In addition to being determined to deal with the knitting machines this year, my other crafty resolutions are as follows:
--Try my hand at dyeing my own sock yarn. (I fear this will become as powerful an addiction as my 2006 resolution to learn to knit socks.)
--Sew at least two garments/projects per month. (My wardrobe is in a pitiful state, I really dislike shopping for clothes, and thanks to the compulsive-textile-collecting gene I inherited from my maternal grandmother, I have what can be officially designated as a "crapload" of fabric and patterns.)
--Organize my knitting/crafting supplies. (This one literally bounced off the top of my head in the form of a big bag of acrylic yarn that tumbled out of the top of my closet when I opened the door recently.)
--Knit up all of the sock yarn currently in my stash. (This one may require the designation of a second sock drawer in my dresser.)
--Make sure that EVERYBODY knows that if they want handmade gifts for Xmas, they gotta tell me by June 1. Not November 1, not December 10 or 15, but JUNE 1! (Two years in a row of frantic, last-minute crafting/creating is enough, thanks.)
I didn't have time this week to do any further tinkering with O U Whore out in the barn, and unless the weather warms up significantly this weekend, I'll just leave it to think about how naughty it was earlier in the week. I have fibromyalgia (it's sort of like having rheumatism in your muscles instead of your joints), and the cold/rainy weather we've had lately has left me feeling like somebody whacked me straight across the legs and shoulders with a lead pipe. I'll likely spend the weekend knitting in the house, with my dear friend, Mr. Heating Pad, and whichever cat can get into my lap (and on top of Mr. Heating Pad, whom they all love) before the other ones do. I have yet to finish the late-Xmas-gift Colorspun socks. I'm close to finishing them, but this pair requires about ten inches of ribbing and ribbing is my least favorite part of the sock process.
Lulu Notalab's bandages were removed earlier this week, but her stitches will remain until next week. She still has to wear the collar. She's still entirely disenchanted about it, but she is coping. The vet is located in the same building as the newspaper I work for, so in order to make the going-to-the-vet process less of a downer for her, I took her into the newspaper office to say hi. My managing editor made all the appropriate sympathetic noises, which seemed to make Lulu feel a teensy bit better about the indignity of being Satellite-Dish-Headed Dog. You could almost see dialogue balloons forming over her head: "Why, yes, I am the poor, poor Lulu. No, this big, bad collar is no fun at all. Yes, I have an owie on my ear. My life sucks."
Meanwhile, to protest having been left home alone with - gasp - the cats, Gomez levitated (apparently) onto the dining room table and sucked down two bowls of cat food, as well as getting into a bag of mixed nuts. I can always tell when he has cleaned out the cat's bowls. They leave crumbs; he doesn't leave so much as a molecule.
The collar prevents Lulu from grooming herself as thoroughly as she - and I - would like her to be able to do, so she's starting to get a bit rank. She doesn't know it yet, but Stitch Removal Day will segue into Bath Day, because she is so going straight into the tub as soon as she comes home from the vet. No doubt the Dog Angst will be palpable. I'll probably go ahead and bathe Gomez, too, and tick off both dogs in one fell swoop. At least they'll smell good while they're plotting to call Ingrid Newkirk at PETA to report me for being the meanest mom ever.