A Journey of Snobbery

When did I become a fiber snob?

I remember learning to crochet when I was about 12-ish. I don't remember exactly how old I was. I wanted to learn how to crochet bedroom slippers and doilies. Our family knew this old lady who loved to crochet and sew, and I asked her one day if she would show me how to crochet. I went to some department store and got a skein of royal blue Red Heart acryllic yarn. (Blue was my favorite color back then.)

It took me two or three lessons (and practicing in-between) to learn how to get my tension right and how to make granny-square slippers. They looked like elf shoes, but granny-ish. I decided I'd make a pair for EVERY PERSON I KNEW! After about 10 pairs, I was ready to move onto something else . . . but that's not really part of what I'm talking about.

Acryllic yarn was cheap. I could afford it. After all, people started to just GIVE it to me when they learned I was crocheting. And you could find big huge bags of it at the thrift shop. And . . . wasn't acryllic yarn the only yarn that existed? (I think that in Aberdeen, Washington in the '90s, it WAS the only yarn that existed.)

I moved on from crocheting with yarn, to making doilies and crocheted edgings on blankets and necks on kitchen towels. Cotton was nice. It had a nice, comforting feeling to it. I learned that there was the stuff you could get at K-mart, and there was the expensive stuff (made by DMC) in the "Yarn Basket" (the shop in a spooky part of town, next to the tattoo parlor and some questionable hair salon and the pog shop -- maybe that was part of the tattoo parlor). The expensive stuff was WONDERFUL to crochet with! It was smooth and it behaved well and it made the most beautiful doilies! The cheap crochet thread was a little rough, like paper. The drape of the doily was stiff, not fluid like the expensive stuff.

I determined at that time that I did not want to spend countless hours using cheap crochet thread to make a project that I didn't like to look at or touch. It was also about that time that I realized that I didn't like crocheting with "yarn," because "yarn is yucky."

In 8th grade, I learned how to knit in Young Women's. We made dishrags, which had to be made out of cotton yarn. I remember my dad taking me to the Payless in Hoquiam, and picking out some blue cotton yarn and some blue #7 needles. I got Rachel some yarn and needles, too, which weren't blue. The needles were aluminum, and they clicked together when they touched each other.

Knitting with cotton yarn was AWESOME! It wasn't "yucky"! But it was expensive. And when it got wet, it got super heavy and lost its shape. So it was ONLY good for DISH RAGS. And dish rags were hard to make: the little loops fell off the needles and I didn't know how to fix it. Knitting wasn't as fun as crocheting.

I remember checking out about 50 books at the library on how to knit and crochet. As far as I was concerned, that's all the library was good for. You could reserve books and they'd come a few days later from some OTHER library. There is one pattern I found and loved -- I wish I'd made a copy of that lace pattern. Oh well. Lace was the only thing I wanted to make, because it used crochet thread that was cotton.

When I went to BYU, I had a roommate who loved knitting. The only thing she could knit was dish rags -- the same pattern I'd learned in Young Women's ten years earlier. She would knit during church to stay awake (she had some narcoleptic tendencies), and one day I asked if I could try, and she showed me how to do it. Way too many steps to make just one stitch, I thought.

There was a yarn shop in town that offered classes to you if you would buy supplies in their shop. I went in there and looked at all the projects on display. Cute blankets, baby sweaters, and lots of socks. I'd made crocheted socks before, which were somewhat nubby and granny-looking. But these knitted socks were GORGEOUS. "People still knit socks?" I wondered. And I noticed that the yarn they used had different fiber contents in it -- there were wool blends, silk blends, cotton blends . . . you could make warm, wooly socks for the winter, and light, airy socks for the spring!

I made my first (and, admittedly, only) pair of socks from yarn and needles I bought at that store. They had these special needles called "bamboo" needles. Yes, they were NOT slidy aluminum -- my stitches could STAY ON the needles without SLIDING OFF!! This was a miracle. A miracle I really loved! My yarn was a wool-acryllic blend, so they wouldn't shrink when I washed them.

