Clog Blog

Yup. I’ve put it off as long as I can. It’s time for me to replace the clogs that felted into foot -frisbies. Stupid clogs. Here’s the first of four pairs. Four pairs…I may die of ennui.
bclogs You know how some knitters have a speciality? Like, some only knit socks, or scarves, or sweaters? Do you think that there is anybody who just knits clogs? Do you think they have to get drunk just to make it a little interesting? Don’t get me wrong, I love this pattern but I’ve made so many pairs that it’s starting to make me a little weird. Plus, I can’t help but think that I’m being punished by the clogs in some way. The first several pairs I made went really well. I realize now that the clogs were lulling me into a false sense of security, waiting for me to love them and trust them. the minute that I did, it all went badly for me.
I made Ken a pair that didn’t felt evenly, and I ended up felting by hand in the bathtub for a good long time. The pair that over-felted, several underfelted ones. Then the catastrophic “foot disk” episode. Big fun. At that point I decided that I must need more information. (Chronic low self esteem…I always think its my fault), so I carefully read this really good article on felting. Reassured, confident and cocky I waltzed into the basement…approached my trusty washer, gave it a pat and pitched the green lopi clogs for Yvonne into the beast. I followed the directions for “free range” felting and after 32 minutes (precisely) I had wicked cool clogs, just like I used to. That’s right, the clog curse was lifted. I scooped all the loose green fibre from the washer just like Rob the Felting King directed me to…and carried on gleefully with my life. Since my life is laundry, I was back at the washer shortly.
All seemed well until I returned to the washer an hour later. The load was sitting there…half drained and ignoring all requests to finish draining. Bad. If you have a family of five then you understand that a broken washer is an emergency. Badly rattled, I ran upstairs and called my appliance guy (he’s on speed dial) and got him over here. While I waited for him I wondered what it was going to cost this time. I’ve replaced the belt, the motor, the %^&*(^!! (I think that’s what Joe called it) and most recently, the pump. I’d replace the entire washer but we renovated the kitchen after we put the washer downstairs, and in a tragic move, put a cupboard in a place where it prevents the washer from clearing the basement door. So it’s me and this washer, until I move or die. I’m a little attached.
Joe and I hovered over the washer guy as he examined the casualty. It was when the guy said that it was the pump, that something clicked. Didn’t the article say that if you don’t take all the loose fibre out of the water that you could clog the pump? But I did take out all of the loose fibres… I know I did. While the guy disassembles the pump, I swing back and forth between feeling awful that I’ve killed the pump with the green clogs, and telling myself that I scooped all the fibre out….It can’t be me. All along I keep looking at Joe, who is looking at the washer and seeing dollar signs. The only thing that would be worse than me killing the pump with green clogs is finding out that I killed the pump with green clogs in front of Joe. Please…let there be no proof.
The washer guy finally pulls the pump out of the gored washer, and in a horrible, heart-stopping moment, begins to pull what are (very obviously) green lopi washer rats out of the pump, while telling us that it will cost almost $300 to replace the burned out pump. Joe looks at me and says nothing. The look in his eyes says it all. $300 clogs. The clog curse lives on.