Experience Blueberrience

What do three city girls with newly acquired paychecks (well, two of us are old enough to earn paychecks) do for a rip roaring good time on a wickedly hot Saturday morn in sunny So Cal? Hop in an air-conditioned vehicle and mosey our way north of LA over the Ventura County line for climes less molten, and more importantly, bouts of blueberry picking! Or as my husband characterized our efforts, "So you’re going to pay to play migrant farm worker for a day?" Yes, we were about to embark on a seemingly bourgeois exercise, but so what!

Anyhow, last Saturday was all about that bulbous berry with the purplish bluish exterior and what a Saturday it was. We circled the wagons at Chez Linoleum, loaded for bear with commuter mugs o’ coffee, a chilled cooler ready to accept the bounty of fruit we were sure to procure, a full tank of petrol and super-sized jugs of sunscreen, ready to pay tribute to the traffic gods in order to ensure safe journey northward. Tributes complete signaled an engine at the ready and we were off, traversing the golden landscape adjacent the 101 to seek out a veritable blueberry bonanza at Underwood Family Farms in Somis.

Reminder to self, next time map the directions online before leaving confines of ChezLinoleum…

Um, yeah, the city girls cum farm dames three drove around aimlessly for a while like a car full of directionally challenged, yet sure their direct descendants of homing pigeons, dudes. And fortunately, like many a male who has driven around for hours without the help of a car equipped with a nav system or that of a friendly local gas station attendant, we made it to our destination eventually, in only about an hour door to, um, dirt. Not bad and none too worse for the wear.

Hopping out of our vehicle we were immediately blessed plentiful harvest by the property’s goat overlord…



Now, needless to say, I lack a green thumb. A fuzzy, yarn-encrusted thumb I got. But green? Ahhhh, no. However, I have my moments when the opportunity for harvesting fruit from the bush is seemingly more appealing than spending the day sitting in mi casa, drapery drawn, A/C at max, boo-tay planted in chair beneath heaps of wool, sweaty digits grappling with hooks and needles. Oh yeah, when the thermometer is clocking in at 100 plus, the whole fruit plucking thang in regions frore (okay, not exactly frore, but definitely below 90 degrees Fahrenheit) sounds pretty darn sweet!

The offspring was chomping at the bit to get her hands dirty…



And dirty they became as we ferreted about the shallow bushes in search of budding blue bulbs of sweet joy. Take a look-see at the commemorative montage of the experience…



Montage Legend

Top left to right:
- Transportation out to the fields.
- A day at a real farm definitely beats a day at the Cube Farm. Hands down!

Middle left to right:
- The flower that begets berries blue.
- Before the extraction.

Bottom left to right:
- 3 lbs. of beauteous blueberries!
- Three dirty purple mits.

Dirty digits, slightly disheveled and none too much damage done to wallets we left the farm loaded down with the fruits of our labor to finish off our Saturday with a bit of antiquing (wallets were emptied during this portion of the program), ice tea sipping and burger munching in old town Ventura. What a fabulous way to spend a Saturday! Heaps o’ thanks go out to this chickadee, the mastermind behind Experience Blueberrience.

Thank you Bri for showing Lena and me the way of the berry…

Bowl or Bust

Thanks everyone for your supportive comments on my last post. You know, I hate to air my dirty non-crafty laundry to the masses, but I was just a tad miffed. Thanks for smoothing out my wrinkled sheets...I mean sorrows!

Onto our regularly scheduled post...and my yearly camera phone generated photo of the Hollywood Bowl!



I heart Arturo Sandoval. I also *big* heart the Hollywood Bowl. (Feel free to revisit last summer’s Bowl-Love-Fest post, which details the depth and breadth of my amorous feelings for this venue.) Combine the two together and my left and right ventricles are overflowing with love potion number, um, err, pick a number between one and ten…

Ahhh yes, nothing like kicking off what will be one of several summer ’06 pilgrimages to my family’s most beloved Angeleno institution with none other than Latin jazz great and quatro-time Grammy Award winner Arturo Sandoval! Then add in a dash of Cachao and sprinkle of La India and you’ve got yourself a musica-filled evening that will provoke even the most staid individual’s feet a tappin’ and hips a swayin’. I like to refer to latin jazz as “happy music” because, well, it’s difficult to shed tears when your jiggling your boo-tay to the rhythm of a conga drum.

