{click on the photo for pattern details.}

I picked this yarn up in Tempe because it reminded me of the ocean. Thankfully, I bought two skeins, which worked out perfectly. There was enough for the long fringe, and to wrap the gift and attach washing instructions.

Fellow knitters — call me crazy, but I’m putting a new rule on this craft. I am no longer letting myself “buy a skein because it so pretty!” I have so many odd ball gorgeous single skeins of yarn, and few projects I actually want to knit with 1 ball. No more. I’m going to work through my current stash and then be disciplined to buy what a project calls for.

Does anyone stick to this? Or have a better plan?

~K

I’ve been doing a lot of yoga lately. A ridiculous amount, really. Someone once said, “When in doubt, take more yoga.” So be it. I’ve even had one or two of those Elizabeth Gilbert moments toward the end of practice when I’m in savasana and tears are pouring down my face.

Why, hello emotion I’d completely forgotten. So glad you’ve arrived at this very public moment. 

I got myself into a pickle last year with my church when I wrote a note to the congregation’s national magazine defending yoga as part of my practice as a Christian. Let’s be honest — if there are two things in this world that I’ll never simply “be,” it’s a Christian and and a yogi. I’ll always be practicing — each day with a new twist and turn. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it blows your mind and pumps your system full of so many endorphins, you run outside sweaty, exhausted and completely oblivious to snowy weather.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying yoga is a great as God. I’m saying God is so awesome, He gave us ways to connect with the holy spirit — if we so choose. For me, one of those is yoga. Deep in the pigeon pose when I feel like my hiney is en feugo and it is all I can do to take one more breath to stay in the stretch, with sweat pouring down my brow, and then BAM. Grace. Everything releases. My muscles stop spasming. My eyes stop twitching. My breath flows. My heart sings. Doves release and Prince comes out of a cloud to sing one of my favorite songs.

Okay. Maybe not the last part. But I can say regularly practicing yoga (and my faith) means there are days I grind my teeth to get through it and there are others when I feel like I’m soaring. It’s effortless. I walk away feeling like my life is full of meaning, and this yoga/faith practice has something to do with it.

What does a yoga girl give as a holiday present? Pretzels, natch. What? It can’t all be symbolic.

Fold yourself into this recipe and enjoy. It’s simple, elegant and a great holiday treat. For the yogis, the Christians, and everyone in your life who is still practicing.

Yoga Pretzels

Ingredients:

1 bag of chocolate chips — the better quality chocolate, well — the better.

1 tablespoon of shortening

1 bag of giant salty pretzels

Toppings of your choice. I went with coconut. And made a “Mexican spice” batch where I added a dash of cardamom, cinnamon and cayenne.

Directions: Melt the chocolate in the microwave with the shortening. Stir every 20 seconds or so. Remove while the chocolate is still a bit chunky. Stir until smooth. Add spices if desired. Dip pretzel by pretzel in the chocolate, stopping to dunk in your topping if you so desire. (Peanuts, kosher salt, sprinkles, bacon) Place on a cookie sheet covered in tin foil. Freeze for 30 minutes. Enjoy!

Namaste,

K

Recipes, knitting and sewing patterns and traditions I find meaningful — all on the pending schedule for H4. Still working on a few PDFs I plan to post in the next week. If you’d like some easy gift ideas, both of the craft and food varities, check out Handmade Holidays of years past. {Here is a checklist. And here are a few fun ideas.}

~K

Goofball wannabe cheerleader

~K

I’m taking classes at Fancy Tiger. This is my very favorite craft store, in part because while the employees and owners are completely hip and talented, they are equally kind and generous with their time. Cody used to live nearby in the Wash Park neighborhood. When I’d visit, I’d be sure to swing through the Tiger to pick up supplies I couldn’t find in Phoenix. Japanese zaka prints, leather purse handles, handspun knits that were just different than anything else I’d seen.

