Casa Walsh

I have to be on-top of my Christmas present buying this year, since all present have to be mailed out many days in advance. This means no last-minute, Christmas eve shopping sprees.

I’ve been relying heavily on ol’ Amazon.com this year, simply because they carry everything under the sun and if you spend enough dough, they’ll ship it for free.

Also, Amazon makes it very exciting for those of us who absolutely must receive their purchases a few days before December 25. When you buy a book from Amazon, they’ll give you a estimate on shipping (how long it takes to leave the warehouse) and delivery (how long it takes to get to your house). The exciting part? Once you place an order, these estimates will change, and change often. Like, several times a day. This morning my packages were scheduled to arrive on Dec 18, and this afternoon, well, they might make it here by Dec 21. By Monday, it’s not impossible that my books could be spending Christmas in a holding pen in Louisville, KY.

Thanks Amazon, for keeping it interesting.

I have to be on-top of my Christmas present buying this year, since all present have to be mailed out many days in advance. This means no last-minute, Christmas eve shopping sprees.

I’ve been relying heavily on ol’ Amazon.com this year, simply because they carry everything under the sun and if you spend enough dough, they’ll ship it for free.

Also, Amazon makes it very exciting for those of us who absolutely must receive their purchases a few days before December 25. When you buy a book from Amazon, they’ll give you a estimate on shipping (how long it takes to leave the warehouse) and delivery (how long it takes to get to your house). The exciting part? Once you place an order, these estimates will change, and change often. Like, several times a day. This morning my packages were scheduled to arrive on Dec 18, and this afternoon, well, they might make it here by Dec 21. By Monday, it’s not impossible that my books could be spending Christmas in a holding pen in Louisville, KY.

Thanks Amazon, for keeping it interesting.

Lot’s of people have come to Casa Walsh looking for a knit arm warmer pattern, so I thought I’d do my best to provide one. I’ve never written a pattern, so bear with me.

I modified a mitten pattern, using a nice worsted weight yarn. I cast on 33 stitches on size 5 needles, work in a knit1 purl1 rib for an inch or so. Then I switched to size 7 double-pointed needles and knit in the round. I continually checked the width against my arm, decreasing as needed to match the narrowing of my forearm and wrist. I threw in a few stripes, and when I got to where the thumb hole should be, I knit 10 stitches with a piece of contrasting yarn, continued kniting for 4 more rounds, and bound off loosely. Going back to the thumb hole, I picked up the 10 stitches above and below the contrasting yarn peice with two needles, and yanked out the place-holding yarn, creating a hole. I bound off the picked up stitches with blue yarn, and wove in the loose ends. Arm warmers or long fingerless gloves, you be the judge.

What? You say patterns aren’t written in the first person? Tough.

Lot’s of people have come to Casa Walsh looking for a knit arm warmer pattern, so I thought I’d do my best to provide one. I’ve never written a pattern, so bear with me.

I modified a mitten pattern, using a nice worsted weight yarn. I cast on 33 stitches on size 5 needles, work in a knit1 purl1 rib for an inch or so. Then I switched to size 7 double-pointed needles and knit in the round. I continually checked the width against my arm, decreasing as needed to match the narrowing of my forearm and wrist. I threw in a few stripes, and when I got to where the thumb hole should be, I knit 10 stitches with a piece of contrasting yarn, continued kniting for 4 more rounds, and bound off loosely. Going back to the thumb hole, I picked up the 10 stitches above and below the contrasting yarn peice with two needles, and yanked out the place-holding yarn, creating a hole. I bound off the picked up stitches with blue yarn, and wove in the loose ends. Arm warmers or long fingerless gloves, you be the judge.

What? You say patterns aren’t written in the first person? Tough.

The last, and only, time I missed an East Coast family Christmas was in 1997. I spent that Christmas at a Maltese airport. Festive. I was adopted by a Sicilian couple whose ferry ride was cancelled by high seas and bad weather. My knowlege of Italian was limited to “thank you”, “you’re welcome”, “how much?” and “I’ll have one of those tasty looking things, please”. They knew a little English, and we didn’t have much of a conversation, but I was greatful for their warmth and concern. And snacks.

The last, and only, time I missed an East Coast family Christmas was in 1997. I spent that Christmas at a Maltese airport. Festive. I was adopted by a Sicilian couple whose ferry ride was cancelled by high seas and bad weather. My knowlege of Italian was limited to “thank you”, “you’re welcome”, “how much?” and “I’ll have one of those tasty looking things, please”. They knew a little English, and we didn’t have much of a conversation, but I was greatful for their warmth and concern. And snacks.

A few months ago, yes, I guess it was around my birthday; I came out of the bathroom stall here at work, washed my hands, checked myself out in mirror and noticed a fine glint in the part of my hair. I dried my hands, and tilted the top of my head towards the mirror to get a closer look. There it was: A hair of a different color. At first I thought it was a very very pale blonde, a leftover from the summertime. Ignoring the old wives tale that pulled grays will return with several friends, I yanked it out of my scalp. Holding it up to the light, and running it through my fingers, it looked and felt different. Translucent, and coarser than my other soft, fine, pretty hairs.

Well the old wives have cursed me, because yesterday I found three (three!) gray hairs. I pulled them all out.

And to all those women who I’ve rolled my eyes at when they discussed their own graying hair in public: I’m sorry.

A few months ago, yes, I guess it was around my birthday; I came out of the bathroom stall here at work, washed my hands, checked myself out in mirror and noticed a fine glint in the part of my hair. I dried my hands, and tilted the top of my head towards the mirror to get a closer look. There it was: A hair of a different color. At first I thought it was a very very pale blonde, a leftover from the summertime. Ignoring the old wives tale that pulled grays will return with several friends, I yanked it out of my scalp. Holding it up to the light, and running it through my fingers, it looked and felt different. Translucent, and coarser than my other soft, fine, pretty hairs.

Well the old wives have cursed me, because yesterday I found three (three!) gray hairs. I pulled them all out.

And to all those women who I’ve rolled my eyes at when they discussed their own graying hair in public: I’m sorry.

The freshly fallen snow lets me monitor the comings and goings of my neighbor. I swear I saw lights on in his apartment this weekend. But there’s no sign of him leaving or entering. Maybe he’s still waiting out the worst of it.

The freshly fallen snow lets me monitor the comings and goings of my neighbor. I swear I saw lights on in his apartment this weekend. But there’s no sign of him leaving or entering. Maybe he’s still waiting out the worst of it.