A tale of woe.

Woe is me.

We had such a terrible day at work today. Completely devoid of cheer. Woe woe woe.

We had a horrible cookie exchange. Just awful.

These were unspeakable. Who wants to eat my old family recipes, anyway? Not I.

I mean, really. Come on. Who likes peanut butter and chocolate together? Honestly.

And what exactly would one celebrate with these?  A wedding in Mexico?

And aren't these just the dreariest things you've ever seen?

Have I said woe yet? I have? Oh.

Woe to you, ginger fig truffles and peppercorn caramels.

The peanut butter cups wrapped neatly in waxed paper? Hideous. And inedible.

 So inedible, in fact, that I could only eat five of them. They were that bad.

And we had to wash them down with coffee and milk. To cover up the taste of woe.

After such a downer of a morning, I decided to try and spice things up a bit.

I've decided to periodically offer sale pricing on one randomly selected colorway. The catch is that only the first 20 skeins sold will get the 20% off, so you have to hurry.

Today's sale is on Flynn:

Click here to grab some. Perhaps this will prevent me from descending into the depths of despair with the four dozen cookies now in my kitchen. Help.

Traditionally

A young bride would lovingly roast a turkey for her family during the holidays.  After basting every twenty minutes for the better part of a day, it would then be carefully carved and arranged on a platter with fresh herbs.

Not I.

#1: I am not a young bride anymore. I think a decade of marriage disqualifies me.

#2: This is Minnesota in winter. What are fresh herbs again?

#3: I have a freakish attraction to crispy turkey skin. I have to hold myself back from picking all the crispy, buttery skin off the turkey before it makes it to the table.

#4: I'm terrible at carving meat. Probably because I'm too busy inhaling the skin.

Traditionally, a young bride would spend hours peeling, dicing, boiling, and mashing potatoes by hand.

Not I.

While there's no way around the peeling and boiling, I come to my own aid with a hand held mixer.

And then I must -- I must -- take a dollop (just one) with my finger, as if the mashed potatoes were cookie dough.

Then I smooth them back over with a spoon so no one will know.

Traditionally, children sat at a small table during a holiday meal and minded the manners their mother so carefully instilled in them.

Not I. The children's table here is covered with markers, pipe cleaner, ribbon, and socks to make sock puppets.

*NOTE*: Socks were not handknit.

You can resume normal breathing now.

Traditionally, children would be nestled all snug in their beds at the end of the day.

In my family, little ones fall asleep on their mama's shoulders.

Then they're carefully coccooned in their snowsuits and carried to the car that has been warming for ten minutes, courtesy of a remote starter.

I like my traditions, even though they ain't fancy.

Do you have any traditions that others might find strange, but that you love nonetheless?

Don't leave me hanging here. It would violate tradition.

Know what I mean?

You know when you hear a recording of your own voice, it sounds a little...strange?

You get so used to the reverb in your own head that when you hear what everyone else hears, it's odd.

Unless you are Mariah Carey and you listen to your own voice professionally, in which you can just politely disagree with me and keep reading anyway.

Not being of the Mariah Carey sort, I must say it took me a little while to get accustomed to the sound of my own voice on The Fiber Beat Podcast.

I was interviewed by Mike when I sojourned to the land of chicken-nugget free dining to visit my friends at Bobbin's Nest Studio in Santa Clara.

The first part of the podcast is an interview with Bobbin's Nest owner Erin McGee, who I can honestly say is even more delightful in person than she is recorded.

I love the musical choices The Fiber Beat intersperses while you're listening -- never would I have guessed that the Mickey Mouse Club Rollcall and I would be mingling. But Wonder Mike makes it work.

You can find The Fiber Beat on iTunes (we're episode lucky 13), or by using this link and clicking on "direct download" at the bottom of the post. (It's free entertainment, and fun knitting listening.)

I made my husband listen to it (ah, the joys of being married), and here were his remarks, verbatim:

"It was good."

"You laugh a lot."

Touché, sir, touché.

Yes.

It is cold.

Yes. We have snow.

Yes, I live here voluntarily.

In part because of this:

When the temperature drops, Lake Superior steams.

That's how cold it is: Lake Superior is warmer than the air.

Let me repeat. Lake Superior is warmer than the air.

Not to be too morbid, but Lake Superior is so cold that even in the summer, dead things don't float to the surface. The water is too cold to allow the gas-producing bacteria to multiply and cause buoyancy.

The southern part of Minnesota got walloped with a few feet of snow over the weekend -- we were not so lucky. (I love a good snow day.) Everyone in my neck of the woods made an effort to batten down the hatches based on the (wrong, wrong wrong!) predictions of meteorologists -- we made sure we had plenty of wood for the wood stove, snacks for the children, and I brought home all the yarn for the knitting projects next in the queue.

11-18", they told us.

We waited by the fire for the show to begin, and it never did. It was like looking forward to a really exciting movie, only to arrive at the theater, plunk yourself down in a seat with your popcorn and candy, and wait for the movie to start. You sit and sit, and periodically the manager comes out and says, "We're almost there, folks -- should just be a couple more minutes, and everything will be fixed."

You consume all your popcorn and your Milk Duds and make a quick dash to the concession stand for some Reese's Pieces before the movie starts.

You eat all the Reese's Pieces and some of your beloved's Junior Mints.

You fall into a deep sugar coma.

When you awaken, the manager is waiting for you. He says the movie will start any second. Any second, really.

It never does.

Eventually, you concede that the movie is well and truly broken and leave the theater. When you walk to your car, you discover it won't start.

That's where we are right now -- in the broken down car of twenty degrees below zero, disappointed that we waited in vain at the movie theater.

But at least we have this:

This weekend I complained to my sister about my lack of apparel for dressy winter occasions. I was going to the ballet and couldn't find anything that would neither bring shame to my family (read: jeans and a T-shirt at The Nutcracker) or cause me to die of hypothermia. She was supposed to offer helpful suggestions to her sister who hasn't lived in a climate this cold in over a decade. Something like, "I will drop you off at the door so you don't develop hypothermia walking the long distance from the parking garage to the entrance."

Or, "I have a dressy, floor-length down parka you can borrow."

Or, "Wear these mulkluks that I've dressified with my Bedazzler."

But no.

Do you know what she told me?

"Suck it up and be a Minnesotan."

Fine. I will.

And I may even like it.

Endless Inspiration

That's what I hope our Lookbook provides.

But just in case you need more, how about this?

There's something about seeing things all lined up that I love.

(L-R, top row: Padraig, Ainsley, Riley. Bottom row: McNamara, Collins, Gavin, Burke)

Or these babies here:

(L-R: O'Donnell, Brannagh, Rona, Neve, Flannery)

Or purple. I happen to know that many of you love purple.

(L-R, top row: Bryn, Elowen, Enna. Bottom row: Ryan, Eilis, Molly, Bridget, Mairin.)

The printed Lookbooks are almost done. We've gone through several rounds of adjustments with the printer, trying to make sure the color is as accurate as possible. I can't wait to see them all arrive and to send them to live with their new mamas and papas!