All this talk about showing off your UFOs got me thinking about hobbies. Specifically, my dad's hobbies. Specifically, mountaineering. K2. Denali. Annapurna. Chimborazo. Cotopaxi. These names are as familiar to me as those of yarn companies. Books with titles like Addicted to Danger, Dark Shadows Falling, The Savage Mountain, and handy volumes such as The ABC's of Avalanche Safety and Glacier Travel and Crevasse Rescue crowd the shelves Chez Frickrents. It takes two sheds to contain dad's equipment, and there's still some crampon overflow in the basement. He sews his own tents, fergodssake.
That's the old man himself, in a photo taken Sunday atop Borah Peak in I-dee-ho, holding his climbing talismans, a small bear and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Today he begins his climb of The Grand Teton. For those of you who took German in high school, that's Frog for Big Tit. Do it to it, Dad!
So welcome to Fricknits basecamp. This, my friends, is only the tip of the glacier.
Can you say intarsia? Yes? Well, then I expect you can say A Big Hairy Bitch to Finish, as well.
Is there any baby worth this many bobbins?
Ooh, LOOK! Many squares of Rowan Wool Cotton, seamed into strips and ready to be joined into a baby blanket! This looks so fun not to finish, I think I'll do it TWICE:
I suspect you've seen enough. This week, I promise, in a major feat of slogging will, I will summit two of these monsters. Neither of which will be the cursed cow blanket. For that, I would need a sherpa.