Ahem…

I’ll tell you, this was just the kind of mood elevator I needed after weeks of ceaseless toiling at the Cube Farm and working my post-office hours to the crocheted bone (literally, just you wait and see) while preparing for my stint at Tube Crochet. Oh, and the hubster and I haven’t exactly had a whole lot of together-time sans offspring, family and friends as of late either. So, this was a much-needed respite from the stuff of life to be sure.

As the clock struck six, I was met at the entrance to my cube, or as I like to refer to it, my cell, by my handsome husband with picnic dinner in hand and car engine idling gently in the parking lot (this is a bit of embellishment as we don’t waste our black gold readily, nosiree) so that we may embark upon the longest 7.2 mile drive ev-er to the Bowl. Seriously folks, getting from West Los Angeles (the dot on the map that encompasses my home and workplace) to about Middish/Northish Los Angeles (the dot on the map that encompasses the Bowl) is unbelievably difficult.



Can you say 90 minutes from start to finish? That’s roughly 13 minutes per mile! However, sitting in the car for what seemed an eternity (who am I kidding, it was an eternity!) ambling in slow-motion across and up the exhaust-choked, scorched streets I came to notice a disturbing trend among many of our residences in the Hancock Park adjacent/Hollywood hoods…

Wrong wremodels.

Yes, former beautiful residences that harken back to an era in Hollywood when lips were stained blue red, cascades of curls tapered around slender necks and champagne shoulders, hats were a must when leaving the confines of one’s domicile and a dry martini was a blissful way to bid the work day good eve, all maimed and discombobulated by homeowners who probably knew no better or perhaps, didn’t care. Just take a look at these examples located on Avenue Awry:

The architect found inspiration at Box City…



None of these items should ever be used in the same sentence: sky blue ionic columns; oak door with leaded glass insert; and shoebox-inspired exterior…



If we paint it all gray, it’ll work…



Thank the lord-y the owners left these be…







Tired from sitting in the car, eyes watering from staring at myriad done-damage-to-domiciles, we finally wound our way around the Highland meets Franklin bend and parked our car with the rest of the metal sardines into the stacked lot across from the white dome in the canyon. I actually heard the Seraphim sing as I extricated my rear from the seat of the vehicle. Yes, I, did.

Bag o’ gastronomic goodies in tow, hubby holding my hand, we made our way through the crowds and up to our seats for an evening of fresh air, sizzling sounds and exalted yet not-so-sober crowds!

In a word, splendiferous! Yes, I know that I've taken yet more liberties with the English language...

I cannot believe I’m writing this, but the show was worth every minute we spent in the car.

The Cheerleader

After having left a comment on virtual pal’s blog the other day where I openly shared my admiration for my offspring’s creative endeavors as a response to her lovely post detailing her own offspring’s visionary invention, I was met with a nefarious comment from one of pal’s readers on this here bloggy regarding (i) the frightening appearance of my latest crocheted meat product, and (ii) the inappropriateness of my overzealous parental boasting which, in her opinion, resulted in "upstaging" pal’s daughter’s accomplishments on pal’s blog. I didn’t know how to respond at the time (not that I could respond, because there was no return email address), but I do now...

I’ve been called a lot of things during my stay on the planet. Some of those things haven’t always been pleasant. Oh, and reviews of my artwork? Well, those haven’t always been filled with stars, happy faces and A-plus-pluses either. Some of those less-than-rave reviews were in print too. Needless to say, I’m a veteran recipient of bad cheer and I believe I can respond to this commenter’s indictments thusly…

Crocheted bacon scary?

Sure, I’ll give you that.

Proud mom?

Absolutely.

Prideful mom who feels the need to prop up my child at the expense of another’s child?

Absolutely not!

…For I love children and their insatiable conjuring of thaumaturgic masterpieces more than I love to crochet and knit meat products, and that’s sayin’ something…Hel-lo? Former art professor here, who shepherded more individuals, large and small, through personal creative discoveries than I can shake a stick at, for lack of a better metaphor. In other words, looking for an artsy craftsy cheerleader? I’m your Lady.