I went there one afternoon looking for some silk yarn to make leg warmers out of. The owner suggested some other yarn, because silk stretches. The yarn he recommended was a synthetic something-or-other, which was kinda fun and stripey-- but they stretch out after one wearing, so I kinda grossed out over that yarn.

My final year at BYU, I took a textiles class. I learned in that class about how fabric was made, what the pros/cons of each fiber was, and really, why I liked what I liked or didn't like. I gained an appreciation for why some fibers are expensive and others are cheap, and how to get what qualities you're looking for in a certain garment/item. I think it was about that semester when I bought my final skein of acryllic yarn.

I wonder now, as I knit a mohair/wool capelet for my little sister, who can't appreciate how much the yarn costs to make, and will certainly not take care of it. It cannot be washed in the washer, or it will turn into a doll-capelet-sized rug thingy. But, how CAN I knit it in a cheap yarn? It would pill, it wouldn't block pretty, and in the sunshine, it would look orangey and cheap. And after all those hours of knitting it, THAT would be a DISASTER.

Why do I have to be such a fiber snob?

Lovestruck (Not Loves Truck)

A friend lent me a car for a week. She dropped it off at the house one Friday evening; her husband handed me the key and they drove off together in the twilight. The next day, I stayed at home to get caught up on my homework. I got a phone call from an acquaintance (I’ll call him “Dudly” or “Dud,” for short) that afternoon. I let him know that I had a car in my possession, and he asked me what make and model the car was. The car owner had told me that information before, but it was of little consequence to me; it functioned and it had fuel in it, and it was red. I knew the HISTORY of the car, but the make and model? Like I care.

When Dudly asked me about the car, I told him that it was a red car and I didn’t know the make and model. He responded, “No, now don’t get all girly on me that way – don’t tell me you don’t know.” Suddenly he cared more about the car than my sparkling, charming, and delightsome personality. In the moment, I was apologetic. But this situation has been bothering me since.

Does this guy know how to make bread? Does he know why you let the dough rise twice? Has he ever made custard? pie? roasted chicken and gravy? soup? marshmallows, canned tuna, graham crackers, croissants? Does he know how linen is made? The difference between raw silk and organdy? Why bias-cut fabric gathers so much prettier than straight- or cross-grain fabric? What about removing blood stains? What’s the difference between a salad fork and a fish fork? Why do blueberries and blackberries grow so well in moist climates and not that much in arid ones? How do you keep petunias blooming? Is aspirin an antipyretic? What are NSAIDS? Why do girls wear blush? What’s the difference between “hair cut” and “haircut”? Does he know what a possessive plural is? Why do you put a top coat and a base coat on your nails? Who played Mr. Darcy on the BBC version of “Pride & Prejudice”? What is the purpose of pinking shears? Which grocery stores carry Lindt truffles? What are the pros and cons of knitting with wool? How about acrylic? What is the difference between knitting and crocheting? What is the child pose in yoga? Where did yoga even originate? What colors of jewelry wire are available at the craft store? What cream/ointment do you put on a baby’s bottom if he has a rash?

I’m GUNNA get all girly. No, I do not care what type of car it is. And I don’t feel bad about it! Why SHOULD I? I’d be surprised if he could answer ANY of these questions! But until then, I celebrate my femininity. If I knew all the “manly” stuff, what reason would I have for a man in my life? I’m not a guy and I don’t hafta be. I don’t apologize for that. Not even a little bit. He can learn everything about being a girl and then tell me to remember the make and model of some random car someone dropped off at my house.

At the end of our conversation, Dudly said I was fun to talk to (which I already know). Yeah, it looks like my future with this kid isn’t going to go very far. I don’t really mind being single. In fact, it looks better than the alternative to me. Maybe in a couple of years I’ll be old enough to marry one of the widowed apostles.

Is This Blog Still Here?

I'm just wondering.

