Test

Just sending a test …

It's All about Endurance

Last night, as the clock pushed midnight, I cast off the last row of my second sleeve on my Idlewood sweater. My fingers were cramped from the hours of knitting yesterday, but oh what a feeling!


I cast on this project last Thursday in time with the Winter Olympics (all I did that night was cast on; no actual knitting).

Yarn is Lion Brand Fisherman's Wool in "brown heather" and, aside from being a wee bit splitty at times, it was a great fiber to work with.

Modifications: I knit on slightly smaller needles for gauge (9 and 8 for the body, 7 for the sleeves). Instead of doing garter rows for the edging on the bottom and sleeves, I opted for ribbing instead--4x4 on the body and 2x2 on the sleeves.


I had originally intended to go with a three-quarter sleeve, but to be perfectly honest, I really hate knitting sleeves that are attached to the sweater (it's a pain to shift the bulk of the sweater constantly for tiny rounds) and I decided I'd just be done. I WILL, however, knit this again -- probably with some color work! -- so in the meantime, I will explore options for doing the sleeves on their own and attaching them when I do the body. Thoughts?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Work Pays Off

So I've been knitting away, making myself crazy with row after row of stockinette... The cowl is done, as are the raglan increases and the sleeve breaks. Upside down, it looks like a baby dress:


Right now, I'm totally on track to finish in record time. That is, if this doesn't get in the way:



It's hard to tell, but that's a teeny cut on my right pointer finger... probably my first knitting injury ever. When you work with pointy needles, well... one needs to pay attention to how you work. I always put my finger on the needle as I slip the stitch... and after a while, you get a hotspot and then after a while, blammo!

Ouchy.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Olympic Spirit

So I'm sitting here, watching the opening ceremony recast and I'm making grand progress on my Olympic feat: a new cowled sweater. All this stockinette is going to get really boring really soon... I'm about seven inches in on the cowl.



I've been thinking a lot over the past few days about the "boycott the Olympics" pleas from all over--whether it's because of politics, of poor facilities (honey, anyone?), or because Pussy Riot says to. Now I can't necessarily dispute these concerns, but at the heart of it all, aren't the Olympics about the athletes? The whole point is to cast aside differences and play together...nicely.

And so I watch. Because it isn't about Putin, or Obama, or dogs, or hotels. It's about the athletes who work their tails off to get to this point. It's about celebrating achievements together--even amid conflict. It's a lesson more playgrounds should heed.



Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I Remember

We all have moments that are burned into our minds. Moments that we remember as though they happened yesterday. Some are happy moments, like weddings and births; others are dark, like 9/11. One of my earliest such moments was January 28, 1986.

I still recall how a shuttle launch caused national excitement. How teachers would build up to these moments with hopeful voices, stopping our lessons in time to roll in TV carts so we could watch live. Launches were a big deal--and no one wanted to miss them.

But that day, I wasn't at school. I was home with the flu, recovering under my Granny's watchful nurse's eye. I remember it was cold and gray outside. Colorless. And I remember Gran coming in the living room and switching the channel over to a major network that was broadcasting live from Florida, where the Challenger was preparing to launch with its crew of seven. I remember the astronauts: Michael Smith, Dick Scobee, Judith Resnik, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, Gregory Jarvis, and Christa McAuliffe, the woman who would teach children all over the country as she floated among the stars.

I remember the talk of the chill in the air, of the promised hope of a teacher in space. Waiting for the astronauts to board the shuttle, watching them wave and smile. The countdown. The liftoff. I remember thinking that the giant plume of smoke didn't look it had before. It looked menacing, not victorious.

I remember my 11-year old gut telling me that something was horribly wrong, watching Gran glued to the TV. And I remember the newscasters confirming what my gut already knew. I remember feeling sucker-punched.

The State of the Union was that evening, and Reagan instead gave a moving address. We watched, and something new was burned to memories everywhere:

"The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and "slipped the surly bonds of earth" to "touch the face of God."

I remember that the President addressed the kids who had been watching.

Over the coming weeks, I would collect news articles, magazines and whatever else I could find, devouring all the information I could. I even rigged up a scrapbook of sorts, out of construction paper tied with yarn, to memorialize the event, to mourn astronauts I didn't know.