I’m also a Lady who comes from a long line of artsy craftsy cheerleaders. Well, maybe not a long line, but definitely a trapezoidal bunch of artsy craftsy harbingers of the holler. My father, the kingpin of the bunch, pencils at the ready, reams of paper stocked to the ceiling, instilling his creative mindset unto his progeny and proud as any father could have been of the rudimentary creations his preschool-aged daughters maniacally churned out, was an overflowing font of positive reinforcement, always gently prodding his children and well, pretty much everyone else around him, to dance precariously along the edge of the envelope. My maternal grandmother, while not the kingpin of the squad, was certainly the process pusher of the crew, making sewing machine, fabrics, thread, hooks, needles, an abundance yarn-y goodness as well as her generous guidance ever available. My maternal grandfather, the reluctant proponent on Team Ingenuity’s cheer squadron, constantly dismayed by his granddaughter’s flagrant use of his "man tools" would always, always exclaim with delight when finished product was paraded about made as a result of this girl using that guy’s "man tools"…and properly I might add. Finally, there is my mother, my biggest supporter and a helluva lot louder than I have ever been when it comes to acknowledging her children’s and grandchild’s accomplishments. I mean, the woman is starry-eyed when it comes to her offspring and her offspring’s offspring’s works of whimsy. It’s heredity, I tell you!

So yeah, I’m proud and I’m a loud and I’m sometimes misunderstood, but I live life richly and deeply, with a passion to create. I am also always, always supportive of creative exploits, whoever the progenitor happens to be.

Oh, and my pal? Not offended in the least.

Rant concluded.

Bacon Wrap

Because everything tastes better wrapped in bacon...even people!

Modeled by my lovely offspring:







This 60" piece of pork strippage was designed and painstakingly single crocheted by moi using Manos del Uruguay and Rio de la Plata wool, an I hook and a very looonnnggg intarsia chart made with this free online program.



Just in case you're wondering, the red and redder portions of the piece were not made with a variegated yarn. Oh no! That would be too easy! Remember, I love a challenge. Instead, I opted to produce the gradations by actually changing colors. At one point I had 10 bobbins hanging off the back of this piece o' woolen pork. For real. It was gnarly, to say the least. It was also very slow going, but I prevailed.



Why crochet this bee-you-ti-ful bacon-y wonder as opposed to knit it? Well, you can hide color changes on the backside of crochet intarsia. It's virtually impossible to do this with knitting.



Actually, I really like the way this big porky thang turned out. I believe there is a whole pack of large strips of woolen bacon in my future. Can't ya just see it?

All I need is drop or two of hickory smoked perfume and the look will be complete...

Here's to another meaty episode of Project Wrongway!

Copyright 2006 Regina Rioux Gonzalez. All rights reserved.

Tube Crochet

Drew, this one's for you mi amor...

Last Friday, began as any other Friday on the Cube Farm Spread. Oh well, except for the hours of glamatization I endured before driving my rear over there...

Why oh why did I endure umpteen hours of glamming it up for and average day at the Cube Farm you inquire?

Well, this lovely and talented chickadee and I had a date with the peeps at Screen Door Entertainment, creators of such cable craftavision as Knitty Gritty, Stylelicious and Uncommon Threads, during the late (and HOT) afternoon hours of the day preceding our long holiday weekend. I think you know where this is going, but I will dish the dirt nonetheless...

Oh yes, Screen Door put out the virtual call for talent and (I'm sure that...) I was one of many who answered, sending the producer of the second season of Uncommon Threads not one, not two, but three proposals, all of which she sliced and diced into the two episodes we're set to begin taping in August. Pretty cool eh?

Oh I know that I've been verwy, verwy quiet about this factoid, but I wanted to be certain of the outcome of this little journey before shouting from the virtual rooftops that YES, Briana and I will be crocheting on television!

Can you blame me??? I mean, come on, I'm used to looking like a weirdo on the internet because I crochet and knit meat, guerrilla veggies and well, other sordid errata, but I will not misrepresent myself with delusions of grandeur. I'm more into verifiable grandiosity...

