Let's settle this once and for all.

I know y'all like to comment on my appearance. Here are actual comments I have received via my blog, Twitter, in person, or via email.

"I loved the class, but did not like the way you wore your hair. It's so matronly when it's up."

"It was great to meet you. Maybe next time you can wear your hair up so I can see more of your neck."

"Haven't I seen this dress before?"

"You look like a movie star on Demerol."

"Your lipstick was too dark. I found it very distracting."

"The dress you were wearing was pretty, but how come you never wear pants?"

"You are really just a small giant."

I could go on. I'm just choosing to believe that most of the people who comment positively or negatively about my hair/makeup/clothing are trying to be helpful, and that they care. Why else would they take the time to tell me what my hair needed brushing, my skirt needed ironing, or I needed to freshen my pedicure? I can either get offended, or I can choose to see it as motherly (fatherly?), and I'm going with option B, the glass half full option.

So, in that spirit, here's your chance to tell me your thoughts (nicely).

Which do you like better?

Red?

Or blonde?

tour of exclusive colorways, stop six

You didn't think the tour was over, did you? You didn't think that just because I momentarily diverted the train to discuss things like babies that I had forgotten?

Because I have a memory like an elephant.

Which is to say, I tend to remember the annoying things that you would rather I forget.  The mailman here at the studio once complained that the glare from the sun was giving him a headache. I said, "So, what I'm hearing you say is that you dislike the warm sunshine and prefer dull, cloudy, lifeless days?"

He joked, "Yes, of course, that's exactly what I'm saying. The sun depresses me."

So of course, I've never let him forget that. Today, it's a bright, sunny, snowless day in February, and when I see Bob, I'll be sure to console him about how depressing this weather is. He loves it when I do this, and I feel confident that everyone else in my life does as well.

It's either that, or they curse the day I was born. I'm still sorting that one out.

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The first colorway I drew is one of my mostest favorites.

I've spent time extolling the virtues of green in this post. And I say this with all love and respect, but the  honest truth is that if you don't like green, you need to change your attitude. 

That's like saying, "Yeah, Mother Nature, mmmm, I think I could do better myself. But nice try."

Let's all take a moment to be thankful for green.

Thank you, green chlorophyll that allows human life to exist, for doing such enormously important work, without which our planet would be lost.

All the "living green plants are needed for life on earth" stuff aside, green reduces the production of stress hormones in humans. Green is renewing and rejuvenating, calming, and neutral.

Green is a neutral color. All greens go together. Greens go with everything else. It's true. (Unless, of course, you think you are smarter than Mother Nature, who puts green with absolutely everything.)

I especially love this colorway because of the multiple shades of vibrant, chlorophyll-rich greens. It's called Out to Pasture, and the concept behind it is fluffy white sheep (with pink noses and ears) on the pastoral hillsides of Maryland, where Pulling at Strings is located.

Maryland also has one of the best fiber festivals in the country, the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival.

I miss going to it every year. It was very influential in my early Yarnista days.

Ah, Maryland. I do miss your verdant pastures.

Want to grab some Out to Pasture for yourself? You can order from anywhere in the world on the Pulling at Strings website. They even have spinning fiber and gradient sets of this colorway instock. Which I think you may have to fight me for.

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I live in a City by the Lake. And I sometimes forget that there are Other Cities on Other Big Lakes.

Like, oh, Chicago. Toronto.

That's all. Just those other two. I'm pretty sure the rest of the areas surrounding the Great Lakes is undeveloped and uninhabited.

This colorway was created for Windy Knitty, a beautiful store I visited last September in Chicago's Andersonville neighborhood.

Windy Knitty has just a very small selection of yarn. You might need a magnifying glass to see anything at all.

(Totally kidding. Do not email me. Definitely a joke. They have a vast selection of yarn, as you can see below. This is not even the whole store.)

The portion of Lake Michigan that surrounds Chicago is often much greener than Lake Superior. (Hey Toronto, what color is Lake Ontario?) These are some of the pictures we worked from when creating this colorway.

We put a few shades of watery green and blue in, and then added the grays and blacks to signify the skyline itself.

Here it is on a few different yarns -- Adorn (in the back) Wexford (on top), and Springvale Bulky (front). It looks slightly different on every yarn.