I don't recall ever watching another live launch in school again.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I take it all back.

For all of the times I've bragged about temperate climates, I apologize. Maryland feels like the Arctic tundra. So. Cold.

I give you a picture of my cowl/shawl in yesterday's brief sunshine.



Word is there may be more white stuff tonight.

-Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Zuzu's Petals

2014 (so far) has been a good year for knitting. Five pairs of socks and counting, and yesterday I decided to whip up what will go on my books as being one of the fastest lace knits ever. Like I said, I started it yesterday, and already it is blocking in the sunshine:


The pattern is Zuzu's Petals, and it's a cross between a cowl and a shawl. It's lovely.



It was a real nail biter, though. As I neared the end, I had visions if running out of my one skein of Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sport...but I made it in under the wire with very little to spare:


The yarn itself was a skein I bought ages ago. It has been marinating in my stash because 1) I didn't have a pattern designated for it; 2) I wasn't sure I could wrangle a pair of socks from the yardage; and 3) well, I haven't had my knitting mojo for the past few years.

Some things are just fated, I suppose. I can't wait to wear this tomorrow!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Felted Sweater Mittens

Years ago, my father-in-law gave me a pair of wool sweaters. I wore them to death, but the stored them away. Not well enough, I'm afraid, because a moth found them.

I couldn't bring myself to throw them away, opting to wear them as an underlayer. Or when no one would see me. I found the blue one the other day and, since I've been felting lately, had a brainstorm.

First, I felted it in the washer.




Yep. Put that puppy in a pillowcase, secured the top and washed it on the hot cycle. Worked like a charm.

Wool fibers have these lovely little barbs that catch on each other and make them stick. The process is irreversible. That's why you don't wash your woolens in the machine.

Anyway, the little guy has been asking for mittens. So...not only did I wash the sweater, I (gasp!) cut it up.




Each cut of the pattern gave me two sides.



Then I got out my needle and thread. This would have been even easier if my sewing machine was functional (that's a whole 'nother story). I hand sewed them together...


Viola! Mittens. Bonus: I still have tons of felt to use (not to mention all the wool that was floating loose in the pillowcase after the cycle.

Bring on winter. The dude is ready.



Wondering what to do with your old wool sweater? Easy peasy!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Oest is the Most!

A few weeks ago, I had the distinct pleasure of attending Cub Scout camp with my middle son. I'll compare the experience to seeing "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2" in that the experience was bittersweet. By this I mean that you spend an awful lot of time waiting for it and a chunk of time enjoying it... But when it's over, it's over.

These are the boys that I've had the joy of being a Scout leader with for what is now going on five years. This last year is bittersweet.

So I made a movie about it. Enjoy. Thanks, you crazy kids, for a wild ride. Thankfully, I get to do it all over again in a few years when Luke joins the ranks of Isett Scouters.

The background music is Bob Dylan's "Forever Young" and I mean absolutely no harm in using it to Illustrate my sentiment. And I'm happy to take the video down if anyone has any problem whatsoever with my using it.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Remember.

Baltimore National Cemetery, Catonsville, MD

My older boys have been Scouts for years, and part of scouting means doing service. Cheerfully. Hands down, one of my favorite events each year is one known simply as "We Remember."

Each Memorial Day, Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts from around the area, representing troops and packs from the Arrowhead and National Pike districts of the Baltimore Area Council converge at the Baltimore National Cemetery to place flags on the headstones of the servicemen and women buried there. Flag placement is followed by a ceremony at the tomb of the unknown (conducted by members of the armed forces and various veterans groups). There are guns salutes. It is a solemn, poignant affair. Bagpipes at this cemetery send chills down your spine, as the eerie sound echoes across the rolling fields filled with row after row of small white headstones representing those who are gone.

The ceremony follows the Scouts' placement of a flag on each grave. We gather at our designated starting points around the cemetery, waiting to be given our flags and permission to start.

It takes mere minutes to blanket the property with the Stars and Stripes, even though each boy carefully measures the placement distance with his foot.

