You Say Goodbye, and I Say Hello.

Not too very long ago, I realised that in order to pay for a move, a divorce, and a very big life change that I will go into a little bit more when the time is right, I would have to have what you might call a Holy Crap, I Owe What?!? Sale. (Okay, maybe you'd call it a Stash Sale, but it was a little bit more dire than that, and I swear a lot.) It turns out that changing your life in very positive ways can have a very negative effect on your bank account. I cast my eye about, wondering what I could sell (don't worry, the kid and the cat are still here).

Soooo...I decided that I had to sell my beloved Martin OM42 acoustic guitar. (It just sold today, to a really nice guy in Ontario who will play it well and often. I'm trying not to be brokenhearted about it.) I also looked into the stash situation (I know!), which was...I admit it...a Definitive Situation. And then I wondered how in hell I was going to sell all that yarn and spinning wool, given that I don't sleep much already, I'm not exactly adept at figuring out stuff like eBay and (clearly) blogging about it, and I hate saying goodbye.

Enter one of the most wonderful women you could ever hope to call friend, Norma of Now Norma Knits. Not only did Norma take on about three quarters of my existing stash (I kept a bit of it), but she labeled all of my photos, posted everything on eBay, handled the bidding, the questions from bidders, and the resulting shipping, blogged multiple times about it, and managed to raise ALL of the money I needed to pay off the big move. With Norma at the helm, the fiber arts community came through for me in a way I could never have anticipated, given that I've been gone from the blogging scene for years now. I still don't know how to thank her, except for to pay it forward whenever I can. Her response? "Seeing you smile at a sheep and wool festival is all the payback I need."

Well, Norma, honey, you're about to get your payback. (Bet you never thought you'd be happy to hear that phrase, eh, sweetie?) Norma has sustained a running-related injury that might just sideline her for the NH Sheep and Wool Festival, but that won't stop me. That's what a willing partner-in-wool with a camera is for, and Norma lives not too far from me, so I will be finding her some kind of little treat at the festival, to be delivered by hand, with a big ol' smile and an enormous hug.

Yes, you read that right: I am actually going to attend a sheep and wool festival for the first time in I don't know how many years, and no one's life is going to be ruined in the process. (But, you know, I'm not bitter.) I'm very excited to get the chance to see so many people that have been blog readers and friends over the years, and whose own blog posts I've been gradually returning to as of late.

In the meanwhile, someone's been busy thinking of me and my somewhat traumatic just-close-your-eyes-and-get-rid-of-it experience. And that someone (whose name is Rachel, but they didn't tell me which Rachel, though I suspect it's you, sweetpea) overheard me drooling over some gorgeous BFL/silk blend fiber in Shamrock from the Cupcake Fiber Company. (I know. Mixed metaphor. But you'll drool loudly too when you get a look at this stuff.)

A box arrived at Justin's house, and he brought it with him when we took Tigidou down to Rhode Island to splash about in the waves. (Well, I splashed about in the waves while Justin and Tig looked at me like I'd completely lost my everloving mind. April ocean swims are not for the faint of heart, dude.)

So, when I arrived in Rhode Island after a four-hour border wait and a really long drive, he told me to "go and take a look at that box over there on the couch, would you," refused to tell me exactly how he was involved with this venture, and wouldn't name the giver of the gift. ("I am not at liberty to say" appears to be a phrase I will hear often, followed by wicked good surprises. I'm okay with that.)



Well, hellooooo, gorgeousness. If you ever, ever, ever get a chance to have some of this stuff, jump at it. The softness is not to be believed, and honey, don't just leave it in the cute cupcake box, tempting though it may be, because it really is cute. Pull out a batt and snuggle it. Put your face right in it (still smells a bit sheepy, and it's wonderful). Stuff it in your shirt and marvel at how it not only does not itch, but might want to live there for, say, the next several hours. (Okay, that might just be me that does that.) Revel in it, because this stuff is totally revel-worthy. I can't wait to spin it.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Rachel who is not to be identified by Justin because he promised, and the Cupcake Fiber Company, for sending me a wonderful little note with the fiber and for making such gorgeous fluff.