Okay, so beaming back to last Friday...Briana and I glamatized, nervous and excited, donning bags filled with Monster Crochet creations and a wad of collaborative designs blew the Cube Farm for much hotter pastures (i.e., the San Fernando Valley) to meet and greet a table full of cable television mavens.



Now, one thing about Bri and me, we may be nervous leading up to meeting such as the one that took place on Friday, but once we've entered the venue, deep breaths are taken...Lights! Camera! Action! We're on! No. Holds. Barred. Actually, in situations such as this, we're kind of scary in a, um, err, dazzling, gregarious, amazing crocheted meat sort of way.

You get the point.

Although, the 60" piece of crocheted bacon I showed the producers four did leave them a bit speechless...

Another piece of trivia that seems to startle inquiring minds as Briana and I take our newfound collaboration about town is the fact that we've only really known each other since last December. Oh sure, prior to our current meeting of evil creative minds, we'd encounter one another in the Cube Farm elevator and do the usual hi-how-are-you's, but didn't really venture a full conversation until holiday season '05 while wrapping a gazillion presents for our firm's charity fandango. The rest we shall say is history, for we both now believe that we were destined to meld creative forces. However, to the unknowing it seems as if we've been a creative team for decades even though the reality is that we just began designing together for this show, among other myriad future venues. Oooohs and aaaaahs usually ensue upon public disclosure of this factoid.

So yeah, needless to say the meeting went well. A spirited discussion was had by all seated 'round the table, which culminated with my favorite phrase as of late being bestowed upon us, "You guys are great!"

So, no floppage. And well, not flopping is a good thing!

I know you are probably most curious as to the episode content of our guest appearances on the show. First and foremost, we will be tackling a Halloween themed diddy. I know, big surprise there. The other is an episode titled "A Day at the Races". I'll let your minds ponder the possibilities about that one...

Definitely more to come on these and more exciting multimedia Monster Crochet and Idea Du Jour collaborative developments so stay tuned!

Oh, and this being Independence Day and all, I wish everyone a safe and happy 4th! Don't forget to wear your best crocheted and knitted meat selections!

Hobby Schmobby

hob·by n. pl. hob·bies
An activity or interest pursued outside one's regular occupation and engaged in primarily for pleasure.

Do you have hobbies?

I have one hobby.

Pursuing moola.

This pursuit of the almighty greenback has little to do with what I consider to be my real regular occupation, the pursuit of all things creative, which currently is manifest mainly through the use of hook, needles and yarn sans monetary compensation. Unlike my regular occupation, my hobby neither provides me with much pleasure nor does it satiate my soul, whereas my regular occupation is my life’s blood.

Are you confused?

Well, let’s get some clarity, shall we?

I am an artist first and foremost. I always have been regardless of anything else going on in my life, including generating income. Now, there have been times in my life when income-generating activities have overlapped into my artful existence. For example, I taught the process of making art to children (K – 12) and to university students for several years, definite overlap. However, historically the majority of my "quest for cash" activities have mirrored my current “hobby” at the Cube Farm.

Can you say BOR-RING?

I sure can. And I say it often!

Which brings me to my next point. Artists remain artists whether stuck in a cube, digging thru mountainous reams of paper, waiting tables, punching keys on a cash register or repeating this acclaimed mantra day in and day out, “Would you like fries with that?”

This, my dear crafty ones, is a point lost on several of my fellow Cube Farm inhabitants, many of whom refer to my art as a “nice hobby”. Cube Farmers, we creative beings work because we need shelter, sustenance and yarn! Okay, I need the yarn…Ahem. We do not toil beneath piles of paper that could give the Swiss Alps a run for their money, duel with spreadsheets or click the button on our virtual timecards because it fills our souls with warm fuzzy goodness! No! We artists perform these acts because we must!

Further, knitted bologna is not my hobby! To that end, crocheted bacon (oh yeah, coming soon folks), yarn-y, fuzzy barbecues and crocheted guerilla vegetables are not my hobbies either! These creative expressions are what makes your Lady of the Linoleum, um, err, linoleum!

Whatever, you get the point.