We start out near one of the cemetery's winding roads and fan out where ours rows take us. Its easy to lose track of where you are. In what seems like the blink of an eye, there are no more undecorated stones.


A moment of reverence for a fallen soldier.



That's when I look up and find myself lost in a sea of headstones, each one representing a life of service. Scanning the horizon in awe, I gather my Cub Scout, who is paused in the same moment of reverence. I look around as other leaders and parents are doing the same.

In proper United States Flag etiquette, you raise the banner quickly and take it down slowly. Here, we've fanned out swiftly to accomplish our task and then the poignancy of the moment gives us pause.

We walk back slowly together, and, after I gather my son from his Troop, head up the hill. We pass families paused in front of the headstones of family members. We thank the veterans who have come for the ceremony. Some wear caps that tell us where they served: Korea, World War II, Vietnam. Some are in uniform, still serving. Some are in wheelchairs, with daughters by their sides. My son pauses to shake the hand of one WWII veteran. "We remember," he tells him, reaching out to shake the man's hand.

From his wheelchair, he leans in and wraps his gnarled hands around my son's.

"Thank you."

The Key to Making a Difference



Top image: UN Photo/Eskinder Debebe


About 18 months ago, I dreamt I was in an airport in Rwanda. The structure, on the inside, did not have any of the trappings of an airport situated in the midst of a civil war. Outside, the African sun was burning, bright and hot, an the skies were clear. At eye level, there was sparkling outside the window and a low, indescribable hum. And then, someone near the window howled, and I heard the word "machete" as people began to move frantically. But we had nowhere to run.

Fear, even while in a dream state, sets loose a surge of adrenaline that pulsates through your body like nothing else. As I joined the melee, the terror I felt was palpable. I couldn't shake the idea that I was a sitting duck and that I was going to die on the tip of a bloody blade.

I awoke in a sweat, shaking, and haven't been able to shake that dream since. It's as vivid today as it was that night.

A few months before, my former publisher -- a brilliant, inspiring gent -- posted on his Facebook page that he had just finished reading and had thoroughly enjoyed "What is the What," the autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng. If you don't know of him, he's one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Jim's recommendation was enough; I picked up the book and dug in, and followed with other stories of genocide and the refugees that survived. These stories embedded themselves in my subconscious.


Lower image: UN Photo/John Isaac



My dream, though horrifying, was just that: a dream. As I raced through that airport trying desperately to figure out an escape, I was consoled by the fact that my children were home and safe. Around me, children called out for missing parents, parents for children. If they made it out alive, who would help them? If they had to walk, alone, for hundreds of miles, would they make it? Would they have food? Shelter? Someone who cared? Someone to help them continue to live?



For millions, that support comes from the United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR). I joined the Blue Key Campaign to help ensure that support will continue.

Around the world, millions of people are affected by natural disasters, violence and civil war. Forced from their homes and, in some cases, their countries, they struggle to survive.



The Agency has helped more than 50 million people since 1951. At the end of 2009 alone, there were 43.3 million displaced people around the globe. More than 26 million refugees and 15.6 internationally displaced persons had received help from the UNHCR. Many are children; many have disabilities.

For many of us, $5 is practically pocket change. For a refugee, it can be a key to change. Get your Blue Key to help them. Visit www.thebluekey.org to learn how.

The Blue Key campaign is a project of USA for UNHCR (http://www.unrefugees.org/), which works in the United States to support the UNHCR, based in Geneva.

Stranger than Fiction

I often point out that my life -- mothering three boys, doing urology PR -- can be stranger than fiction. Yesterday it reached a whole new level on the "I couldn't make this up" scale.

Up until yesterday, I had never been in a car accident. And I hope I'm never in another.

I had just picked up my three-year-old from the sitter, and we were following our normal route home, up the hill to the intersection with the stoplight (as opposed to the one without, which I always consider rather dangerous)

It happened quickly, but the retrospective plays in slow-mo.

Pulled up to intersection as always, slowly. (The street has parking on both sides and I live in fear that a child or animal will make a break for it and dart out.) Stopped at the red light. Waited for some goon to do a three-point turn in the intersection on the cross street, even as the light turned green. Then, took my foot off the brake, moved to accelerate and--bam.