I love how this colorway blends the natural elements with the architecture of the city, and I love how accessible it is: everyone, young, old, male, female, canine, feline, can love and wear it.

If you want to get some for yourself, you can stop by Windy Knitty at 5653 North Clark St in Chicago. You could also drop them an email at info@windyknitty.com, or call them at 773-800-9276. What a fun stash enhancement.

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When I was in 4th grade, a bunch of Miss America contestants visited my school. Miss Maine came to my class, and she told us all about how cold it is in Maine, and how lots of potatoes are grown there. We Minnesota children were unimpressed with her tales of eyelashes freezing together, because that had all happened to us about twenty times already.

But when she handed out lapel pins in the shape of a potato (that said Maine on them, naturally), our eyes lit up.

I asked for two and wore them as earrings. I suffered for the rest of the day as those potato pins, with their giant, pointy posts, burned my sensitive earlobes.

As Miss Maine walked past my desk, I asked if I could sit with her at lunch. She said, "We'll see," and smiled at me. When lunch rolled around, she said, "That girl in the back already asked if she could sit next to me, but I have room for one more on the other side." I was quite pleased with myself as I walked to the cafeteria to pick up my pizza, surrounded by the cloud of Miss Maine's perfume. I did not care that the boy picked to sit on the other side of her, Eric, was someone I didn't like. I intended to monopolize the lunchtime conversation anyway.

It turns out that I did not have much in common with Miss Maine, and we ate our lunches quietly. And thus began my lifelong aversion to small talk.

When I was in 5th grade, an Egyptologist came to my class to show us a slide show of mummies, pyramids, hieroglyphics, and all the other stuff the rest of the world still finds fascinating about Egypt thousands of years later.

The thing about Miss Maine has absolutely nothing to do with the Egyptologist, by the way.

I am just a really talented writer who knows how to carefully craft a story, so I put those two things together to show you how it's done.

You're welcome.

Here's the part that it is related to the Egyptologist.

The colorway Luxor.  Luxor is a city on the Nile, near the Valley of the Kings, and is considered one of the world's most spiffy archaeological sites. 

I'm bringing spiffy back.

I made this colorway for Darn Knit Anyway in Stillwater, MN, one of the funnest yarn shops ever. (DKA, I want you to put that on your signage: WE'RE THE FUNNEST.)

(Always listen to the Yarnista. She will never lead you astray.)

I will never forget when Aimee from DKA first called and left me a voicemail. I was still living in Washington, DC, and on the other end of the line was a person with an adorable Minnesota accent using the words "darn it anyway."

She is adorable. I would totally make a pest of myself stopping in all the time if I lived closer.

This is the 2011 Yarnover event -- can you see Luxor hanging from the peg right behind Aimee's head?

I named the colorway Luxor because I couldn't get away from this imagery:

The color of the pyramids, that ancient limestone and alabaster, the shimmering Nile river, the cloudless sky in the 115 F heat, and the rusty tones often used in drawings inside tombs and paintings on sarcophagi.

Sometimes you just shouldn't mess with thousands of years of history.

Small town Minnesota, meet Ancient Egypt.

Yarnista, shut up now.

I will, after one more thing. If you want to get your hands on some Luxor, you can contact Darn Knit Anyway at 651-342-1386, or you can email them at info@darnknitanyway.com. But if you can stop in, you should definitely do that. (You can click here to see how adorable this store is.)

More stops on the tour coming up in a jiffy! Jiffy is also on the upswing, in case you weren't in the loop. As are "oopsy-daisy" and "jolly good."

super top secret surprise announcement!

I've been promising for the better part of a week to deliver a very important announcement today. It is Valentine's Day, a day set aside for eating vast quantities of pink and red wrapped chocolates, delivering mushy cards, and secretly hoping for a flower delivery. (I am the lucky recipient of all three.)

So happy Valentine's Day to you. I hope it's filled with undying love, romance, cupid, restaurant desserts, happiness, etc.

OK. On to more pressing things.

I have a very important question to ask you.

Here's the question:

Which of these is a picture of me?

Option 1:

Option 2:

Option 3:

Option 4:

And because I'm a nice Yarnista, I'm going to just go ahead and help you figure this out.

Option 1: If I were an pudgy middle aged man -- and that is a big if -- I would not be wearing a speedo.