Cube Farmers please take note, your nine to five is my five to midnight, for as you settle down for your evening respite, rear in the chair, remote in hand, snack bowl filled to the brim, I have only just begun to log hours at my regular occupation. Free from my daily hobbies, I enter the swinging doors of LabLinoleum, where the vegetables dance, the bacon sizzles and the yarn is always abundant…

Stick that into your spreadsheet and calculate it.

Knitted Big Grill Wrap

This is the last barbecue of the season for me. I know, I know. It's a little early to make a statement such as that, but I've got lots of meats hanging off hooks about the freezer that is my mind so I need to get prepin', tenderizin' and cookin' the other yarn carnage!

At any rate, I present to you the knitted version of the Monster Crochet classic! The big momma of all yarn-based barbecues! The most ginormous grill you could ever wrap about your shoulders (modeled by this lovely and talented barbecue aficionado)...







Yep, this baby is mostly knitted, sporting intarsia steak appliques that don't sully the underside of the wrap with their, um, intarsia-ness.



The fabulous underbelly of the grilled beast, which looks almost as good as the front if I do say so myself...



Burgers and dogs are crocheted as I found they look much better made with hook than with needles.





However, I did knit the cheese...

Now I have two, yes two, fantabulous barbecue ready accessories to wear to my next outdoor grill-fest! The vision is clear...sitting around the fire with friends, cocktails all around, laughter bids the setting sun goodnight as it slips behind the backyard fence for its evening respite, the glowing coals fading as the sky grows dim, blanketing our summer soiree...it just doesn't get much better than that folks!

May you all have much camaraderie, laughter and grilled flesh (or fibers) to cool your summer eves! Raise bottle of beer in tribute to the grill and always remember that meat is not just edible, it's wearable too...

Copyright 2006 Regina Rioux Gonzalez. All rights reserved.

Wild Knitting

I've got a penchant for the geriatric craft tome. No, they're not craft references for the elderly! This is just a Linoleumism for the craft books of yesteryear. There's nothing better than a tattered tome of the trade that was once lavished with love, used loads, then left at the altar when the proposition of a long term commitment reared its ugly head. Yep, just call me a rebounder for the bound! Or not...

At any rate, my latest mildew-y scented acquisition comes directly to me from an era where shoulders were not shoulders unless heavily padded, hair was better coiffed with knots and Aqua Net....oh, and multi-hued (anyone remember Manic Panic?)...and the safety pin was a standard fashion accessory. Oh yes, the 80's! Ahhhh, takes me back to the days when my entire wardrobe was a variation of black, the rips and tears always strategically placed and the pursuit of fuschia hair was preeminent. Yes, I am THAT old. However, I did get carded this afternoon at my lunch hour booze restocking fest, so all is not lost. I digress.

Where was I? Oh yes, craft books from the 80's. Enter Wild Knitting...



Circa 1979, this fantastic example of new wave chic is replete with clear and concise stitch guides and techniques, needle measurement deconstructed, the 411 on yarn types as well as two whole 9" x 12" pages devoted to tension. Also found amidst the informative leaves of my new favorite manual of knits for those who seek to have the shoulders of linebackers, sections on basic shapes, blocking, finishing touches, edges and insertions, the renovation or reclamation of yarn from sweaters whose time has passed and paying homage to the pompon, not the pompom. And as if this was not enough to make your Lady drop to the Linoleum at rapid speed, there is an entire section dedicated to the design and adaptation of patterns followed up by another titled, "Coping with Disasters". Fer sure.

The projects? Equally stylish and stylized, modeled on the heavily made, triumphant haired dames of the day. The photographs are seriously saturated with both color and mood exaggerating wearables that are sometimes strange, always inventive and not at all vague in their vagaries.

Part peasant frock, part lacey, mohair-y homage to the Pirates of Penzance, this dress is sure to freak your friends out at the next communal gathering. (Warning, if wearing this dress to an outdoor event, stay clear of open flame.)





Hint, hint...daytime party at the lake. No bonfires to endanger the wearer.



Clown couture. Very underrated.



Which clothing item says investment-banking-cum-a-day-at-the-cube-farm-apropos to moi? Methinks poofy rainbow dungarees.