A bicyclist came tearing eastbound down the center of the road (I was turning left to go westbound), crashed into my left fender, cartwheeled--with bike--across my hood and dashboard--and fell over to the right side. Thankfully, I was only doing single-digit mileage.

Moved to autopilot. Scout skills. Strong, calm, clear and careful. Stop the car. Check the victim. One bystander helped him get to the curb and I moved the van out of the travel lane. Called 911. Another bystander appeared, he saw the whole thing. Good. Toddler fine in back seat. Pile of napkins for victim to put pressure on the gashes on his face. His biking buddies show up (Geez, were they racing down Frederick Road in rush hour?), brother calls mother. I call husband... Let's get toddler out of van. Rescue team shows up. Three police, fire and ambulance. I'm shaking, but calm and clear.

Statements are given. Victim is stabilized and taken to local trauma center. I'm told that is standard, given that he hit was on a bicycle and struck a moving vehicle. No tickets are written, because this is not my fault (in retrospect, I question this--should this young man not get ticked for failing to travel in the proper lane, riding with no helmet, failing to obey traffic signals an failing to grant the right of way?) and clean up begins. Photos are taken, statements are taken. Another witness had given a statement confirming ours.

Copy of the police report. Drive home. It's all in the motions. Call insurance. Arrange for repairs. Worry about the 18-year old laying in Shock Trauma.

If you want a visual of what a head does to a windshield, here you go:



It may not be clear in the picture, but that's a significant impact. I was moving in the single digits -- 5 mph tops -- but this kid was flying. Force equals mass multiplied by acceleration. There was ample force.

He was not wearing a helmet.

Had he been on the right shoulder, the proper way, I would have seen him.

Had he obeyed the traffic signals and slowed down and stopped, well...

I do hope that he's ok. But part of me also hopes that a lesson in bike safety was learned, even though it was delivered by the worst of teachers.

It's still a bit surreal.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Talk of the Town

This morning, I had the pleasure of watching Prince William of Wales marry Catherine Middleton. While many moms were, no doubt, watching with daughters who were mesmerized by gowns, hats and all the pageantry of the royal to-do, watching with my son gave me a decidedly non-female perspective on the shindig.

- Does getting married make William the king? (She's wearing a tiara, Mom...)

- Why are the guards facing the crowds and not the procession?

- Who needs bayonets at a wedding? (But, like, wow!)

- Why did they come in cars and leave in coaches? (What's the deal with using an old car?)

- Why don't they just walk on that rectangle in the aisle?

- Why are two guys in red and two in black? (Should that old guy be dressed the same as Prince William?)

- Does Prince Charles really need a sword? In church? How can he take it in there?

- Um, really? Trees in the church?

- Why don't they just kiss at Westminster Abbey?

- Why didn't William's brother comb his hair?

- Can we move to Canada and have the day off when William's brother gets married? (Then can I say "eh?" as much as I want?)

- Whoa! That girl's hat has devil horns! What was she thinking?

All valid questions, really. Some I answered easily. Others, I looked up. Some I answered with a blank stare. At least there was tea.






Did you watch the wedding with a kid? What did you talk about?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Transparency and Social Media

So my company is about to jump full force into the field of social media. Networking, blogging and Twitter. (I've been tweeting myself for a short time but I have other identities. If you're following me for urology, you might want to also follow @amerurological and @urology_health.)

Naturally, this prompts lots of questions -- not just ROI questions, goals questions or even control questions, but also the more personal "whose account do these groups get tied to?" questions. And the answers are nebulous at best. Twitter is easy. @wendyisett is a personal account, so it's attached to a personal address. The other accounts are tied to work domains. LinkedIn and Facebook are a little different, and tie directly to personal accounts, so...

There seems to be a common thought that one of these forums is more personal than the other, that you should use LinkedIN for professional purposes and Facebook for personal activities. BUT...

