Purl Paranoia

During the last three weeks, I've been advised by other small business owners.  I didn't really consider Crafty McSchnafty a "business" until now.  The b-word  is so stuffy, right?  And it was really more of a hobby that paid for my yarn addiction.  True, I have designed a couple patterns for fruit suits, and yes, I've sold some stuff.  However, I don't think it's going to be my main source of income until I can get my sweaty mug printed on millions of skeins of yarn.  Side note: My yarn will only come in green.  Dozens of shades of green.  Two different artist/lady/friends have told me that the minute I declare myself a business owner/designer, then it becomes true.  Ok, world...

I'M A DESIGNER WHO RUNS A SMALL B-B-BUSINESS! 

Now what?  I feel there should be some sort of ritual, more than just a declaration.  What would make me feel official?  Paperwork!  When you purchase an item from a business, you get a receipt.  So I bought a book of receipts for this art expo thing I'm doing in April.  Even though they don't have my name printed on them, I feel very business-y.  Next, designers make and follow patterns, yes?  Well, even before I read Fahrenheit 451˚, I loved the rote method of teaching and learning the arts.  Admittedly, though, I'm getting bogged down.  Rather than than allowing all these fruit suit, schneed, hat, and arm/legwarmer ideas to continue rattling around in my head, I've written them down.  I would love for a master knitter to look at them (much like I used to call on my dear voice instructor to check my rudimentary arranging attempts), and pat me on the head for my effort.  It is a great relief and a proud designer moment for me.  Maybe I'll publish a book of patterns.  Which brings me to my next quandry;  Should I only share these ideas for a fee? 

Aside from two paid half-hour lessons in knit and crochet and a $12.50 tip I left in Silver's e-jar, I've pirated the vast majority of my stitch vocabulary from blogs and free internet sites.  Do I pay it forward?  Did I steal from starving artists, or did I get a bone from some rich, bored suburban housewife?  Perhaps I need to move forward and not worry about the past.

Either way, I have two events coming up in April that feature my b-word.  *Fingers crossed* I will run out of receipts at said events.  Crafty will keep you posted.  

What I Did On Vacation

It may have only been 60 minutes, but I did quite a lot during Earth Hour.  Alerted to the event only two minutes before it started, I had to move quickly.  Lighter found, blueberry muffin candle lit.  From there, I could find more candles and place them strategically in the house.  8:30 lights out.  

Not interested in a meditative experience, I wanted to see how productive I could be with no electricity.  How Little House on the Prairie would I get?  There was no butter churning, but I did finish a sink full of dishes plus some.  I also made dinner, washed a ton of vegetables, and learned a few things.  

Today, after holding a decidedly un-productive conversation with a client, I decided that people these days attempt to do too much at once.  There are a few people who can successfully perform multiple activities simultaneously, like talk on the phone, hail a cab, shop for toothpaste, and chew gum, but most people need a do over at some point.  Have you ever been on a the phone with someone who is obviously otherwise engaged in email or driving?  And have you ever found yourself at home after going grocery shopping, and you forgot the one thing you set out to purchase?  Am I the only one this happens to?  People get distracted.  Today's un-productive (not to mention, disproportionately long) conversation could have been totally avoided, had said client just done one thing at a time.  He couldn't hear me because he was in a busy train station, had already clicked out of the screen that had the necessary information to tell me what he was interested in, and he really had no intention of committing to an appointment.   We were useless to each other, and he decided to call back later.  A simple sounding exchange, but it took ages to come to this agreement.  Trust me, there's a point to this anecdote.  

When I washed the dishes by candlelight, I didn't poke myself once with a fork, or spill water on the kitchen floor, like I usually do.  And that's because I was able to concentrate on the task at hand.  No iPod, no blaring TV.  I walked around the house and looked for more dishes, thrilled by this  experience.