However, I find that anything modeled after a hot air balloon with cuffs is difficult to beat as an answer to the trials of daily rigour.



Knitted cigs. Knough said.



Holy moly! Okay, so it's a hackneyed phrase. Whateva!



A jumper for Andy Goldsworthy...



Armadillos all around! You know I bought this book specifically for this roadkill wrap pattern.



I plan to finish off the ensemble with a pair of these socks...Duck feet are always in season.



Potential allies of the VLA. They just need some eyeballs and weapons and they'll be good to go.



What a find, no?

Angela Jeffs, where are you now?

Mixed Grill Mats

The good folks at Lark Books were interested in having a little crocheted meat in their next book. So, they inquired within as I am the self-avowed Queen of Crocheted Flesh. I don't know why, but that title makes me exceedingly happy. I know. Twisted.

Anyhow, editors extraordinaires did favor a change of location for my examples of crocheted meaty fabulousness thinking grills might look better on the table than about the shoulders. I know. I can't believe it either! Mon Dieu!

So in light of this fact, I redesigned the 'ques to be larger and more plate-friendly. Here's a Mat O' Steak...



Kabobs...



Franks...



Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger...



And assorted appliques for waiting for their close-up!





Check out the backside of this steak. I had a fair isle thing going on here...



Get your hooks ready because this meaty pattern will soon be available in a bookstore near you!
Oh, and knitters? Grilled meaty goodness coming your way soon!

Copyright 2006 Regina Rioux Gonzalez. All rights reserved.

Give Me Your One Word...

Memes usually don't appeal to me, but I figured I'd give this one a try after seeing it on Deneen's blog.

Please leave a one-word comment that you think best describes me--it can only be one word long. Then copy and paste this into your blog so that I may leave a comment about you.

This is not so much about fishing for compliments as it is an exercise showing how hard it is to use just one word to describe someone!

Give it a try & I'll do the same for you if you're so inclined.

(From the enthusiastic Bron's Blog)

A Plea For Wool

Dear Local Yarn Store Proprietor:

It is with great frustration that I compose this letter to you regarding your current ordering policies. After having visited your store several times over the last few months I began to notice a startling shortage in the amount of wool usually found in your inventory. At first I thought your sparse inventory due to my visit falling in between orders. No problem, I’ll just come back the following week and revel in your replenished stock, or so I thought. Having returned and encountered the same shocking lack of wool, I inquired within, to which you replied, “It’s summer.”

Huh?

Forgive me, dear Proprietor, but when did the changing of the seasons ever determine which fiber content to order in a region of the country where seasonal changes are considered to be a bit of joke compared to the rest of the nation? To use the words of a good friend and another faithful fiber consumer, our lovely corner of the country experiences three seasons: cooler, warmer and slightly wet. Therefore, according to your current (and seemingly new) ordering policies, there is no need to order wool at all because our temperatures rarely dip low enough to wear it. Taking this argument a step further, your cotton inventory should be at maximum capacity year round and not just for the months constituting the “warmer” season. Although, unless you would like to brand yourself as Sunny SoCal’s Cotton Super Store, I’d stay away from the type of ordering methodology stated above.

Dearest Proprietor, what happened to the days where any fiber could be found in all of its myriad colors and iterations no matter the season? Maybe you have forgotten the fact that many of us crochet and knit our holiday gifts during the summer months? Why is it that restriction of stock has become the norm as opposed the anomaly? Often, I find myself standing with four or five balls of something in your store while asking if there is more in the back, to which you usually reply, “No.”

“Do you plan to order more?”

“Maybe.”

HUH?

I just don’t get it. Knitting and now crocheting have become lifestyles from the legacy hook and needle wielders sporting blue rinsed coifs to the young, hip tweens, teens and 20-somethings running about town with their skull emblazoned bags of stash. Yarn has never been more varied, more sought after, nor more coveted. I’d think that this would be the ideal time to pack your shelves so full of fiber, you don’t have room for you behind that cash register!

Am I missing something???

No matter. I am willing to beg.