Horrible

Last night I was trying to get some sleep, and I couldn't get sleep, which infuriated me. After a few hours of sleeplessness, I got a text message, sent to people who work at Crumb Brothers, the bakery I work at. It was from a coworker, and she said that "something came up" and she wasn't "able to make it" to her shift the next day (today). I have the morning shift, from 6 to 10, so I can go to school from 11 to 2 and then work the evening from 4 until whenever I get done. This girl's shift was from 10 to 2.

Well, at about 9:58 this morning at work, I started looking for her to come through the door, or to at least drive up and park in the parking lot or something. The bus comes by my work at 14 minutes after the hour, so I was really hoping to make that bus so I could get to school by 11. Every minute I looked at the clock with great interest and passion, hoping that this girl would come and relieve me. I called her and left her a text message, and she didn't even bother to answer her phone. Somehow she is able to use it at 1:13 a.m. but not at 10:03 a.m.? What the stink? Anyway, there was no one to relieve me. I just had to be stuck with it. I was stuck there until almost 3:00 this afternoon, and then went straight to my other job. I can't imagine what could have "come up." If her mother died, I'd think she would say in her text message that her mother had died. I think that she would have called the manager (who isn't there on Mondays, but we have been given her home phone number, and it's on the same paper where she got my phone number). Maybe she got stuck in Puerto Rico or Russia --- but I'd think she'd also have mentioned that in her text message. And I think she'd also have called the manager about something like that. When she says "something came up" and "I won't be able to make it," I think she decided to go to a movie with her boyfriend. Or that she wanted to go to a birthday party.

BUT YOU DON'T JUST NOT SHOW UP. It wasn't my responsibility to be there this afternoon. It was my responsibility and obligation to be at SCHOOL. That's the "something that came up" for ME. The fact that she ignored my phone call and text message really ticks me off. She should have at least let me know she wasn't going to be there at all, so I knew what to count on, or so I could arrange a replacement (even though that's not my responsibility --- I'd have been happy to do that if I at least knew what to expect!!). I know I can't count on her for any reason. I am so incredibly bothered by this situation. In retrospect, I'm glad she didn't show up at all because I'd have been angry with her and probably have said how I felt, which may have made her cry, and I don't like it when I make people cry. I don't think she wants a job that badly. For a girl who's getting between 8-12 hours a week and missing a 4-hour shift so irresponsibly, she's not really proving her desire and commitment for a job.

Milk

Now, I don't usually drink milk. I find that I feel better if I drink soy milk or rice milk, or just anything that's not cow milk. When I came home for Christmas vacation, my mom got me a half-gallon of Silk (soy milk). I've since used it all up for cereal or using it as a beverage with a meal. No big deal.

This morning I didn't get up early, and everyone else had had breakfast before me -- including Sonnet. She rarely finishes her meal without using up an entire hour or having "coaxing" (in the form of threats -- "Your meal is over in three minutes, darling"), so I wasn't surprised to find a half-drunk glass of orange juice and a bowl with half a Shredded Wheat biscuit, dry. Sonnet also doesn't like having milk with her cereal. Even when she does have it, she reserves a handful of cereal and sets it on the table to munch out-of-hand. She does have eccentricities, so I usually don't think much of things she does.

So, I thought, "Mm, Shredded Wheat sounds good, with a drizzle of local honey on top of it. Mm. Yeah, that's what I'm having for breakfast. I guess if I don't have THAT much milk, it won't hurt my stomach that much." So I got two Shredded Wheat biscuits out of the bag and got a spoonful of honey and proceeded to drizzle honey on top of it. "Wow, how nutritious," I thought, as I remembered honey has healing properties blah blah blah . . .

Then I opened the fridge. Orange juice, buttermilk, sparkling cider, whipping cream, egg nog. Milk? *sigh* Maybe in the other fridge. Soup. No milk. Now, there's a gas station across the street that has milk . . . but I don't want to put on my makeup and shoes and coat to go across the street to get a gallon of milk for $4, which I will only use about 1/3 cup of. So I thought, maybe I won't even bother with the milk; I'll just put the biscuits back. But now they have honey on them. If I leave them on the table, someone will come in and say, "Ooh, honey! Whose hair can I rub it on?" or "Which floor is the cleanest, to drop this on and then run away and act like I don't know anything about it?" I know those very thoughts cross little people's minds. I know it. And, I don't feel good about just THROWING IT AWAY. That's rude. And I wasn't in the mood for rude today, even by my own self.

