From the Land of Sheep

The in-laws went to New Zealand this spring and brought back a number of amazing things.  While they won't let me practice the didgeridoo or the giant hunting boomerang they bought back, I did get to keep this:

 A sheep pelt, two balls of Ashford worsted weight yarn, and some spinning fiber.

Ashford is a New Zealand company...the wool is from New Zealand sheep (because there are so many of them there).  My spinning wheel is an Ashford Kiwi (similar to this one).

I have mixed feelings about the sheep pelt.  If I had a sheep farm, it would be a no-kill operation: wool only!  But knowing that a lot of the sheep in New Zealand are raised for meat, I guess I am glad the pelts can be used, too. And it is very soft on my feet when I sit and knit....

New Arrivals

I've had several new arrivals lately.  This one is from my friend Pete at the DOT who takes a trip to Iceland each year to take amazing photos of the 24-hour daylight.  He picked me up some lovely Icelandic yarn.

Three skeins are Alafosslopi  a bulky weight.  The fourth is Lettilopi in what appears to be a light worsted (DK maybe?).

Also, I heart the bag it came in.  Viking Sheep.

It is a little scratchier than the yarn I usually tend towards, so I am not entirely sure what to make with it.  Something felted?  Mittens?  More sheep like I did with the last Icelandic wool I got?  Suggestions?

My Icelandic Knitting

I would like to be able to say that I actually went to Iceland to do some knitting.  That would be neat, no? 

But instead, I have to rely on friends to take pictures of my already-knitted items in exotic locations.  Remember this sheep I knit last fall?

DOT friend Pete took him along for a little sailing in Iceland.

See him on the prow?  Or are you too distracted by the beautiful sunset?  The sheep was actually knit from Icelandic wool that Pete brought me from his last trip.  It's only fitting that the sheep got to go back to its homeland.  Birthright Trip for sheep.

And the fire and marshmellows I made last summer?

They went on vacation, too!

Isn't that ice amazing?  It looks fake.  It isn't.

Pete is an amazing photographer (he did the 2010 Vagina Monologues Benefit Concert pictures for us!!), especially when his subjects don't include suspiciously-difficult-to-photograph knitted sheep.

Seattle

Was in Seattle last week.  The weather was soooo nice after the 90+ weather in DC.

I scored some pepper jelly at the market.  Yummiest stuff ever.

I discovered the Gum Wall.

People have been sticking their gum up on this wall for almost 20 years.  They gave up trying to get the gum off the wall after the first couple.  It is ten inches deep in some places...

And a knitting store (of course....):

The store is hidden up in what looks like an apartment building.  Will show you the yarn I snagged later when I find my camera.

Washington (State, not District)t

In Washington this week.  I lived in Seattle (well, Sammamish, which is near Redmond, which is near Bellevue, which is near Seattle) in junior high/first part of high school.  This is what I looked like when I lived there:

I'm the middle hottie.

Oooo, even better

I went through a yea-my-hair-makes-me-look-like-a-my-little-pony-so-what phase for a while there.  I think the precisely matching sweater really rounds out the ManicPanic look.

I am told by the Seattle Knitters Guild that there are 12 yarn/fiber stores in Seattle alone.  Just sayin'

I Only Sort of Knit My Way Through Europe

I have been doing a poor job of blogging lately (I would blame my crappy internet connection, but it is mostly just pure laziness on my part).  I promise to get back on the bandwagon starting with a couple posts on my travels in Europe and a recap of my various summer knitting projects (all of which are WAY too hot to be knitting in this 90 degree weather).

I did a pretty good job of knitting my way through Europe.  I got the vast majority of my sweater done on the airplane (helped along by the fact that we circled around for an extra hour on the way home....)

I also knit my way through a ridiculously long line outside the Musee d'Orsay in Paris.  We had skipped the Louvre because there was a FOUR HOUR LONG line just to get in there and opted for the one hour line to see the Impressionists instead.  Worth it.

Porpoise took me to a yarn store in London which was quaint and lovely. 

But I scored in Dublin at This is Knit.

Acquired some British wool that was promptly wound into a ball to become a shawl.

 Again in Dublin was the findings at the Museum of Ireland. 

They apparently keep finding perfectly preserved things in the bog like this hat from the late 16th century (also saw some creepy looking bog bodies in the British Museum that I avoided taking pictures of).  It is old and yet perfect.

And these mud-avoiding shoes that Johanna says must have been the inspiration for much of Lady Gaga's footwear choices.

Successful fiber-related travel, I would say.

The Trials of a Monolinguist

Dear 7th Grade French Teacher,

You may not remember me; I took your class for one quarter back in nineteen-ninety-whatever.  I was the girl who wheedled you into letting me bring crepes to class for extra credit so I wouldn't have such a "bad" grade.  I know you probably chuckled at what I considered a bad grade, but it really was the lowest I had ever gotten (and still have yet to get) in my life.

At the time, I blamed you as unfair and mean.  I insisted on the accuracy of my pronunciation and my mad skillz at playing Battleship in French.

But as I wandered the streets of Paris this week, I had a revelation: I actually am quite terrible at French.

Most of my conversations when something like this:

Me: Um, donde esta le Tower de Eifel?
My Victim:  Something very friendly in very fast French.
Me:  Ooooo, um, yea.  Forgive me as I ask you this, but...English?  I hope?
My Victim: Shaking head slowly while giving directions in perfect English.

I tried so hard not to confirm every stereotype of monolinguistic Americans, but things did not go so well when my poor victims knew less English than I did French.  I spent an excruciatingly long five minute trying to act out the concept of tap water to a pleasant young waiter.  Apparently, I am not a very good actor, as my pantomime of turning on a facet, filing a glass, and taking a sip was met with baffled silence.  His solution was to bring no water at all, presumably because he wanted to see if I would once again act out this sequence.

For the two days I was going to be in Paris I would have been just fine with only limited language skills if it weren't for one magazine ad that left me racked with curiosity.  On the table in the hotel room was a tourist magazine with info about various activities, one of which was visiting the Hustler Club for "women, women, women" (a word I knew from the door of the "toilets").

I had little desire to go to the club itself, but I just HAD to know how you pay a young woman for her services.  One and two Euros come in coin form, you see, which would cause problems for tucking them into various straps of tiny bits of clothing.  Did Europeans always tip with fives, tens and twenties?  Or did the women carry purses or place change jars strategically around the stage?  I wasn't about to go to the club myself and couldn't for the life of me come up with a charades version of "how do you tip a dancer at the Hustler Club?"

All of this is to say that my French was never good, even in 7th grade, and that "je detest le zoo" and "bonjour mon petit chu-chu" will only get me just so far in life.  I totally deserved that "bad" grade.

Sincere apologies,

JoAnna

Europe! Here I come!

I am headed off for nine lovely days in Europe.  I will be starting in London for a little:

And then to Paris for a couple of days of:

And finally to Dublin for a bit of:

Prolly will be having too much fun to post ;-)  See you in a bit!