  

Before starting this blessed dishwashing, it took me 11 minutes of Earth Hour just to locate and light all the candles in the house.  This alone made me appreciate how much I take for granted the quarter second  flick of a light switch.  We're not really candle people, but I found enough to illuminate the whole place with a pleasant and useful glow.  Our blueberry muffin candle smells the best.  And our three-wick unity candle burns brighter than our five-piece beaded candelabra.  

Confessions: I opened the refrigerator a few times to retrieve and stow vegetables and lemon juice.  I didn't actually unplug everything, just turned the computer and lights off.  All the same, it was nice to be alone with my thoughts and the sound of sloshy water and dishes.  

Once a Hooker, Always a Hooker

Last Wednesday was St. Paddy's Day, so Stitch 'n Bitch at Mother's Too was on a one week hiatus.  After the banana-ganza from two weeks before, I needed to up the ante on the raffle item.  Marky suggested I bring the pear Fruit Suit.  Pure brilliance.

I arrived a couple minutes after 7pm, to find several friendly faces.  Jessy got right to work teaching the newbies how to cast on.  There were three new gals, and I tried to help fill in the gaps when Jessy couldn't be in three places at once.  I kinda felt like the poorly behaved aunt from Las Vegas, encouraging tight cast-on rows, and fixing the girls' dropped stitches rather that letting them make mistakes.  What can I say?  I'm a terrible influence.  We had some laughs, and Jessy deftly undid the harm I inflicted. 

At 9pm, it was time for the raffle.  Jenny presented the Fruit Suit to all the patrons.  When the pear came back to me for safe keeping, I noticed that the first button was undone, and I quickly fixed it.  For the mere price of an email address, every willing beverage consumer was entered in the contest.  The pear went for one more spin around the room, and came back with the damn button undone.  I felt a secret shame that perhaps I'd offered a raffle prize with a faulty buttonhole.   Jessy drew a name from the hat, and a very excited gentleman claimed his prize.  I went to shake his hand, and to cover up my buttonhole flaw, I encouraged him to undo the top button.  "Oh no," he resisted, "I want them ALL undone!"  And we both cracked up, he tickled by the sexy pear, I finally realizing that he was the one undoing the button everytime the pear traveled about.

 

After the patrons and students cleared out, Jessy and I quietly grooved and crocheted flowers to the tunes of Earth, Wind, and Fire.  I officially hate leaving Stitch 'n Bitch.  It's a good nerdy time for hookers.

Thank You, Mrs. Quinn

Two new things today.  I've never posted two blogs in one day--much less posted two blogs about Colin Quinn.  Also, I've never cooked a traditional Irish meal for St. Patrick's Day.  Colin showed up on Martha Stewart today, in honor of his favorite drinking day, St. Paddy's.  I'm pretty sure they're all the same to him, but let's give the man some credit;  He wore a clean green shirt and behaved himself in front of the Great One.   So simple sounded his mother's lamb stew, that I decided to take the recipe home and give it a go.  

When I watch cooking shows, the recipes I'm most likely to reproduce are those I can memorize.  I purchased the ingredients, and threw it all together.  When I tracked the actual recipe down on Martha's website, I realized that I'd inadvertently halved the recipe.  You'll get the half recipe so that I don't blatantly plagiarize the real one.  I also forgot one ingredient.  So while I was ovenning (is that a word?) during round one, I walked to the store, found the forgotten pearl barley, and allowed myself get some of that Kerrygold Irish butter Martha's been raving about all week.  After having a bite, I declared it officially raveworthy.  I fear I might spoil my dinner with butter and bread.

Mrs. Quinn's Irish Lamb Stew

1 Tbsp vegetable oil

1 medium sweet onion, cut into 1/2-inch squares
4 carrots, cut into 1/2-inch chunks
2 large russet potatoes, cut into 1-inch chunks
1 1/2 lbs lamb stew meat
3 c. homemade beef stock
2 tsp fresh thyme
1/4 c. pearl barley
1/4 c. heavy cream
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 325˚.  Heat oil in Dutch oven, and sauté onions until golden.  Add lamb and cook 5 minutes each side.  Add potatoes and beef stock.  Stir, cover, and transfer to oven.  Bake for 1 hour.

