Sock It To Me

As much as I'd like to think the Chickenheads couldn't possibly exist without me, they can - though I like to think it's not quite as much fun.

For the past three weeks I've been down and out, having had some major orthopedic surgery at the end of March. For the first week I was in the hospital, then 30 miles away at my mom's while I recovered. After two weeks I had a clear enough head to cast on my recovery blanket project, but quickly got stuck. Normally, getting stuck is no biggie since you can always wait til the following Tuesday night when one of the Chicks will help you. But my isolated situation made it more like a concrete-walled dead end. So I put the knitting aside and focused on my Barack Obama audio book instead (a worthy substitute I must say).

I finally came home last week and last night the Chickenheads were kind enough to relocate knitting night from CertainT's house to mine, relegating my poor boyfriend to the office downstairs in a failed attempt to drown out the bock, bocking.It was wonderful to have the group back together, though I will say I haven't been used to that much chitchat having been in near isolation during most of my recovery. But I suspect I will ease back in to the high energy level of the group as my own energy begins to return.

Clearly, some sort of sock fever has taken over the Chickenheads - a virus I have yet to catch. Rugby is insane about socks. When she is not knitting baby blankets for her pregnant friends, you can guarantee you will find her knitting up another adorable pair of socks. And Bubbles is now equally obsessed - dying her own sock yarn and acquiring sock books like they're going out of style. This is the book they are all obsessed with at the moment, and there are some tempting patterns in it for sure.

But for some reason I can't seem to get excited about knitting socks. I have had a half-knit pair on circulars sitting in my basket for months and I keep avoiding them. This, after an initial sock disaster that left me cursing socks for all eternity, which only inspired Bubbles to buy me some better sock yarn (she insists the yarn is why I had such a hard time) housed in a plastic contraption that keeps the balls of yarn from tangling up while you knit two socks at a time on double circulars.

As touched as I was (am) by Bubbles' fighting spirit, I still feel defeated by them. Perhaps I will change my mind - someday, when I run out of everything else. Or when I see Rugby's next cute pair and finally decide I have to have them for myself.

In the meantime, it's good to be back.
Bock, bock.

It's a Group Effort

I think I better prepare for some Chickenhead withdrawals.

I had to miss last week because of an appointment and I'll miss this week too since I am out of town visiting a friend and her beautiful baby girl. I've only got a few more weeks of medical leave left and, since I'm feeling pretty mobile these days (I had major orthopedic surgery in March if you didn't know), I thought I'd get a visit in before life gets hectic again.

One of the best things about knowing how to knit is how much more enjoyable airplane trips become. I mean, I spend most of my days trying to find a few hours of uninterrupted time to focus on my project and nothing else. What better place than a few thousand feet up in the air? No phones, no email and, if you act unapproachable enough (I can), nobody trying to talk to you.

However, there is one kind of person that will almost always talk to you when you are knitting in public. And those I don't mind because they remind me to be proud of my new skill and grateful for my group of Chickenheads who made sure I stuck around to learn it. I'm sure you have encountered these people hundreds of times yourself. They are the ones who come up to you and say, "Ohhhh, wow, you're knitting. I wish I could do that. I tried to do it but I just couldn't figure it out and gave up after a few tries."

To which I always respond, "You know, it's not as hard as you think. But the main reason I stuck with it is because I have a knitting group that meets every week, with plenty of talent to help me through the rough spots. If I tried to learn on my own I would have given up pretty quickly too."

And I did. My very crafty friend tried to teach me many years ago. I got the hang of it after awhile, but the second she got on a plane and went home, I forgot everything and shoved the needles and yarn she gave me into a basket where they stayed untouched for years. And guess who I am visiting right now? That's right...that very same crafty friend. Which is why I proudly packed two of my knitting projects in my suitcase.

Today it was the flight attendant who approached with that familiar tone of longing for the hobby that passed her by. She was clearly tired from a long day and making her way down the aisle collecting trash before our final decent. When she saw the soft mohair yarn wrapped around my needles (this is the recovery blanket I've blogged about before), she stopped and stared for a few seconds before she shared her story of knitting failure.

We only had a few seconds before she had to keep moving but I made sure to tell her why I stuck with it - my Chickenheads. I'd like to think she walked down that aisle toward the back of the plane making a mental list of the women she would ask to be the founding members of her knitting group.

Bock, bock.

Musical Nuts and More

No Chickenheads group this week as most of them opted to go on a field trip to see the stage production of "Rent," which just came to town. Being the group grump, I opted out as I've seen it twice already and, frankly, have no desire to see it again. It's just feels a bit dated to me.

But for Miss Sunshine, Bubbles and Big Sis, there is no such thing as getting sick of a Broadway musical. You know how young girls shriek and get all breathless over Justin Timberlake or the Jonas brothers? That's how these grown women - ranging in age from 25 to 50 - get when they talk about "Raoul" or "Anthony" or whatever Broadway star they are obsessed with and know on a first name basis.

In a way, I envy their passion for something they so clearly love. But at the same time, I want to put earplugs in when they get on their conversation kicks about how great this song was, or when so-and-so did that number and they cried. It can go on for hours. But I usually put a stop to it after about 20 minutes with a cynical, "How much longer are you going to talk about this?" comment.

I think it's less the subject matter that bothers me (I like musical theater a lot actually) but more the high pitch squeals it seems to inspire in them. Ear piercing sometimes. I guess they get more like Baby Chicks than Chickenheads at that point.

So off they all went to "Rent" while Rugby and I opted out to do our own thing on a Tuesday night. I used the time to have dinner with my ex-fiance. Yeah, I know. Knitting probably would have been better for me. But still, he bought me sushi (as always) and he is kind of like family so it's good to catch up.

Next week is my last Chickenhead group for awhile, sadly. I am having some pretty major orthopedic surgery on March 23 and will be VERY out of commission for a few weeks/months. I feel blessed because the Chickenheads insist that they will come to me for our Tuesday night sessions until I'm back on my feet. I look forward to it already - even with the squealing.

In the meantime, I am stocking up on knitting projects to keep me busy during recovery. The biggest one is a beautiful blanket I am making just for myself. It will be one of those keep-for-a-lifetime blankets. It's actually from a shawl pattern that I saw knitted up at a yarn shop months ago and, after some poking around, found out that it is an older Vogue Knitting pattern.

I already ordered the pattern, which for some lame reason can only come by mail. Last weekend I went to my favorite yarn store in San Diego and found the perfect taupe-colored kid mohair, which is now on order and is going to cost me a pretty penny. Good thing I have $150 in gift certificates saved up for this very project. If ever there was a time to splurge on myself, the next three months is it.

Bock, bock.