In cycling, the flamme rouge is a red pennant that tells the riders there’s one kilometer left in the race. For knitters, and I suspect for anyone else who makes their holiday gifts by hand, Thanksgiving serves as the flamme rouge. It’s time to dig deep and knit hard if you want to finish in time. Here’s my red pennant:

A little sample hat from the Colinette Arboretum book I knit up for the store. It’s simple as pie: a bias rectangle (a rhombus, technically) with the CO and BO edges plus two of the sides seamed together and the corners folded in and tacked down at the crown. I knit this one with alternating rows of Pagewood Farms worsted-weight merino and ShibuiKnits Silk Cloud. It was so easy and it’s such a good way to use up remnants that I may have to whip out a few more for holiday gifts.

I also cast on for a secret Christmas-in-Tallinn stocking from Knitting on the Road. I don’t think the recipient reads here, but I’m going to hold off posting pictures just in case. And unfortunately I can’t show you my finished sweater for Shibui, which has now gone to the tech editor. So I’m going to have to distract you with what’s distracting me:

Meet Lark. Nine pounds of irresistible mutt, and really a very good girl. She made the journey from Texas without any fuss at all, and she’s already charmed Mr. G’s relatives, half of whom she met yesterday when we trucked her up to Olympia for a big Thanksgiving feast. She’s a sweet little thing, not without her moments of puppy sass, of course, but smart and people-oriented and so far pretty darn good with the cat. Mingus is taking the whole thing better than I could have hoped. Lark got her face smacked for licking his butt and for chewing his tail, but he didn’t use his claws. He’s still sleeping in bed with us and demanding lap time, even with the pup nearby. And since he gets his breakfast an hour earlier than usual as we stagger out of bed before six, he may even be seeing some benefits from the arrival of his new canine sister.

Okay, off to do some frantic holiday knitting before the little one wakes up from her morning nap!

The higher powers like balance in the world. I accept that balance is a good principle, and so I don’t mind the highs and lows that life seems to bring in pairs. Sometimes they occur on a life-altering scale: the death of a beloved relative with the birth of a new person to whom you’ll lose your heart, perhaps. Other times the stakes are much lower, and we get comedy rather than catharsis.

Wednesday was Constitution Day at school. The Seniors have been studying the American Constitution since the beginning of the semester in Humanities, and this was the climax. Nine local judges, lawyers, scholars, and governors came to visit the school and presided as teams of students presented their knowledge of constitutional law and its bearing on current events. I got to see these adults blown out of their socks as the seventh- and eighth-graders confidently held forth on the powers of the president and the promises of the Constitution, then cogently and eloquently fielded questions on the ramifications of California’s potential amendment of the electoral college system, the pros and cons of direct vs. indirect democracy, and the dangers of executive privilege.

I knew these kids were smart cookies, but I was blown out of my socks when Hanna cited James Madison’s arguments against adopting a Bill of Rights, when Andrew spooled off the Preamble from memory and then analyzed it, and when Ben, asked whether the government’s need to act for the Common Good ever conflicts with individual rights, whipped out Truman’s seizure of the steel mills during the Korean War. I was bursting with pride at my association with the school that nurtures such minds. I was incandescent with the thrill of being alive in a world with teenagers like these in it.

And then I went to my job at the yarn shop, where a cock-eyed sample knit up in mohair required reseaming. So I had a good chuckle at my own expense as I fell to work teasing apart goaty snarls of stitchery. Balance, indeed. That’s life, shining and knottily awry all at once.

November is a month fraught with superstitions. According to the 7th-century scholar Bede (and you know how I love my moldy oldy scholars), my ancient Anglo-Saxon ancestors called it blotmonath, the month of blood sacrifices to the gods. I suspect they were combining practicality with worship, storing up the meat they’d need to get through the winter while they made the necessary supplications to ensure that the gods would eventually see fit to restore light and warmth to the land. We dig ancient traditions steeped in mystery at the little school where I work, so we observed the ritual of rolling the Samhain oatcake to kick off the month the Friday before last. The Seniors light a fire outdoors, and the whole school gathers around it to explain about the oatcake to the littlest kids and to sing songs. The oatcake, baked by the Intermediates (with extra oats for maximum density), is about twelve inches in diameter and is marked on one side with an X and on the other with an O. By the time of the bonfire, even the newest Primaries know to chant, “X! X! X!,” for if the oatcake rolls down the hill and lands X-side up, a severe winter with plenty of snow days is predicted.