Remove Dutch oven, marvel at how good the stew already looks, add carrots, barley, thyme, and cream.  Stir gently and return to oven.  Bake 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until lamb is tender.  Season with salt and pepper.  Serve with a nice loaf of crusty bread and lots of Kerrygold butter!

Whale Oil Beef Hooked

Colin Quinn was a guest on Martha Stewart today.  The Polish/Irish joke he told went over like a fart in a wind tunnel.  His second joke was much better.  Here goes (if you can pull off the brogue, it's much more quaint):

An Irishman goes to his county pub every week, and every week he does the same thing.  He orders three beers, takes a sip of one, a sip of the next, and a sip of the last.  He does this every week for a year.  One week, the Irishman walks in, orders three beers, takes a sip of one, a sip of the next, and a sip of the last, and the curious bartender finally asks him, "Sir, why do you drink your beers this way?"

"Oh," the Irishman says, "I have a brother in Australia, and a brother in America.  Since we're so far from each other, we decided that every week, we'd have a beer together."

Several weeks later, the Irishman comes to his county pub and only orders two beers.  Concerned, the bartender asked him, "What happened?"

And the Irishman said, "Oh, I quit drinking."

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Hide The Banana!

In my search for a knitting community, I stumbled across a Craigslist ad asking for knit and crochet teachers to submit their websites.  Not entirely sure what I was getting into, I took the bait.  I got a cheerful response from Jenny who informed me the teaching position had been filled, but I was still invited to a regular Wednesday Stitch 'n' Bitch.  She also asked if I had a raffle item to offer, in exchange for some free advertising on the event page.  Mere hours before, the Fruit Suit (aka Banana Hammock, aka Johnny Coat, aka Willie Warmer) had been born and photographed.  I emailed a pic, and before I knew it, my little banana cozy was the official photo for the event!  After blushing with joy, I got to work making a few more, just in case.

At this time, I should probably mention the grey matter behind the Fruit Suit.  Girls' Weekend in Utica.  Two days, five funny ladies, seven bottles of wine.  After watching me knit an American Flag hat for the Knitting Olympics, my friend Amanda told me she wanted me to knit a fruit cozy for a banana.  I asked what color.  She wanted it to look just like a banana, of course.  Hysterical laughter ensued.  She probably thought I'd forget after Girls' Weekend.  Crafty McSchnafty never forgets an order. 

The name "Fruit Suit" was not my idea, either.  I left the banana cover on my desk at work, and asked passers by what the official name should be.  There were many decent contenders, but after two days of searching, my manager Ridge came up with the magical appelation (or is it apple-ation?).  

I flew solo to Mother's Too in Gold Coast.  I was pathetically early, and recognized Jenny from the event photos.  She was manning the bar, and admitted that Stitch 'n' Bitch attendance was unpredictable at best.  I assured her I was happy knitting and having a glass of wine.  Jenny (who is also a photographer) and I chatted about running a small business.  Then a gentleman at the bar, a contract physician for the military, offered his two business cents.  I ended up with a weatlh of very helpful and encouraging advice from these small business owners. 

The crochet instructor, Jessy, showed up.  In addition to increasing the fiber artist population by 100%, she was incredibly sweet and approachable.  We had a spirited discussion of crochet vs. knit.  In my toolbox, I unearthed a crochet hook, and asked Jessy if she would teach me to crochet a flower.  Crocheting circles has been a discipline I could never wrap my head around, but Jessy made it easy and clear.  I got into the cro-zone somewhere between Earth, Wind, and Fire and Eminem.  Oh, the pride I felt after completing my first crochet bloom!  My big yellow sunflower is tied to my camouflage backpack, currently. 

So, who's in for March 24th?