Pugicide (pŭg'ĭ-sīd')

Pugicide (pŭg'ĭ-sīd') -noun. The killing of a pug by murder.

Lately, I've been having a lot of trouble falling asleep. I'm not sure if it would qualify as bona-fide insomnia, but it has been taking me about an hour to an hour-and-a-half to enter sleepy dreamland. As a result, any sleep I do get feels hard-won, and God have mercy on the wretched soul who dares to rouse me from my slumber. Last night, that wretched soul was Oliver. Let me preface the following story by telling you that the hubby left for a business trip a few days prior, leaving me to spend my first nights alone in the new place. As a result, my insomnia has been futher aggravated by paranoia that intruders are causing the creaking sounds I hear in the night.

Last night, I turned out the light at approximately 1000 hours, and fell asleep after much tossing and turning. Suddenly, the sound of a thousand hounds of hell wrenched me from my blissful state of unconsciousness. I bolted awake, terrified; however, there were not a thousand hounds of hell, just a solitary hound of hell, howling his flat puggy face off. Man, you've never seen a woman move so fast in your life. In a split second, I was at the perp's bedside with a hand around his neck and a knife pointed at his giant eyeballs. Ok, that didn't really happen, but that's what was playing out in my head. Anyway, I did get out of bed and add to the ruckus by yelling at the pug. "What the -BLEEP- is your problem? Do you want me to -BLEEPing- kill you? Your father is gone, so there won't be any witnesses!" After he looked chagrined enough to satisfy me, I went back to sleep. An hour later, the same thing happened. Hysterical barking from the pug, expletives and threats from me, then shaky slumber. This repeated itself throughout the night about four or five times.

Morning broke, and I very grumpily got up. Oliver, too, arose and lazily stretched. Just as I was about to plant a foot in his pug butt, I realized that perhaps he was trying to assume the man-of-the-house role in Vince's absence. Despite the fact that any burglar would laugh in his face, I was touched by the idea that he would want to protect me. So I've decided to banish all thoughts of pugicide. No promises for the rest of the week, though. Let's just hope Oliver makes it alive to Friday, when Vince comes home.

Lady E, My Fallback Guy

A few weeks ago as I was finishing turtle #8, I realized with dismay that I had no new project planned. No yarn had been purchased, no pattern had been selected. However, my dismay was short-lived when I realized that my hands wouldn't be empty for long, because I have Lady Eleanor. Ah, good ole, faithful Lady E. You remember her, right? I first made Lady Eleanor's acquaintance back in January, and even now, more than seven months later, she's still there for me in my time of knitting need. She's the yarn equivalent of a fallback guy. You know, the guy you always call when you're in between guys, the guy who never asks why you haven't come around or makes you feel guilty for being absent. So I brought Lady E out of hiding, and we'll be hanging out until another younger, more attractive project catches my eye.

Speaking of young and attractive, below are scenes from a recent Friday Knitting Group. Lady E, none of these hussies would love you the way I do!

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The Very Picture of Hope

There's no particular reason I'm posting this picture. I just feel strongly that it should be seen by as many people as possible.

Baby Blanket Bingo (& Un Vrai Homme Fait de Tricoter Part Deux)

Team Baby Blanket! Top row, L to R: Lisa, Melinda, Johyne, Pinella, Yvonne, Jenny, Cynthia, and Nancy. Bottom row, L to R: Andrea, Jocelyn, me, Bernadette, Sara, and Heidi.
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As soon our dear friend and coworker Bernadette announced her pregnancy, Yvonne and Lisa birthed (get it? get it?) an idea to create a baby blanket knit by the members of the Friday Knitting Group. The plan called for each of us to knit a square (or two) of a standard size, weight, and gauge. In the end, the squares were pieced together, a quilted cotton backing and satin bows were added, and the gift was presented to Bernadette at her company baby shower. A lovely lady like Bernadette deserves an equally lovely baby blanket for her little girl, and I think the finished product turned out just... well, lovely!


A schmajillion kudos go out to Yvonne and Lisa, master architects of the plan!

In the midst of all the gushing and cooing over our baby blanket, one man excused himself from the frey to begin a project of his own. Below, witness the company's Chief Operating Officer John quietly knitting in the corner. Perhaps seeing our beautiful blanket inspired him to get in touch with his creative and - dare I say - feminine side. Everyone there was duly impressed that our COO knew how to knit, but ever the skeptical one, I said to him, "So you know how to knit, but do you know how to purl??" His reply? "Don't push it."

Perhaps I'll revisit the topic with him after the next round of bonuses.

NOTE: John has now joined the illustrious ranks of other men who have fearlessly knit in public (or at least in front of colleagues). Un vrai homme fait de tricoter!