As it happened, the oatcake made a convincing fake in the X direction, then flopped over to reveal the O. And now I have reason to hope it’s correct, because I imagine I’ll be spending an unusual amount of time outside in the cold and dark this season. As is only appropriate in the Month of Sacrifices, we’re going to be rearranging our lives and habits chez Garter. (No, it’s not a baby. We like to swim against the tide around here.) A seven-week-old puppy is arriving on an airplane from Texas a week from Tuesday, and it’s going to live with us.

Mr. G’s twin sister, as you know if you’ve been a long-time reader here, hangs her hat in the middle of nowhere with only her husband and five hundred sheep and a handful of ranch dogs for company. There’s a fairly steady flow of puppies out of these dogs, pups that are in demand to work cattle and sheep on other ranches and find homes right away. But this time there’s a mild little gal who’d rather snuggle up for a nice petting than give a recalcitrant cow what-for, and Mr. G’s sister knows all too well what happens to dogs who don’t earn their keep in that country. She’s soft on this pup and she’s talked us into making a city slicker out of her. We were wary, not having an opportunity to meet the dog beforehand, and knowing that a Border Collie/Australian Shepherd mix is going to need lots of exercise and responsible training to be happy and well-mannered in our sheepless lifestyle. We spent two days weighing the decision. Now we can’t wait to meet her. But I’m really going to have to tidy up the Fibordello before she comes. Needles! Lone socks! Skeins of yarn! So many tempting targets for pointy little teeth! Mingus the Cat may never forgive me. And oh, those pre-dawn walks in the biting cold…. At least I have these to wear:

Koolhaas Gauntlets, inspired by Jared’s beautiful hat in the Holiday Interweave Knits, knit with Debbie Bliss Donegal Luxury Tweed. I’m not hugely impressed by the Debbie Bliss line in general (puny yardage and suspect fiber content and all that), but she really got it right with the Luxury Tweed. I was smitten by this luscious aubergine color with its flecks of pine, persimmon, and lilac as soon as it waltzed into the store, and since I’d like to fend off chilblains this winter, I knew it was only a matter of time until I bought some to make some long fingerless mitts. I actually finished them in October after the second Boston trip, so they’ve already seen two weeks of heavy use and they’re holding up beautifully.

If you’d like to copy them, obtain a copy of Jared’s chart for the travelling stitches, cast on forty sts on a #4 needle for the fingers-end rib, work six rounds, then switch up to a #7 and begin the chart. The thumb is pretty free form – mine came out a little different on each mitt because I wasn’t clever enough to take careful notes the first time – work it as you like it, decrease back to the 40 sts, and cruise on down until the gauntlets are as long as you want. Finish with a little more ribbing, pick up sts around the thumbhole and work a 1×1 rib to the desired length. Oh, and I went to a mirror-image stitch-crossing on the second glove for the sake of symmetry.

And now, for the love of Pete, tell me what dog-training books you recommend. I’m already running out for a copy of The Art of Raising a Puppy by the Monks of New Skete, because that’s what we used with the dogs I had growing up, but further reading suggestions are more than welcome. And what would you name a scraggly wee grey mutt with black and white splotches and not much tail?

Wow, who knew there were so many Miyazaki fans reading this blog? Congratulations to everyone who pounced on the kodama spirits from Princess Mononoke. It’s not my favorite of his films (that honor would have to go to My Neighbor Totoro on the strength of the Catbus alone, and additionally it’s a perfect little movie), but those funny wood spirits with their rattly heads lodged in my memory. Their crude little white faces also made me think of the days when jack o’ lanterns were carved in turnips instead of pumpkins.

But enough backstory: I asked Mr. Garter to think of a number between one and thirty-three (inclusive), since that was the number of comments on this post. He came up with twenty-three, and then launched into a musing about how many prime numbers produce another prime number when you add their digits. I’m afraid I tuned out this nerdy segue (although doubtless I’ll find myself thinking about it later, being a nerd myself), because twenty-three was Veronique’s comment, and she got it right! So send me your new address, Veronique, and I’ll pop a little something in the mail to you!