What's your personal policy? I waffle back and forth on this. Forums like Facebook present great "getting to know you" benefits, and it's fun sometimes to have the occasional co-worker jump in and comment on a photo or link. But, once you jump into the company admin role, does that change? If I'm an admin for ABC Company's Facebook page and I post on my wall that I've had a crappy day and am ready for new things, will my co-workers or group members read too deeply into that "what's on your mind" post? What if I dabble in a Facebook app at lunchtime and the updates land on friends' walls? Or share a political point of view? Or if a blog post raises issues that relate to a problem at the office? What level of censorship is necessary (beyond simple common sense)?

What's worse: to have transparent, recommendations on LinkedIN (which could possibly be viewed as job hunting) or results of a "what Hogwarts character are you?" quiz on Facebook? Is a "this is my personal blog and do not necessarily represent the views of my employer" disclaimer enough to ward off coworker "she got a new recommendation, is she looking to jump ship?" suspicion?

I personally don't know the answers to these questions, which is why I'm throwing out the question. Talk amongst yourselves. And please talk to me!

-- Post From My iPhone

Getting Back to Basics

It's funny how getting out of the office every once in a while – though expensive and not always feasible in this economy – can actually refocus you and remind you of "abandoned" projects, generate a spark of enthusiasm that wasn't there before, or generally just remind you why it is you do what you do. And I do PR.

I didn't start this blog because I wanted to talk about PR. I started it because I wanted a way for family and friends to keep in touch, hear about the latest and greatest with the family without having to initiate or engage in a vast number of telephone exchanges about the simplest of things. I wanted to post my hobby projects so that others could chime in and give feedback. I wanted it to be a way to be, in a way, the ultimate multitasker. I started it before wave of web interaction now known as "Social Media" took hold. Now there's Ravelry for the knitting, Facebook for the family and friends, Twitter for tweeting sake and I'm left with a blog that has been untended for a while and needs a new focus. It doesn't need a new name – I think SpinneasGauge is witty and all-encompassing in so many ways – but it needs new content.

So that's what it's going to get. I don't know what yet, or even how. In fact, I'm not sure whether it will be simply personal, whether it will have a touch of work commentary, or whether it will be industry-specific with commentary from the front lines of non-profit public relations. I struggle with the transparency issue, particularly with current work climates, but I'm finding myself increasingly drawn to my journalism roots. So watch out or tune in. I'm coming back.

Happy New Year!

I sat down this evening and struggled to find the words for an introspective, empowering message for 2009. Unfortunately, the words would not come. BUT ... in the interest of regular blogging, HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

Checking In

Long time, no post. Still no time, but thought I'd check in with a shot that I grabbed on December 23 of L'il I ... incidentally, he also grabs a hank of alpaca yarn to keep him occupied during diaper changes (odd, I know, but true -- the changing pad that we use is near my living room stash container and he grabs grey alpaca every time and kisses it).

Time Flies

And she's back... there has been knitting and growing (the kids) and a very busy travel schedule this summer. I'm hoping to get back into a solid blogging schedule soon.

Today is party day for L'il I, who finally hits single digits for real on Tuesday. I hope to post some party pics later, but in the meantime, I leave you with the post from one year ago today, when I was hanging in waiting for the OB I liked to be on call. Did I actually have time to knit back then?

Tick ... Tock ... Tick ... Tock ...
Note: Knitting content is at the bottom of this post; skip ahead or read the baby update :)

An Update on the Babe

Well folks, the clock is ticking now on L'il I. I will spare you minor details, but suffice it to say that the boy is just about done cooking. At a whopping 4 lbs, 12 oz, the doctors finally have succumbed to my telling them (over and over and over) that I. Give. Birth. To. Little. People.
That's right, Zee was 5 lbs, 13.5 oz, the Yarn Sniffer was just over 5 lbs. This dude is even littler. I'm not worried, though ... they do grow up way too fast for my liking anyway and this buys me some extra snuggly time with a little peanut.

