since it appears to be a homemade wheel, I’m bringing it to my weekly knitting group tonight to take it under advisement. There will be up to three other spinners present that can let me know if we can redeem it. The wheel has a slight wobble, but it treadles smoothly and I suspect once the band is attached to the flyer, the tension will eliminate the slight turn. I’m hoping after taking measurements of a friend’s similar wheel that I will be able to buy replacement parts from Ashford (uprights, flyer, bobbins, new band, and if absolutely necessary, a maiden bar with knobs).

One of the reasons I am considering buying Ashford replacement parts instead of finding someone to make the necessary pieces is that I absolutely love the Ashford wheels, and perhaps someday in the future I will find myself the proud owner of one. In that case, I could use the bobbins/additional flyers as interchangeable pieces.

So right now, my spinning wheel is a beautiful antique of original workmanship. I am able to use my friend’s wheel for a couple more weeks before she moves, and then I hope I won’t have to wait too long – or spend too much – before making mine functional.

I’ll try to update with the verdict on my wheel sometime later this week, as well as show off my first plied yarn (to be accomplished tonight).

Spinning Into Spring

I've learned it's dangerous to say definitive statements like the following: "I will never be interested in learning to spin. I am completely satisfied buying ready-to-knit yarn and not messing around with the expense of purchasing a spinning wheel and then all the roving, adding yet one more step before I get to pull out my needles to cast on a new project."

Someone out there likes to see me eat my words. Sort of like how I once wrote, about three years to the day before our wedding, how Eric and I would never get together, because nice as he was, I just didn't see anything coming from our friendship and he was too smart for me, but I digress.

It started slowly. I read several knitting blogs, and all at once, it seemed, they were showing the before and after photos. Before, images of the roving in wild, vibrant colors. After, the less intense colors of the beautiful, plied yarn. The transformation was amazing.

Add to that, I have three friends with spinning wheels. While I didn't ever see them spin until recently, they all talked of the relaxation it brought them.

While at K's house for dinner a month back, I asked to see her wheel since I hadn't set eyes on it before, and she spun a quick bit, then made a dangerous comment. She offered to loan me her wheel for a few weeks to get a feel for it before their pending move. First, I wrote it off -- I'm busy, I'm not interested in spinning, I don't want to think about buying a wheel if I love it and add yet one more hobby. But the idea marinated and grew more and more attractive, and next thing I knew, I found myself at her place a couple weeks back, getting my first lesson.

I was terrible. I overspun the roving so it was kinking up on itself, not feeding onto the spindle without a fight. I admit that the frustration level was borderline. Creative things happen for me without too much trouble. I like challenge, I don't like constant failure. So there was some bit of me that was comfortable writing off spinning. After all, I gave it a shot and it didn't take. I could check it off my list of creative pursuits and put it out of my head forever.

Then A gave me another lesson last week. And it started to click. I was steady with the treadle, and I understood how my foot and hands were supposed to be working together.

However, I did tell A that as attractive as the idea of spinning was to me, I was almost to the point of being okay writing it off and being satisfied that I didn't have to start saving up for a wheel, and darn her for changing my mind.

You start with something called roving, which looks like this:


Then you thin it out and put in a twist. Here's some of my early stuff while A was guiding me -- notice the thick and thin inconsistencies. We're talking thin as dental floss in some spots and thick as your pinky in others. I'm told to celebrate this now, since once I get better, I won't be able to recreate this. I think this is only about 20 yards.


After my coffee-shop lesson, I went home with the roving A gave and spun up the next batch. I ended up with about 50-yards worth, much more consistent and more of a worsted weight, although the twist is more definite in some areas than in others.


Then I was ready to move on to some of the black blue face leicester from Crown Mountain Farms that I had treated myself to. It was inexpensive but oh, so soft.


I'm a little over half done with the four ounces, and it's my best yet:


It's thin and fairly consistent, and I can't wait to finish and double-ply it, which should be in the next couple days.

So there you have it. The story of how I went from absolutely not considering the idea of spinning to how I am anticipating a wheel of my very own. That's another story, though. (Stay tuned for later this week.)