I closed my eyes in dispair. Then I reached in the fridge for egg nog. I knew I'd hate eating this breakfast today, but I'd gotten myself into my OWN predicament. Arrgh.

I was not disappointed. I recommend NOT having honey AND egg nog in the same spoonful. It's wretched. And I feel kindof dorky even MAKING this recommendation, since who would be foolish enough to even think up egg nog + honey? Many people who read this blog probably even wonder why I'd think up egg nog, because they don't find pleasure in partaking of it.

So, a new recommendation I give unto you, is that you first search the fridge diligently before preparing to feast upon the cereal.

Poem

I decided I'd compose a wonderful poem about autumn.

But I have a hard time with poetry, unless it makes fun of other poetry. And I don't want to make fun of things right now.

Plus, autumn is cold. As I type this, I'm shivering on my bed in my sweater under my blanket. My nose is cold and running (not because I have a cold, but because I AM cold!). Supposedly, the naked trees are supposed to let the sun shine through, but every building casts a shadow on its every side, no matter what time of day it is! So I think, "Oh, I'll ride my bike and warm up from moving around!" No, moving around just puts you in contact with MORE COLD AIR.

I wonder if they make heaters for bikes. That's just silly, but it would be awesome.

So, sorry about my deep and meaningful poem. I just don't have it in me to be a poet right now. My nose is too sniffly, and I have to make, like, a THOUSAND pies today at the restaurant. I've been dreading this day. Last night we made 14 pies. I think that after this week, I'm due for a three-week vacation. I might just take it during the end of December.

Days of Our Lives

I got a new planner for 2009. I have a hard time with planners because the week always starts on Monday, and I just don't think that way. Back in the olden days, I used a weekly planner that was about the size of a credit card and about a quarter-inch thick. That line has since discontinued the little planner (since 2008) and I've been forced to use the monthly ones, which are larger and they're basically a calendar stretched across two pages.

So, the planner I got for 2009 is a lovely one, and I have been excited to use it. I have learned in the past that, if I choose to have a planner I like, I have to buy it early -- before December. Otherwise the planners I get to choose from are those that no one else wanted (and for good reason!).

When I got home from the store with my perfect new planner, I unwrapped the plastic wrapping that encased it, and I began to look at the first couple pages (the one where you put your name and all personal information in all the blank lines, so someone can find it and steal your identity; the page with a world map with different time zones that no one ever looks at except when they first buy the planner, like I did; all the conversions of measurements, where they have all the ones you know but never the ones you need; a list of "traditional" and "modern" wedding gifts, where I've always wondered if it's the spouse that's supposed to give the gift, or is it the neighbor or friend? and what kind of gift is "paper"??). I kept turning the pages until I got to April, so I could write "General Conference" where it goes. I realized this General Conference that I always have to request that Saturday off at the last moment, because until about Thursday of that week, I've forgotten that I should have asked for work off -- and then there I am, scrambling around, trying to convince my employer that "I have church on Saturday, but only this Saturday. It's a special Saturday where we Mormons have church . . ." and I just feel like a bumbling goon. Well, more so than usual.

Something was hideously wrong with the calendar part of the planner. The weeks started with MONDAY!! Good grief, there's an "S" and the beginning and an "S" at the end, and a "W" right in the center. How can anyone mess THAT up?? I couldn't take it back to the store, because I took the wrapping off it. Arrgh.

So, Sunday before Church, I sat in the chapel as folks wandered in, and I changed 365 days, one number back. By hand. In addition, I had to cross every "Monday," "Tuesday," "Wednesday," "Thursday," "Friday," "Saturday," and "Sunday" out and write above it, "Sunday," "Monday," "Tuesday," "Wednesday," "Thursday," "Friday," and "Saturday."

And the first weekends in April and October, I marked "General Conference."