And while I'm linking to beautiful people and things they create, I'd like to thank Ms. Uli Ross for making the only thing that I've ever found to prevent me from losing my housekeys. She does chainmaille jewelry (gorgeous stuff) and keychains, and her Celtic Star keychain is my saving grace. I can lose keys in the space of less than a minute, especially if I put them where they are supposed to go, in my purse, also known as the Endless Pit of Receipts and Other Doomed Items (Oh, Hey, Wow, My Glasses!).

But with this keychain, because it's so damned fun to play with, tactile people like me get to know what it's like in the hand, and then it will NEVER get lost in that purse. I just stick my hand into that sea of receipts and (oh, hey, wow, my glasses!) feel around in there, et voilà, keychain, ergo, keys! It's awesome.



The bracelet is also one of her creations: little beads on loops, placed one by one. Beautiful, and really fun to wear...makes a great fidgeting foil if you're trying not to look bored in public. Here it is again, in the wild.(Okay, actually, it is stuck in border traffic, but it's reeeally pretty in the sun that will go down and I will STILL not be across yet...)



This community rocks, and I feel priveleged to be a part of it. The next post will be full of cute sheepy butt pictures, and I'm hoping to do a little show-and-tell of my first fleece-to-knit experience as well. Justin's been practising with a Forrester spindle I let him borrow, so if you see a very earnest-looking man trying to spin and walk at the same time, followed by a kid who keeps asking for food that sticks to things and a woman who is not much taller than the kid and can't be easily spotted anyway because she keeps getting sucked into the wheel booths, that'll be us. Please do say hello, and tell Justin he's doing great. He is, and would do better if he actually let go of the spindle, but...we all gots to start somewhere, no?

Indeed, we do.

Welcome to Knot Good! Try the lamb.

It's been a long time, not blogging, and I've got the first-post jitters. It's always difficult to know how to start a brand new blog's first post, especially since I'm coming off a couple of years of silence, and some of you may know me from my previous blog, Fuzzy Logic. You may be wondering if I'm going to do the same thing you liked in the other blog. Meanwhile, I'm still futzing about in the window's reflection, wondering if I should have worn the other shoes, and we're both anxious to see what the first wardrobe malfunction will be. I'm hoping this blog won't just be Fuzzy Logic with crazier hair.



(As a side note, Ted Myatt, of Knitterguy fame, designed and knit the stole I'm wearing here, just for me, to boost me up when I was going through rough times. It's a marvel of Shetland gorgeousness, he's the most talented lace knitter I know, and I'm so lucky to be able to wear his work.)

So, who knows if you'll want to stick around the same way you did with the old blog, but I hope you'll enjoy what I plan to do here. To welcome us both—me as your host and you as my readers (all three of you!)—here's a little preview of what to expect from Knot Good.

First and foremost, Fuzzy Logic is dead. It is not resting, nor is it stunned. It is no more. It has ceased to be. It's expired and gone to meet its maker...you know the drill. Fuzzy Logic is an Ex-Blog. You can't visit it. You can't even nail it to the perch. Trust me, it's better that way.

I know, it's sad. But I still have photos of the heinous things I made for my daughter, at her request, when she was young. I still have a tendency to spin in public and freak people out. I still swear. (I know, I know. Motherhood is not the grand profanity eraser it's cracked up to be.) And I still have an enormous scar running down the side of my head from the Great Head-Opening Experiment. The rest, well...

I've had to move on. You'll note that my last name has changed. That's my maiden name, and it's the name I'll keep. In the interest of not dredging up the past or harming anyone, especially those I love, I would prefer not to answer questions about anything personal from the Fuzzy Logic era, unless you want to know basic fibre-related (or close) details, such as the gauge the surgeon got when he stapled my head back together. (5 staples to the inch. Worsted-weight stapling. Standard stuff.)

If you're coming here for the first time and you have absolutely no freaking clue what I'm going on about, I sympathise. I sometimes have the same problem.

Let me introduce myself: I'm Lee Ann Dalton, and I'm a knitter, a spinner, a poet, a writer, an editor, a Vogue Knitting columnist, a mother, a partner, and a diehard supporter of the serial comma. (Also, I don't sleep much.) The only thing you've missed was the surprise craniotomy. Trust me, it's a good thing for you to have missed. It was a little rough on the hairdo, I'm still slightly klutzy and have to write everything down, and I'm a tiny bit misshapen, skull-wise, if you look very, very close. Other than that, I'm okay. The aneurysm is gone. You can see the clamp using an airport scanner, but I have yet to be accused of being a brain terrorist. (There's still time.)