Or that crucifix. Do men think this is attractive to women? Men who are reading this, let me tell you: women do not think this is attractive. Ever. Under any circumstances. Ever.

Option 2: If I were a chocolate colored equine-canine -- and that is a big if -- I think I would have more modesty than this. Have some pride, girl!

Option 3: If I were Jillian Michaels -- which I am not, let's just clear that up -- I would call my workout DVDs something other than "Shred." Shredded is how I like cheese on my tacos. I do not prefer my humans to be put through food processors.

Option 4: Huh. Would you look at that. That looks suspiciously like the color of the studio wall from my Lookbook profile picture.

If that were me -- and at this point, I'm admitting that it is -- I would say that looks suspiciously like a new Irish baby is on the way. Like maybe, oh, about five months from now?

And because I know you're curious, as I am,

We don't know yet, but we will sometime in the next couple of weeks.

And because I know you have other questions like,

"Don't you already have a bunch of kids?" and "How are you going to run a company in this condition?" and "Will I still get my yarn?", I'll try to allay some of your fears.

Yes, I do already have three children. If my math is correct, this will be my fourth child. So by today's standards, four children is more than the national average. But this is not my 19th child, so let's not get carried away with the shock and awe. I know a woman who raised five sons to adulthood, and she likes to say, "One child takes all your time and money. Five children take all your time and money." And that is true enough.

When this little one comes along, my bigger kids will be 10, 8, and 5, so I'll have some built in helpers. (And they'll all be school age come September.) We did, however, give away every scrap of baby gear before we moved to Minnesota two years ago, so we must once again allow our house to be overrun with tiny clothes that need washing nine times a day, toys that rattle, and all manner of baby holding, baby safety, and baby carrying devices.

While it's been five years since I've had my own little one, I can remember through the haze of early onset dementia that I appear to be developing, that this necessary hemorrhage of money and space is very, very worth it.

Also, I am the official baby holder of Three Irish Girls, remember? (Here's a tip: Be extraordinarily careful about which titles you bestow upon yourself!)

I started this business when my first child was a toddler, and simultaneously worked dyeing yarn and teaching high school (you can read the story starting here, if you want) for years and years, so the fact that I will only be working one job this time is of great help.

Owning my own business also gives me the flexibility to work around the baby's needs -- I can bring him or her with me, they can nap in my office, they can spend half the day in a sling or on my back if they want to, and when they're big enough, they can stay home with daddy, who works from home.

The take away here is that I've successfully had (cute, healthy, sweet) children under much more challenging circumstances than this one. Besides, after three kids and over 1,000 babies held, I'm a veteran mama bear.

Yes to a few other things:

Yes, you will still get your yarn.

Yes, the spring collection is still coming shortly.

Yes, we are still publishing all the patterns we planned on.

I've been pregnant for a while, you just haven't known it. All is well.

So, there you go. My super top secret surprise announcement.  Yay!

Closing my eyes and hitting publish...

Thanks for nothing, winter.

Dear Winter,

Earlier today I made myself a list of things I wanted to be sure and mention when I wrote this letter to you.

Normally, you provide Northern Minnesota, which I should like to add is at 46 degrees north latitude, with more than 80 inches of snowfall each year. This year, you've decided that we owe you snow? We have a negative snowfall balance? Snowverdraft?

What did we long-suffering Duluthians do to deserve this? Have we not suffered through endless months of below zero temperatures since the dawn of the modern era?

Thirty-four degrees above zero is certainly a balmy start to a February. But my kids can't go outside and play in 34 degrees and drizzle. My horsedogs come back in, all disappointed in the lack of snow in which to frolic, and wipe their muddy paws on my upholstery. I want to punch you in the face.

And the worst part? Spring is not around the corner. We both know it. No crocuses will be peeking their heads above ground in the next couple of weeks. Buds will not be returning to the trees.

No. And because we're in snowverdraft, any precipitation you were thinking of delivering will most certainly be diverted to a portion of the world that is not at 46 degrees north latitude.

Thanks a lot for temperatures that ensure that nothing pleasantly snowy will take place, nor will anything begin to grow.

Thanks a lot for the severe drought we'll be facing when spring does come. Good one.

I've decided that if you're unwilling to do your job and provide us with a proper winter, I will just force spring to arrive, in the studio at least.

I bought these quince branches, and they're quite happily flowering in the warm, humid environment yarn dyeing provides.