Please, oh please, Mr. or Mrs. Yarn Store Proprietor, bring back your wool, your cotton, your huddled masses of funkadelic novelty yarns no matter the weather’s whim. Treat me to mountains of mohair, autumnal alpaca and a cacophony of cool cotton blends. Give me vast amounts of variegates, hotbeds of homespun, hand-dyed creations aplenty! I need wool stocked to ceiling, standing ankle deep in angora to contain the fervor within me.

Your Proprietorship, I only ask you for choice and in turn I will pay, for my wallet is full of money. If you see fit to appease me I will surely be thankful, for Hell hath no fury like a yarn ho in drought.

Thank you for your consideration of this matter.

Yours in yarndom,
LadyLinoleum

Intarsia Geek

Intarsia how I love thee! Love the chart creation and deciphering. Love the changing colors creating magic stitch by stitch, row by row. Hell, I'm so fond of this technique I don't even mind the coffee clutch of bobbins hanging off the back my work even though they are prone to get um, err, affectionate with one another. The process is just too rewarding for me to let a few horny bobbins stop me from using it!

I'm aware that although many of you share my love for this technique, some of you are a bit put off by the above. Bobbin p0rn is disturbing. I'll give you that. However, if you can see fit to get beyond the inherent intarsia issues you will be rewarded with a wonderful garment, object, piece of fiber wonder that really will make you look like the most skilled needleworker on this here planet!

Unfortunately, I've been unable to tackle as much intarsia as I'd like as of late due to the fact that I like to create my own charts. Historically this process has been one wrought with LadyLinoleum's blood, sweat and tears. In other words, lots of manual labor. Me, a pile o' graph paper, pencil and eraser gettin' busy. Literally, I would spend hours coloring in thousands of little boxes, foaming at the mouth, wondering when or if I'd ever finish.

Not any more!

I've gone from this...


Copyright 2006 Regina Rioux Gonzalez. All rights reserved.

...to this!


Copyright 2006 Regina Rioux Gonzalez. All rights reserved.

Awesome, eh? And purty too!

How did your Lady of the Linoleum go from her Lascaux-inspired graphs to the technological wonder you see above? One program.

PCStitch

This program is my new favorite toy. It's incredibly easy to use and it's cheap! If you're a chart fanatic like me, you need to get this program...Now!

Don't have a spare $39.99 laying about? All is not lost. Ever heard of Pixel Blocks? It's an awesome new-fangled building toy that is based upon, you guessed it, the pixel. Well, the folks at Pixel Blocks want their customers to be able to build whatever they'd like out of as much as their product they can purchase. Enter their free online answer to imaginative building with pixel purchase power AND your free answer to PCStitch...Digital Stained Glass. This online gem allows you to upload an image of your choice, click through the wizard and presto! Your very own intarsia chart in pdf form! Just wait until you see the pork product I charted using this program...

Day of the Dad

Passing by a display of Father’s Day cards at the grocery store the other day, I was reminded that we edge ever closer to our annual celebration of Dad. Since the death of my father nine years ago last April, Father’s Day passes each year unmarked on my calendar. This is not to say that I do not pay homage to my father’s memory with every daily traversing of the sun. Not a day passes by that I do not think upon the man that was my dad.

My father was a truly remarkable man and this is not just an admiring daughter’s opinion. Everyone who met my father immediately applied for membership to his fan club. Devoted husband, parent and friend, admirable and annoying in his religiosity, a contagious and gregarious personality that attracted many to his milieu, my father was also intensely creative, an accomplished writer and photographer, hometown politician, comedian, marathon athlete, educator, mentor, visionary. He was steadfast in his belief that humanity can and should strive to make our world a better place though action, education, charity, compassion and love. I can safely say that he was the only individual I’ve ever encountered that actually practiced what he preached and that my friends, is nothing short of amazing.