Part of my moving on has also involved becoming an athlete. (Holy hell, did I really just say that? Yes, I guess I did...). You'll hear a fair bit about fibre arts here, but you'll also be witness to my ever-developing adventure as a runner. When I was a kid, I was the very last person to cross any finish line and the very first person to huck up a lung in the process. As an adult, I struggled to include some kind of exercise in my life, and wasn't so successful at sticking to it. But after the surgery and a few other awful life-moments, I started running.

It was a slow process, becoming a runner. I went from stress-reduction flailing around the block at midnight, hoping that no one would see me cry or, worse, jiggle, to running a full marathon in the fall of 2010. 4:59. My surgeon could hardly believe I even bothered to run the full block, but there you go. I'm wicked stubborn, and anything I can do to get the neurons to keep speaking to each other helps a lot. It nearly killed me to finish the marathon, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat.



In fact, this summer, I will do it again. In July, heaven help me and the creek don't rise, I will run the Mad Marathon. I'm not a fast runner, but by god, I can go long. Mind you, with all the life-changing I'm doing this year, I'm giving myself the "out" of transferring to the half-marathon. A half requires far less of the mental game of "Noooooo, I am not going to sit on this curb and cry..." and I may need that option. Big changes ahead.

Some of you may remember Twinkletoes. She's moved on, too, namewise, and prefers to be called variations on a theme of Tigidou, which means a-okay in Quebecois. She is big enough to wear my clothes. My red jeans have been missing for weeks. But the knitting for the Tigger? Not so much of that. Everything still itches, so we're sticking to polar fleece and fake fur for now. I'm still hopeful that we'll turn her on to knitting, though, and then she can pick any yarny variation on a theme of Pretty Pony Puke she wants.

I still knit, and I've even washed, combed, spun, and knit up a hogget CVM fleece into various little items. There will be more of that featured on this blog, for certain, because it's a very rewarding experience to go from shit-laden fleece to a delicate little lace bookmark. And someday, I'll learn to shear so that I can go from shearing to sweater. I'll keep you posted on the progress with various sharp instruments. I don't have such a good reputation with them, as they have tended to land me in the emergency room, but I'm working on that.



Another feature I am extremely happy to have here is the occasional cartoon. Some of the little sheepies you will see scattered around the blog are drawn by none other than Tigidou. (You'll know them by the little T next to each one. She wants to help me with the design. We're a family-run operation around here. I just have to cover her eyes and ears when I swear. All her unused knitwear is really good for that.)

The full cartoons, and a few other little sheepie tidbits besides, are drawn by the very talented and ridiculously funny Justin Kane. He picked up a pencil one day recently and, much to his surprise, drew my blog banner. (He was aware that he was drawing, thankfully. He just had no idea he'd also be roped into being my permanent illustrator with that one little cartoon.) I'll be featuring a Kane cartoon on the blog on a regular basis. Side benefit: he doesn't understand why anyone wouldn't wear wool. SCORE! I'll be stash-spinning and knitting for him for a long, long time. Especially since he knows the importance of posing to show the decreases. Take a bow, Jus...



I will be periodically singing the praises of artisans whose products and creations I love and use (Yes, really. No one's giving me anything to advertise, and if I talk about it, it's because I bought it and I love it. I like supporting small farms, independent artisans, and other creative types who are trying to make a living via their craft). I'll also do the occasional fibre arts book review, with my usual smartass approach. And I'll be announcing fibre events that may not get much publicity (and didn't make the deadline for the column I write).

Finally, I plan to test-drive various ways to create new knitters. I've got two unwitting victims highly enthusiastic total beginners: one who has tried before and just couldn't get it, and one who mentioned one day that he might like to learn to knit. (He'll either live to regret it or discover that it prevents him from falling asleep in places he ought not to, which is really handy. Either way, the freezer is going to end up full of wool. I just know it.)

This is going to be fun. I'm happy to still be kicking around, and it's good to see you again. So, why "Knot Good?" I'm glad you asked.



Honey, life is too short to come unstrung thanks to a crappy knot. And when it comes to being "good," I am, clearly,...

Knot. (Rimshot.) Welcome aboard. We'll be here all week. Don't forget your waitress.