Reading about quilting online is different from reading about knitting. That Dorky Homemade Look suggests that it is because every book on hand quilting eventually tells you how to get bloodstains out of your quilt, but I think it is more the fact that they use numbers like 5/16. That level of precision is bound to get to you. You start out with some cheerful directions and pretty pictures, and before you know it you are emphasizing the importance of folding exactly the right amount on your corners for perfect mitering.

I am halfway finished with the binding, and have mitered three corners. They may be, as the online tutorial said, "excessively pointy." It is hard to know what exact degree of pointiness is required for perfect mitering. The tutorial made me so nervous that the fourth corner became a sort of origami arrangement and the final foot (excuse me, 18 and 15/16 inches) of the binding has been put onto the front in a moebius strip fashion. I will have to take that part out and re-do it when I come to it. If you are not a quilter, I should say here that you sew the binding strip to the front first, by machine, and then sew it to the back, mitering your corners, by hand. That it is the part I am currently working on.

Cutting the binding brought out the math anxiety, too. I just needed a bit of blue fabric. I went confidently through my stash, expecting lots of choices -- after all, we're just talking about blue cotton here. I found plenty of blue, too. Blue flowers (I was specifically warned that Son in Law did not like florals). Blue with spaceships. Sparkly blue. Blue rayon. Blue with hot air balloons. Blue fat quarters. Finally, I returned to the scraps from the quilt and found a reasonable piece of the clouds -- really the perfect choice for the binding. But I always use bias binding, which requires a large piece of cloth. Here I was with a little piece. The formula for calculating straight binding is width + length of quilt x2 divided by 40 x the width of your binding. This tells you how many inches of fabric you need -- in my case, just under 20. I had 35 inches. Plenty.

But there I am, looking at that big quilt and that teeny piece of fabric, and I begin wondering about that formula. Width and length, okay. But where the heck did they get the number 40? Is it a constant, like the speed of light? And why isn't the width of the fabric figured in anywhere? Never mind. I blindly ripped my fabric into strips, and I do indeed have more binding than I can use.

I think I have to finish this quilt and mail it today in order for it to reach #1 daughter and Son in Law on their anniversay. So I suppose I had better quit typing and get back to my binding.

As I googled quilt binding, hoping for inspiration or even something interesting to read while I finish basting, I found a quilt pattern very like the anniversary quilt, with the name "Twisted Frenzy." Obviously, nothing to do with a wedding anniversary can be called Twisted Frenzy, but if I make another in the future...

I woke up at 4:00 am worrying. In spite of humming "When you're worried, and you can't sleep/ Just count your blessings instead of sheep..." I could not get back to sleep. Sad to say, 4:00 am is pretty close to time to get up anyway, so I gave up and got out of bed. I am basting around the edge of the anniversary quilt and trimming it preparatory to binding it, so this extra time will come in handy, even though I may fall asleep in choir practice tonight.

This weekend I will travel to the Kansas City Renaissance Faire with a busload of 8th graders. #2 son tried to convince me that I would not enjoy a lengthy bus trip with a bunch of 13 and 14 year olds. Of course, enjoyment has nothing to do with it. I am chaperoning, and it is a matter of duty. And of course I have done this before. I have taken groups of adolescents through water treatment facilities, taken college students camping, simulated Civil War battles with fifth graders, chaperoned hikes to bluff shelters and trips through caves. I don't scare easy.

No, the real question is this: what will I knit on the bus? I will be finished with the quilt, God willing, and have it mailed. The DNA scarf is obviously out, since I still have to have the graph for it. What's needed here is plenty of stockinette. Another of the Christmas presents, perhaps? The second leaf lace sock? Dare I take double-pointed needles on a school bus?

As I roamed the knitting blogs today, I found a lot of comments on comments. I even found blogs referencing blogs commenting on comments, a sort of meta-level of commenting.

First, Mayflower (http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=mayflwr ) kindly linked to Mr. Joe's rules for commenting, which forbid any boring remarks, including compliments which do not include supporting data.

Then, TwoSheep's categories of commenters, from Technicians to Gushers, Artists to "slack-jawed droolers": http://www.livejournal.com/users/twosheep/35161.html

Of course, complaints about comments have some problems with them. First, of course, it is mean to tell people who took the trouble to talk to you and perhaps even admire your knitting that they are boring, let alone slack-jawed droolers. I am assuming that this doesn't bother the people who are doing it. There are plenty of amusingly acerbic knitters whose blogs I enjoy even though I would probably be scared of them in person.

But it is also the kind of problem -- that is, the heartbreak of having too many slack-jawed droolers leave boring gushing compliments on your website -- for which you can't expect lots of sympathy. (In fairness, I must say here that both examples above were talking about comments in general, not just on their own websites.)