Richard Henry Rioux never took life for granted. He lived each and every moment with gusto. I can still hear his laugh as distinctly as if it were just minutes ago. A smile creeping its way across my lips as I visualize my dad struggling with his computer, muttering G-rated obscenities, because the “rabbit” (his term for mouse) was not obeying his wishes. I remember vividly, the endless piles of lists, steno pads filled with his chicken scratch verbiage, huge cabinets filled with photographs and slides (the guy documented everything) cluttering up every surface and recess of his home command center. I can still feel the gentle hum of the engine in his red Ford Explorer as we drove the desert highway to St. Andrew’s Abbey in Valyermo in order to meet with his cadre of monk consultants on his next big project…a special effects driven blockbuster based upon an epic battle between Jesus and Lucifer...Um, yeah. Dad always tried to include me in his schemes, no matter how harebrained and no matter my level of reluctance. He used to tell me that I was the offspring who was most like him and by virtue of that fact my participation was obligatory. Whether I acted as project consultant, secretary, graphic designer or computer tutor, like it or not, I was a de facto member of Team Richard.

The founding member of Team Richard was also the greatest cheerleader for TeamLinoleum. The story goes that at the ripe old age of two, a pencil was put into my hand and sheet of paper put before me in the hopes that I would create. And create I did. And create I still do. Art supplies were a predominant feature at Chez Rioux and a trip in the dadmobile to the library in an effort to acquire more craft books could always be had on a lazy Saturday afternoon for the term “I’m bored” was as unwelcome as it was rare. From painting to jewelry design, there was always a class to attend and a dad to chauffer me to and fro. When I hit college age, my father gleefully drove me around to local area universities so that I could investigate each art program before deciding which one would best suit my impending college career. Basically, my dad was a Crayola pusher and I am who I am because of that fact.

If you’ve got issues with crocheted meat on a crocheted grill, Richard’s the guy you should blame. I was never, ever told that I could not or should not attempt anything creative or otherwise. I simply went about my life painting, sculpting, sewing, knitting, crocheting, making, experimenting, experiencing, border-free! I don’t know that my dad ever really understood what I was making, but he supported my deep-seated need to explore and create nonetheless.

Dad, if you’ve got internet access in Heaven and you may in fact be reading this, I’d like you to know that I miss your daily presence in my life. I miss your laughter and your endless phone calls urging me to take my vitamins despite the fact that I am an adult and perfectly capable of handling my daily supplements. I miss your plethora of crazy lists detailing all of your ginormous projects. I miss your cowboy hats and your complete inability to get your computer “rabbit” to perform. I miss your undeniably simplistic, yet full of big ideas local newspaper columns that you faithfully photocopied for me every week in the hopes that I would read them upon receipt (which I always did but never let you know that). I miss the far from gourmet dinners you would concoct in which every dish tasted exactly the same whether meat, fish or fowl. Now that’s talent…Most of all I miss hearing you ask me again and again, “So, what do you think of me?” Dad, I think a lot of you, of this you can be sure.

~ In loving memory of Richard Henry Rioux (1943 – 1997)

Ablockin'

At this point you are all probably aware that after making my Monday through Friday, nine to five pilgrimage to the cube farm I dedicate a significant part of the remainder of my waking hours to crocheting, knitting and general creative exploits. Sure I also clean, bust open boxes of um, cuisine, for nuclear smelting and do the wife and mom thing. However, I will tell you that this once voracious reader has little time for that endeavor at the moment. And well, hanging out with the homies is taking a back seat to other activities such as oh, um, blocking...

It's my muse. She's a yarn pusher and taskmaster. Always tapping my veins to see if they are imbued with yarn striations. Always cracking the I-cord whip and bewailing me to pull the yarn through the loop at accelerated speeds, "Put some muscle into it, Linoleum!"

I'm telling you, the boss lady means business and she wants to see the gears of my fibrous production pumping. You see, I am merely slave to craft...

Ah yeah, so this girl's got a lot of stuff to block.



Above is the lace weight red orange pixie-inspired shawl I just finished ( I know it looks positively hideous on those towels!). I modified this pattern and now that I've accomplished said endeavor I consider myself ready to tackle a pair of bat wings.

Also, I'm ready to block my knitted grill...



Yes, I am knitting meat as well.



Let it be said that no animals were harmed in the meat knitting or crocheting process...I've been remiss in my duty to set the vegetarian yarn brandishers at ease some time ago. Really, I don't mean to freak you guys out, just give you a chuckle now and again. I think knitted bologna is funny. Yeah, I'm a bit twisted. Like that's news...