Wow. Check this out. It’s a review of my book by Clara at Knitters Review, (who I suddenly adore, not that I didn’t like her before, just now I would do her laundry and wash her kitchen floor) and I can hardly believe the nice things she says. You have no idea how happy I am that she liked it. (I have a vivid imagination. I live in fear of reviews. The version I had written in my head in the middle of the night was very different. I will spare you the details but suffice it to say that the phrase “weasel faeces” figured in it.)

Yesterday I went to 3 bookstores in Toronto to look for the book. (No. I’m not proud of that, but I think it’s pretty normal.) I have no idea what I was going to do if I found it. Hopefully something a little bit quiet and without dancing. I knit on my Chai lace everywhere I went to calm my nerves.


It’s finished but unblocked, and another version of the Flower Basket Shawl from Interweave Fall/04. I used 5mm needles and two wee spools of Chai. I love it and the charm of this scarf is not diminished. I could knit it a hundred times at least once more. The yarn makers suggest ironing it to bring up the sheen, but I’m reluctant. Carefully trained for years to never, ever set an iron right on knitting I’m not sure if I can overcome my own instinct and do it. Has anyone done this?


Did it work? Did the silk immolate or flatten out or…I don’t know. I have concerns. (Assuming that by “concerns” you understand that I mean that I am unlikely to overcome my aching worry and fearsome disquiet and manage to set an iron to it no matter what you say to me. Am I wrong? Isn’t this a cardinal rule of knits and irons? Doesn’t “don’t put an iron right down on knits” border on being a knitting commandment? Years and years of trying to learn this stuff and now they want me to just forget everything anybody has said before this and haul off and iron the silk. Right. I bet it makes the scarf smell funny.)

The silk ironing is heightening my book anxiety. The book is not here. It is not in Toronto. I accept this now. Joe (who I love very much for this) spent the evening going to 4 other bookshops….but had no luck either. I had just about accepted that the book simply wasn’t out in the world yet when I got an email from Bev who wrote to say that she had a copy.

Bev is in Newfoundland. Newfoundland? I live in the largest Canadian city that there is and have NOTHING, but the bookshop near Bev in Newfoundland has a copy?

(Joe has a theory that it’s there first because they are shipping in the most economical way. That means the book is being driven here…but since Newfoundland is an island it got there by plane. That makes sense, but contradicts my theory that they are trying to keep the book as far away from me as possible to see how completely bonkers I’ll go in how many Greater Toronto Area bookshops trying to find it. I have pondered the possibility of hidden cameras trained on me.) Since Bev I have learned that pretty much all of the Maritimes has the book, and most of the States. Just not here. It’s a cruel joke. I’m clearly supposed to learn patience and acceptance from this.

I finished the mis-matched Fleece Artist socks…


and I’m going to wear them today as I search the downtown core for the book take the girls and Hank to the ROM. (I figure that if I cop out and buy them a hot chocolate and promise the little dude he can use the ballwinder when we get home I can get three bookstores in before Hank loses his cool. I will also be checking the ROM bookstore, which is completely stupid and pointless, and a compulsion none the less. (Pity me, for I am without grace. ) I have forgiven the socks everything. (More acceptance and patience. See the theme?) They are so comfortable and beautiful, each in their own unique “We are scarcely a pair” way that I believe I can overlook their fraternal nature. Probably.