Knit, knit, knit.

Last year, my goal was to learn to knit. And yesterday, (January, when this post was originally written) I just finished knitting my first real project, a tiny sweater for tiny humans. I wanted to learn to knit for the same reason I started gardening: 

Making something out of nothing is pretty damn awesome. And making a useful something out of nothing is even awesomer (totally a word).

Knitting is fun. I watched a lot of Youtube videos until the technique made sense to me. I watched more Youtube videos to learn all the little tricks and different stitches. Then I knit. The first thing I made was a baby blanket for friends who were pregnant but didn't know what they were having SPOILER ALERT: they had a baby! A very cute, very sparkly baby! Pretty sure she actually poops unicorns! Here's her blanket:

Oooh, pretty bound off edges

Then other people I knew were having a girl so I made the prettiest, stripiest blanket I could muster:

PS: they also had a cute baby! Weird how that keeps happening. Anyway, I was pretty happy with that but knew I had to step it up and challenge myself. So I made stockings/fingerless gloves/ tea cozies! 

Sorry, sorry, this is my cat. Where were we? Knitting.

I love how tea cozies make tea pots look jaunty

Buttons!! I can attach buttons to things now!

Wait, how did Charlie Hunnam get here? That's weird.

Those projects above were knit while watching 5 seasons of The Good Wife, 2 seasons of Orange is The New Black, 2 seasons of Downton Abbey, and 4 Elijah specific episodes of The Vampire Diaries. It's productive time wasting! Knitting is a great way to pass the time. When mom was in the hospital last year, (she's fine. Mom in the hospital deserves it's own blog. Only mom can make a hospital stay hilarious) I said goodbye to her as at 7:30 in the morning as they wheeled her in for a 7 HOUR SURGERY, not knowing if I was gonna see her again. Pretty heavy stuff. I had a whole day to wonder and worry in Vancouver General but I also had sisters en route for backup. While I waited for the cavalry to arrive, I went for a walk to Granville Island and spoke to some baby ducklings who were very supportive. Then I went back to the hospital to nap. Then I drank 7,000 coffees and tried to distract myself with hot doctors.

And I knit.

I was using knitting as a rosary while I waited. I think I ended up knitting a very ill fitting hat. When mom was finally out of surgery and asking for Coronation Street I knew she'd be fine and I could finally breathe again.

Knitting isn't supposed to be stressful, but I'm hard on myself so when I've screwed up and slipped a stitch and have to start over I look like this:

It's all very dramatic. I blame the pattern directions. And the fact that I'm not very good at reading them. But it's mostly the directions fault and the fact that you're working from the bottom with nothing to the top with something (I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere).

At one point with the tiny sweater, I got so frustrated with it I swore at it and stormed out. "This is what couples fights must be like," I thought.

So here's the tiny sweater. It's not perfect, but much like when you look at yourself in the mirror: only you notice any flaws; you look perfect to everyone else. 

The bottom sweater was my prototype borrowed from a friend

And, as much as I'd like to, I will not be knitting my own dog/cat/boyfriend.

Go Float Yourself

I'm not super duper claustrophobic but I don't like dark caves. I need my bearings. I need to know where the light switch is. 

So when a couple of friends mentioned they 'float' I was surprised to find myself thinking "cool, I'd like to try that!"

Floating is a practice where you enter into an enclosed tub (also called an isolation tank or sensory deprivation tank) which is filled with 10 inches of water and a bunch of Epsom salts. Like 800 lbs of it. It's a practice that's been around forever I guess. Here, I'll let the website explain it:

"The water is heated to the same temperature as the surface of your skin so that when the water settles and you remain relaxed and still, you do not really feel the water anymore. The tank is light-proof and sound-proof and has a neutral smell. All forces of gravity on the musculoskeletal system and nervous system are eliminated from the extreme positive buoyancy; so imagine a space where you don’t feel anything, nor do you see or hear anything. The tank’s extremely unique environment is designed to allow for a minimal amount of sensory input to enter into your nervous system. This environment then has a plethora of benefits and applications for health, personal development, spirituality, and well-being."

I booked an appointment, eager to try this out. Everyone I had talked to said claustrophobia wasn't a problem, but what if I'm like, the one person who spazzes? What if they forget about me in the tank? What if, after 90 minutes, I come out of the tub and the zombie apocalypse has finally happened and I'm stuck in a robe and flip flops smelling like a delicious salty steak to my new zombie friends?

When I arrived at Flouthouse Victoria the man at the front desk told me to take my shoes off which I thought was a bit forward, but hey, man, whatever, dude. 
Then he motioned to the waiting room that consisted of two bean bag chairs which, once one is plopped on, one is unable to gracefully disembark from, FYI.
After a run through of how floats work I was left to my pre float shower and ready for some sensory deprivation. I climbed in, closed the lid, lay down, and turned the light off.

I don't like dark caves. I need my bearings. I need to know where the light switch is. 

I panicked a  bit, slapping the walls to find the light switch that in a matter of seconds had moved a million miles away from me. I took a breath. Felt my heart beating, got settled again, and turned the light back off, focusing on my heart. It was really present, all of a sudden, and I thought that was really cool. And it felt like I was slowly drifting in circles, away from the light switch, and my bearings. And I didn't care. 

The 90 minutes seemed to go by fairly quickly. Or maybe they didn't - I couldn't tell. 
I wondered if the zombie apocalypse had started already. I thought about what I was going to do tomorrow. My stomach growled, which prompted me to think about dinner, which led me to deciding on nachos, followed by me thinking about avocados but to be fair, I think about avocados a lot. (Avocados are a very tumultuous fruit, you see.) 

I wondered if my time was up and if the dude at the front who'd clearly stolen my shoes had forgotten about me. I wondered what happens during an earthquake. 
My toes touched the wall of the tub suddenly which was weird because I'm positive I was just floating through space. I wanted to float forever.

Then the music started and the lights slowly came on and my time was up. And I was really mad about that. I wanted more. I wasn't quite done thinking about avocados yet.
I showered, dressed, and went back into the loud, bright world all Bambi like, plotting my next visit.

And, ya, I got my shoes back.