I have had such fun exploring this town for the last six months — spending time both examining its offerings and what I truly wanted. I’m certainly not the first person to find a move the ideal time to re-examine one’s priorities and interests. Signing up for classes at Fancy Tiger was what I needed to push my knitting and sewing abilities — to rise above the stagnant, learn-from-books-and-You-Tube-tutorials- state.

While this first class is making me angry and impatient, both are a good thing. New skills are just on the other side of the horizon. I’ve never perfected anything without first considering throwing an impatience fueled tantrum. With any luck, I’ll be wearing a sweater I knit (that fits!) on Christmas.

Also, the supplies? Gorgeous. I could spend hours just looking over the magazines, books and shelves of lovely prints — daydreaming of projects. But truly, this store has my business because of folk like Emily. She’s teaching my sweater class and could not be nicer. Mother Teresa could have learned something from the patience she showed to a handful of newbie knitters whose enthusiasm quickly melted into pools of frustration at her feet.

Fancy Tiger is a Denver gem for those who love craft.

~K

First, yes. This is me as Willie Nelson. I know. I know. I’m damn cute. What you should be glad you can’t see is my alarmingly increasing midsection. I actually conned Tall Lady out of a portion of a rotisserie chicken to sit for these photos. It’s not my fault. I showed up at the Heirloom Homestead underfed — ribs visible. The vet told Tall Girl to “feed that dog!” and she has done a great job. Thank God I don’t have to fit into skinny jeans, or any jeans for that matter.

I just hope she doesn’t decide to shave me anytime soon. My girth is hidden fairly well with all this fur, especially the dark fur. Uncle Cody had the nerve to call me “chubby” this afternoon. CHUBBY.

There is enough sorrow with that to make a dog want to write a sad, slow country song.

I may be a drag-dog, but I’m no fool. Dress up? Really? We’ve gotten to this pathetic point of the year after one minor snow? Friends, we may need alpine rescue around here pronto, and it will have nothing to do with being snowed in and everything to do with Tall Lady’s boredom and me as her sole focus of craft.

Help.

In other news — she decided yet again that Frida Kahlo was the right costume choice.

Never mind all the other girls at the party went as cheerleaders, sexy nuns, and pretty much any other costume that doesn’t require emphasizing one’s facial hair. Those are also the girls who went home with boyfriends. Tall Lady? She came home with a glue gun and a mission: the Willie Nelson costume!

At least Uncle BJ was creative. He’s a black eye pea. Get it? Fergalicious!

Happy Howl-oween, amigos. Don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

~Willie Nelson Mandela

The snow is melting, leaving behind a trail of mud. Nelson has never been happier. I have never had less balance. Mud, ice, snow and thud. I need to invest in a pair of trail runners.

We trekked through Boulder County for a couple hours this morning, winding around the pointy orange teeth of a mountain chain that sits just west of the city. Collegiate cross country teams zipped around us, using the trail system for a draconian training tool.

Sadly, the giant tree at the Heirloom Homestead — that silver maple ash that is more than a century old – didn’t weather the storm well. Huge branches split leaving the towering beauty to resemble a weepy willow.

Otherwise, we are ready for the next snow. And I’m getting used to living with dirty floors. Paw prints on the hardwood is now a sign of home.

~K

I’m working through my yarn stash to whip up a few gifts. (Not going to lie: it is a lot more fun to work with wool when there is snow on the ground.)

Also not going to lie: it is going to be a lot more fun to knit now that I have a model who works for treats:

Doesn’t he look thrilled?

Actually, now that I look at him — he looks like he needs a haircut.

~K

I woke up to a blanket of snow. It is a heavy storm, but a warm one. We are expecting 6-10 inches, which should be gone by tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, Nelson and I are using the weather as a reason to stay inside, get a few projects completed and spend some time with our friend — the couch.

There is something magical about the first snow of the season; you can’t help be be optimistic for such a fresh start to every change in life.