People have been asking if I will get sheep next. No.

I can honesty say that, at present, the interest to take the fiber directly from the animal -- even an animal I didn't care for -- and then have to still clean and card it before it would be in a state to be spun is not at all there, and the thought of the added steps does not appeal to me.

But we know what happens when I speak in firm, declarative statements, so I'll try to keep my mouth shut.

Thursday Potpourri

This post is composed of unrelated, random stories, so I won't even pretend to tie them together.

My Health
Back in February when I had my appointment, my doctor wanted to run some blood work to have concrete, post- insulin- resistance- diagnosis numbers. Physically, it was clear that I’d found a balance because at that point I’d lost 20 pounds, but he wanted to see the same tests from November run again to make sure the numbers reflected my outward success.

A couple weeks back, I had a message from my doctor that my results had come in and everything was “much improved,” end of call. That wasn’t satisfactory at all, so I called back the next day to hear specifics. I was floored. My cholesterol, already under 200 in November, dropped 72 points. My insulin level, which should be under 10, went from 8.8 to 1.8. My fasting glucose went from 112 to 91. And on and on. It was very gratifying to learn of those results and to have another marker that things were progressing very positively.

My Hobbies
Along with being strict about my dietary restrictions (I only deviate for communion and, last Friday, for a lone strawberry someone offered – the latter sure made me feel guilty!), I’m continuing with knitting and sewing projects. One of my friends had created a cute little bag pattern, and I purchased it from her. I’ve now made four bags, and a couple of them are holding small knitting projects. They’re quick to whip up and they help organize the small projects that I’m simultaneously working on. Now it’s just a matter of which bag to grab rather than constantly throwing individual projects in and out as my whims change.


My Family
My nieces and nephews are all growing up, and on my side, it’s getting to the point that I can understand my sister’s oldest, and sometimes the two oldest, over the phone. Plus, Big Sister has now sent me an email and a text message, which both amuse me to no end. I get a huge grin whenever I see I have an incoming message from her.

I thought I’d share a cute story.

I was speaking with my father a couple weeks back. Since my sister is often at work by her children’s bedtime, my father tucks them in.

Every night before bed they like to pray. From oldest to youngest, they tend to stick to their familiar recitals.

K, the timid second-grader, often prays the following: “Dear God, please don’t give me scary dreams tonight, just good dreams."

Then comes R, not far from starting school: “Please make Mommy be okay, and Daddy, and Chloe [former dog], and Grandpa, and let us see Chloe again, and…”

Finally, the youngest, C, closes with his unintelligible mumbling. He would happily pray all night, but one of two things tends to happen; either Grandpa is forced to eventually cut in with a gentle word of, “That’s enough – God’s ready to hang up now!”, or R suddenly exclaims, “Christian, don’t pray for cookies!"

Not Me! Monday

I stumbled upon a new blog a month back when a friend joined the Not Me! Monday experiment. The goal is to pretend you didn't do what you did indeed do, even confess something by claiming you didn't.

So here are the things I certainly did not do this past week.

I did not get the nerve to travel Washington, D.C. on my own for a couple days while Eric was in a conference, and I certainly didn't use the Metro multiple times, exploring several museums and a yarn shop.


I was not in awe of "Ghost Clock" at the Renwick Gallery, since carving wood to look like a sheet draped over a grandfather clock is not all that impressive.


Since I grabbed a map when I entered Arlington, I didn't get lost when trying to catch the changing of the guard, because I wouldn't cut such a somber event so close.


I did not go to the top of the Washington Monument and take numerous photos from every direction.


And since I mailed a quick note to my mom before we left town, I certainly wouldn't see the need to mail her two postcards and a card while in DC.

And now that I'm home, I don't have achy joints after wandering around for two days in a row for about fourteen hours total.

And for the 72 hours I was gone, I did not feel guilty for leaving my cat alone, stocked with food, water, and a clean litter box. Because there was no guilt, I absolutely did not call our home -- twice -- to talk to her through the answering machine.


Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.