Take that.

Love,

Yarnista

P.S. I really will punch you in the face.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

four things

1. Two enormous animals live in my home. Via some moment of sheer absurdity, I willingly agreed to let both a horse and a gazelle occupy my living room, eat my food, and attempt to sleep in my bed. I got up to get some water last night, and in the sixty seconds I was gone, I came back to find a horse sleeping in my spot. She was just lying in wait, rubbing her paws together, gleeful at the chance to usurp my position as 50% bed owner.

The horse, on the left, is a chocolate colored beast, weighing in at the better part of 95 pounds, and whose favorite activities include eating food, sleeping ON you, and swimming through life. This is a dog who will get into the bathtub with you, despite your attempts at pushing her away. This is an animal who can swim in the snow. (Sadly, we don't have any.) She is exceedingly strong and adorably affectionate. We occasionally call her Rosie.

Her compatriot, on the right, has lived with us since October. We rescued her from the shelter when she was ten months old and named her Lucy. She is a lab and springer mix, and she has not stopped moving since the moment we met her. I was recently telling a new acquaintance about my dogs, and when she heard we had a female lab/springer mix, she said, "Let me guess. Really sweet. Really smart. Incredibly hyperactive."

She is so hyperactive that I cannot take a decent picture of her. This is the sum total of the photographs I have in which you can tell a black dog is present, and not just a smear of ink across the frame.

Lucy is just as tall as Rosie, but is half her weight, which makes her faster than a speeding bullet. The breed name springer is an accurate one, as she leaps, gazelle-like, at every opportunity. Given a choice between walking and leaping, she'll choose the latter.

If I had vast quantities of free time, this is the kind of gazelle I would train and enter into agility contests. 

But I don't. So she'll have to satisfy herself with the leaping opportunities around my house.

These beasts love to chase each other and wrestle whenever they have a free moment. And let's face it, unless you're a farm dog, nearly every moment in a dog's life is a free one.

I've asked them politely to stop wrestling. They don't listen to me. They careen into the coffee table, spilling your drinks. They crash into the backs of your knees while you're cooking dinner, pitching you forward into the salad. They have such wanton disregard for human courtesy.

But they also let small children ride on their backs. They will eat anything, making them excellent vacuum cleaners. They sleep curled up with a seven year old in the sweetest possible way.

Someday -- and I'm told this is inevitable -- that girl is going to grow up and move out. And when she does, she'll get herself a horse or a gazelle of her own, because of the memories she's made with these.

But what can be done about the wrestling? What?

2. Several weeks ago, I was groggily drinking my coffee and eating my raisin bran. I like to read the paper while I do this. The length of my breakfast is directly proportional to the thickness of the newspaper.

When I lived in Washington, DC, we got both the Washington Post and the New York Times delivered every morning. Sometimes I would have to get up at 2:00 am to eat breakfast.

Now, the Duluth News Tribune provides me with about ten minutes of eating time. I read the front section, which often has stories about local and state government and the problems they both create and solve. I skip nearly all of the international Associated Press stories, because I've read them online the day before, and there's nothing worse than rereading the same bad news.

Then I read the local section, which is mostly about things like black bears, sledding, road construction, Lake Superior, and obituaries. I skip the entire sports section because of a very deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep apathy towards any and all sports. Is deep apathy an oxymoron?

Whatever. I don't care that much.

I enjoy reading the paper, and try to look at it from the perspective of, hey, I'm lucky to live in a place where the top local news story is about someone stealing $150 from their coworker's locker.

So, you can imagine the chuckle I had when I unearthed this gem:

I should like to point out that this did not happen in Duluth, or even Minnesota, for that matter. We have Wisconsin to thank for this one.

You see, it seems as though Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop violated the terms of his bail conditions.

He had some drugs, paraphernalia, and weapons. Understandably, Wisconsin did not like that. So they put him in jail.

Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop, whose name used to be Jeff, legally changed his name. As in, went to court and said to a judge, "Hello, my name is Jeff. I would like to pay money to change my name to Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop."

And the judge said, "Okey dokey."

Poor Beezow's mother. She cannot be pleased that her baby Jeff has done this to himself.

3. I knit this scarf for moi. It's a bulky weight braided circle that loops around my neck twice and keeps me toasty warm.

4. One more week until Valentine's Day! How do you feel about that?