~K

Yesterday was a national “Food Day” — a time to encourage Americans to improve their food choices and physical activity for a healthier citizenry. Of course, this is my cup of tea. The celebration in Denver was hosted at the botanical gardens with a day full of courses, lectures and other activities.

With work, I was able to swing through one class in the evening — “Canning like your life depends on it.” Holy pickles and sauerkraut — I could not have lucked out more. Lead by local business owner Milan Doshi, the course discussed basic canning and fermentation techniques.

For this sustainability-loving domestic dork, it was so, so cool to be a room of like-minded folk, scribbling notes. Pickles are not so hard to can. Who knew? And sauerkraut? I can do this. I’m not sure I want to do it. The instructions included both the words “scum” and “burping,” but now I could if I wanted to.

Milan’s company — Five Points Fermentation — is leading a local culture change. He encourages people to research their family food history and to honor this with their cooking choices. Listening to him speak, with his adoring Indian mama sitting by his side, was enchanting. He talked of the shelves of pickles he’d eat as a kid visiting India — each jar made with love by his grandmothers. Each jar including some spice or vegetable was was in bounty on canning day.

It is so lovely to hear enthusiastic business owners honoring their families and their communities with their work. And of course, this means pickles for Christmas. I can’t wait to get going…

~K

A few of the new books on my shelf making me very, very happy.

~K

I’ve been hiking around Evergreen in Jefferson County open space for the last several months. The one hike that’s alluded me — until this weekend — was the 10 mile round-trip summit of Bergen Peak. Five miles one way isn’t much, or so I thought. Once upon a time, I’d run 10 miles in my sleep. Come to find out, that once upon a time was many moons ago. Add in several thousand feet of elevation gain, one very excited dog and a backpack with a camera and supplies that felt like a ton of bricks by the time we made it to the top, and I was dizzy tired.

My car is in that tiny parking lot, way down there. Anyone seen the elevator?

But a very happy tired. The switchbacks on this trail were littered with golden leaves from the aspens running up the mountain. From the peak, the aspens look like veins of gold. The cool pine air, scattered snow patches toward the top and handful of forest animals we saw made it seem like something out of a Grimm’s fairy tale.

Plus, I’ve been working with Nelson on going off-leash. It is a lot more fun for both of us if he isn’t pulling me along. That said, he’s love and hunger for squirrel meat could be trouble. I didn’t want to end up chasing him through the forest. Thankfully, he did great, coming when I called and staying only a few paces ahead.

I’ve yet to find anything quite like a hard, head-spinning hike to get my thoughts in order. Maybe it’s the dreamy quality of that thin, crisp air this time of year. Maybe it’s spending 5 hours uninterrupted in nature, my Blackberry and responsibilities left far behind. Maybe it’s taking a break on a big rock, closing my eyes, and listening for God.

Whatever it was — yesterday it worked. And while I don’t plan on conquering Bergen again any time soon (poor Nelson has never slept so much), I am so thankful we pushed forward to reach the summit.

~K

My favorite part:

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.

Love doesn’t like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don’t you ever do that again!

Nelson approved literature.

~K

I might, at times, be a bit crazy in the expectation department.

Then again, such visits get me moving on projects that have been idle far too long. I moved plants inside this week because it’s starting to get chilly at night. Plus, as of today, it’s officially autumn. Or as we like to call it on the homestead — pumpkin season. But, that’s a post for next week.

I’d been meaning to sew a table runner for this bookcase to match my other entryway table.

This table runner was a Finny/Donk sewing project back in the day.

Before.

Any bets on how long those plants have to live? I’m giving them another month.

After.

While my mama was here, we tackled an entirely different set of projects: those I couldn’t figure out myself. This woman seemingly isn’t intimidated by any project’s size or depth. She’ll tinker and research and keep trying until she’s got it figured out. These are rather awesome characteristics in a houseguest who also has a hard time sitting still. Plumbing, stained laundry, knitting project gone awry — all solved.

Let’s hope she figures out a way to come back and stay.

~K

And only 9 months late — a Christmas gift for Meg.

~K