I know that the popular knitbloggers do have lots of comments left on their sites. And I sure don't read them all, so yes I suppose it is boring to do so, but I think this problem is like the sorrows of having too much money. The troubles of the beautiful. The special challenges of having gifted children. The irritation of having too many suitors. That is, it may really be a problem, but people who do not have this problem will not sympathise. It even looks a little like bragging to complain. (I will not mention which of the foregoing predicaments I have suffered from.)

I have come to know and like the people who leave comments here. Both Chanthaboune and Ozarque are among those who have interesting conversations going in the comments of their blogs -- I go back and read them more than once to keep up on the discussions. I have found some good blogs by clicking in comments sections, too.

So you sure won't hear me complaining.

 The LJ knitting community was debating whether it was worth going out to Hobby Lobby for this week's Lion Brand sale. I offer as exhibit A this Wool-ease sock, washed and worn numerous times with no special effort, and still as nice and cozy as the day it was knitted. It has enough wool to feel good and enough artificial fiber to be happy in the washing machine and dryer. There is also Homespun, which knits up into something that looks much like the wall of a cave -- an interesting effect now and then. You could certainly do worse.

At work, we have gotten in a bunch of silkworm farms. I have watched the sheep-to-shawl process, I have carded and picked over cotton, but I have never had the chance to witness the process that makes silk. With the silkworm farm, the box assures us, we can harvest and spin silk. I am greatly tempted.

The reason that I have had the chance to get to know fibers so intimately, when I am not a farmer or a spinner, is my involvement with museums. #1 daughter went to NYC with Son in Law's family, and discovered the sad truth: not everyone attends museums in the same way. The first year of marriage requires many adjustments, from different holiday customs to different ideas about food and drink, but no one warns you about the museum mismatch.

Son in Law's family breezes through the main parts of museums, chatting, rarely breaking stride. Our family stops and reads all the interpretive information, tries out the interactive exhibits, questions the docents. We do not miss the pig de-snooter. We grind the corn, pack the wagon, try out the bed in the jail cell, sort out the world events that must have been taking place when the picture was painted. We are out to learn something.

If there is, somewhere, a museum devoted to the process of turning the fruits of the acrylic tree into yarn, I will someday see it.

Dweezy (http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=dweezy ) asked about the front of the quilt I spent the weekend working on. The front? You want to see the front?

Here are a couple of  close-ups of parts of the quilt.

And below, a picture of the whole quilt-top before quilting. This pattern is often called "Garden Twist," after  a commercial pattern that has become very popular, which uses the design with floral fabrics. I got it from a Better Homes and Garden quilt book that called it something like "Linked Squares," which is not as interesting a name, though the pattern is the same.

#1 daughter, for whose anniversary I am rushing to finish this quilt, called yesterday, having returned from the Big Apple. She had been there before, when her children's choir sang at Carnegie Hall, but that was 12 or 13 years ago, so it looked different to her. I have never been, myself, so I enjoyed hearing about it.

Finally, allow me to present another Mystery Object,

which is to say an item that will become part of a Christmas present. It is of Sugar and Cream on #6 needles. I have always loved this yarn, although it is not stretchy enough to keep its shape well in many of the patterns you see it used for. In my youth, I made a tank top of it, and the bottom edge just stretched out and stayed that way, making a curious bell-like effect. So now I tend to stick to household uses of it. I love the softness of it, though, and it does come in some great colors.

The Water Jar (http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=TheWaterJar ) recently posted something rather like an apology for not having a sufficiently exciting life. I think I have done the same, and I see a lot of blogs doing that -- if not an outright apology, than a self-deprecating laugh at ourselves, as though the fact that we let strangers read about our lives gives us a responsibility to provide adventures for them to read about.

Adventures can go both ways, though. Consider the case of my great-grandfather R.A., a man who led a truly exciting life. One of my favorite of his adventures took place when he was living in China at the end of the 19th century. A couple of extortionists threatened to tell people that he and his housemate were killing babies if he didn't pay up. When he did not, they actually buried a baby in the back yard, publicly "discovered" it, and incited a riot. R.A. and his friend had to flee for their lives. When the miscreants were caught and charged with their crimes, R.A. came back to insist that they be tried in their native language, for justice's sake. He died many years later attempting to rescue his servants when the ship they were all on was torpedoed off the coast of Malta.

His half brother, an adventurer of a different stripe, died in a gunfight over a poker game.

My grandfather, having perhaps received the genetic predisposition toward adventure, merely took a job with the International Labor Office, travelled the world, and died peacefully in his sleep at an advanced age. Less exciting, perhaps, and certainly not as good a story, but no less satisfying.

My adventures this weekend consist of finishing The Empress's chemise except for the hem and nearly finishing the anniversary quilt. A belated birthday dinner for #2 son with such of the extended family as are in the area, a repeat of the DNA cable, and I am satisfied.