Truth is, though, I've felt pretty miserable for the past few days. My back is killing me, my hips are killing me ... "the girls" are huge (for me, anyway) and are killing me ... I'm just about done.
Good news is that he's really quite happy in there, and the induction has little to do with poor environmental controls. Plenty of fluid, happy placenta ... no reason to think of growth restriction or anything scary. Frankly, I attribute it to this whole gestational diabetes diet. After all, I've said all along that putting me on the stupid thing was counterintuitive -- it seems that for the last month (since the diagnosis and diet restrictions) his gain has slacked off and he's gone from being what they call "AGA" (average for gestational age) to borderline "SGA" (small for gestational age). One of the major risks of GDM is what they call "macrosomia" (big baby syndrome) -- when the baby gets flooded with sugar and, well, gets fat. I clearly don't have that problem. Dr. Awesome joined my fight against it last week and told me to keep sneaking carbs -- if only to hold him at his current weight -- and this week, Dr. Wonderful said those magic words:

Dr: So, how are your sugars?

Me (looking bored): Still non-existent. I can eat a huge plate of stuffed shrimp, bread, a baked potato, a cup of decaf with sugar and a big piece of baby shower cake and my sugar is 101 three hours later.

Dr. (looking a little defeated and a bit sheepish): I think it's safe to say that you're not having problems.

Vindication at last. That very afternoon I emailed the dietician to report ANOTHER week of ZERO weight gain (I lost a pound, he held steady) and asked if she still wanted numbers. She said no more. Thank heavens. So I haven't been sweating it, and I started eating normally again in the hopes that he'll be able to gain a few more ounces before moving day.

Knitting Progress

So, like so many others, I've been participating in the Summer of Socks. I joined for a few reasons: I wanted a kick in the rear to finally get a bunch of socks knit (I don't want to wear commercially made socks this winter) and I also wanted to try to boost my visitors and expand my blogger circle. Each week, the "updater" checks out the blogs she's been assigned and posts an update. Some updaters post longish writeups to hail the progress of their groups. I always read them and visit and comment. Our update posts are a bit too simple for my taste, and I have had few, if any, comments as a result. It's my luck, I suppose.

In other traffic news, I have developed a site where I can post patterns, finished objects, baby and big-kid pics and other things that folks might find interesting. The first thing up was my cuff-down conversion notes for Wendy's Southwestern Socks. She was kind enough to 1) let me do it and 2) mention the document in her blog and urge folks to come on over. To date, that page of my site has received 185 hits. But still no comments. Maybe I'm just not that interesting.
But progress is interesting to me, anyway. Remember how I said I loved the Conwy sock so much I didn't want it to end? Well, yesterday L'il I got himself a Conwy baby hat to come home in (I decided I'm not happy with the hat I did the other week):

I've cast on for a pair of Conwy socks to go with it. Hopefully those will be done today (unless he decides it is way too hot for socks and jumps ship before I can finish them).
I'm also still working on finishing up the Butterfly Lace sock that I started earlier this week. I can't really claim ownership on the stitch pattern, but I will be posting the sock specs as soon as they're done.

I have also toyed around with a Little Shell stitch to go with the Chewy Spaghetti yarn that was originally destined for (another) pair of Monkeys.

The match to the Southwestern Sock will be taken to the hospital with me and (hopefully) completed there.

It's Been a While

What can I say? New boss, busy two months (had my big convention ... a grueling seven days of 18-hr days with very little sleep or time "off"), busy baby and busy big boys.

Two new teeth in L'il I (he's not showing them; methinks what you see is a drooly reflection ... he smiles without showing his teeth).

Two lost by the Sniffer. It has not yet stopped him from eating corn on the cob:

We also had a Webelos camping trip thrown in for good measure. I can hardly believe how big my biggest boy is these days. (Note: This photo was taken at a prep session we had to teach the boys how new knots to tie and how to build a campfire...Weboree is a COMPETITION...)

No real knitting, other than a pair of socks I have to download pictures of. I knit them for a dear friend with bone cancer to keep her tootsies warm during radiation. But I don't want to discuss that right now.

Bummed and Buoyed

Bummed, because for some UNGODLY reason, I managed to miss the Yarn Harlot in Annapolis. Right in my own FREAKING backyard. I'm a dolt.

But I'm buoyed because MDSW is right around the corner! And the Cloverhill booth (my LYS) is gonna be cooler than Koigu. Go check their blog for more details... it's a countdown to the best part of Spring!