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A few of my favourite things

A quick tour of my knitterly joys.  The sun is out, birds are squawking, the air smells clear and sharp like autumn and our toilet works.  M has made me a delicious bowl of French Onion soup, served with crusty bread and cheese, and the world is in a nice place.  Let’s celebrate by exploring a few joys in my knitting world.

My needles, light of my knitting life.

How I love them.  Sharp points — dangerous sharp, as M will tell you — slick as hell, shiny, sexy.  Purple cables, too, which I must admit I like very much.  They are exceptional tools and I love using them.

This is my blue box.

When I’m knitting anything a little advanced or, hell, just not retardedly simple, I usually sling this sucker into my bag.  It’s small and doesn’t really get in the way, and it contains everything I need except a cocktail and some reassurance about the basic goodness of people. It snaps shut and doesn’t barf its contents everywhere, and it’s got that cute little iridescent sticker of a treble clef on it. Doesn’t get much better in the world of plastic boxes. It contains:

Darning needles.  Inescapable necessities for grafting, weaving-in, poking stuff and threading stitches onto my emergency stitch holders.

Sewing thread and sewing needle.  For emergency repairs of the non-knitting variety.

Buttons.  These buttons, being small and mismatched, serve no function other than making me cheerful.

Paperclips.  Handy emergency stitch markers.

Scraps of sock yarn.  Handy stitch holders, as they are slim and usually multi-coloured.

A tape measure.  Not an awesome one; I think it only goes up to 15 inches or something, but it’s perfect for measuring how much you’ve worked since the last increase or whatever.

Stork scissors.  So chic!  I love these because they are terribly tiny and have nice pointy snippers.  Also they are shaped like a stork doing some sort of fancy dive/swoop thing.

And I can’t sign out without a loving salute to the bundles of joy that make it all possible…my stash. It’s everywhere.  One cupboard can’t contain the love.  (I took a photo, but it’s very, very ugly and doesn’t adequately convey the glory and wonder of the fibrey love.  Just take my word for it. Take whatever values you assume an exceptional, reassuring stash has, and assume mine has those.)

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