Here is the back of the quilt. Not that the look is what is so great about the back of a hand-quilted quilt -- it is of course the feel, the texture, the way all those little stitches pull the cotton up into myriad tiny puffs and creases. So, if you have a hand-quilted quilt of your own, you can go feel the back of it now and get essentially the same sensation you would get from feeling this one, thus making this a multi-sensory blogging experience.

The next step is the binding. I have not yet chosen the fabric for the binding, so it may be a lengthy step, but I still have hopes of finishing in time.

I've decided that it was ungracious of me to refuse to post the DNA scarf's picture merely because it looks the same as last time. This bothered me all the more since I intend to spend the weekend a) resting enough to get rid of my lingering virus once and for all, b) sewing The Empress's chemise since we have dress rehearsal this week, and c) finishing #1 daughter's anniversary quilt in time for said anniversary. The DNA scarf won't get more than an inch or two when I have to rest my fingers from quilting, so it should at least get to have its close-up.

I don't know any of these women, and don't look like them either, but you know it is only a matter of time. And since I am thinking today about becoming old, I thought I would share all these nice old knitting ladies with you.

We all get older gradually, day by day, so you might think that we would notice it gradually. Such is not the case. I can remember the exact moment (I was at the movies with my husband, our first evening out after #2 daughter was born, watching "Blame It On Rio") when I realized that my years of being a babe were over. When my children watched an old home movie and asked who that girl was (me, at about 17, and looking essentially the same to myself), I realized that I was not young any more. And when I turned forty and found that I could no longer get up from sitting on the floor in one smooth motion, I noticed that, too.

I haven't had another such realization since. I don't seem to have gotten any older at all. I noticed when I became middle aged, and stopped there. I'm not sure how I will suddenly realize when I get old, and I trust I won't have to do so for another couple of decades, but I'm sure I'll be surprised when it happens. It sneaks up on you, you see.

Going to the doctor may be part of it. I visit the doctor once a year. Having four kids and thus feeling pretty expert at going to the doctor, I was startled to discover that the experience changes as you get older. The medical staff at least seem to think I am getting older. One year they started wanting blood work. The next year they asked whether I was experiencing signs of menopause. I do not know what the signs are, so I wasn't very helpful on that, but they have asked each year since. This year the doctor had me do weird pushing and pulling things to make sure I still had normal muscle strength. I am sure that he is accustomed to having people look at him oddly when he begins adding these old-people things into their checkups. It isn't like well-baby checks, where they tell you the kid should begin smiling at six weeks. No one says, well now that you are 46, you should be getting weaker. Having trouble getting up off the floor at all? 

This year I also got ticked off for my triglycerides. Young people have their blood pressure taken, of course, and have blood work done if there is something wrong, but I think you have to be middle-aged before doctors begin to get onto you for your blood numbers. I got ticked off properly, threatened with medication, and told to come back in six months. And next week it will be six months.

I am experiencing mild panic. Will my numbers have improved? If not, will I be right to refuse to take the medication they have threatened me with? And there is another layer here, too. Some people's triglyceride numbers get better when they change their behavior, as I have, with diet and exercise. Some people's do not. So, if my numbers have not improved, will it be because I have not been following the recommendations perfectly (oh, Chocolate Nemesis, perhaps you are not really a health food!), or because I am one of the unlucky few? Will I get another six months to try to work toward absolute perfection? Will I get a little leeway because I have been sick and therefore not going to the gym and subsisting mostly on frozen fruit bars? Should I delay by a couple of weeks and be stricter about it, in hopes of getting some last-minute improvement?

And if my numbers have improved, can I slack off, or will it mean that I must continue to strive toward perfection for the rest of my life? A couple of my colleagues, having tried the whole grains and leafy vegetables route for a while, chose to take the medication instead. Will improved numbers be good news for me if it means that I have to listen to #1 son complaining about "goofy food" and my husband saying "I need fat!" for the remainder of my days? Must I eat lentils alone while my family scarfs down pizza and ice cream? Did all these ladies go to the gym regularly, thus ensuring a long knitting life? Are they all really still young and pretty in their minds?

"He was knitting a sock. He knitted a good deal, he would tell you if you asked him, to keep himself from smoking, adding that he also smoked a good deal to keep himself from knitting." -- Cocktail Time

The DNA scarf is coming along, with only 3 cable pattern repeats to go. It looks very much as it did last time I put its portrait up, so I don't think I will bother doing so again. It is a very nice pattern. Since I'm planning to make a couple more, I had hoped to have the pattern learned by now, but it doesn't seem to be that kind of pattern, for me at least. I am still dependent on the chart.

"'Excuse me a moment,' murmured Mr. Saxby, applying himself to the sock again, 'I'm just turning the heel. Do you knit?' 'No.' 'Sleep does. It knits up the ravelled sleave of care.'" -- Cocktail Time