The Secret to Knitting September 19, 2009
Mmmm. I have one of those slow-burning coils of angst, one of those long ropes of something that will need to burn itself out at some point, you know? I'm not sure when, and I'm not sure where, but it'll happen soon, I think. I find myself driving down the road and fantasizing more and more about a long trip to Venice. A long, slow couple of weeks with nothing more to do than sit at a cafe and watch the rain drip into the canal while the people run about like bugs outside.
No time, no money for that right now. Put it to the side. It'll happen, I know that.
But a bath will have to do instead. And maybe a good long lie-in tomorrow. (As if. I really need to learn that skill. I'll practice tomorrow. Sadly, I suck at it.)
Now I'll give you some pictures.
Adah would like to show you both her paw (CUTE!) and our nephew Isaac (CUTER!!). And her new perch on top of the fridge, a basket which has replaced the fuzzy basket and OMG why didn't we think of that three years ago. Less fuzz in the ice, thank you very much. (And to those of you who have had drinks at our house, ahem. We cleaned first. Of course. WHAT'S THAT OVER THERE?)
My mother's African Violet bloomed, for the first time in a year. I love this. It's on my writing desk, and every day, I love it harder.
And all right, people. This one is an act of courage. This next one is me stepping foot firmly into the Trotting Horse camp. (You already knew I carried a card, right? Now you know I'm at the front, carrying the standard.)
The newcomers to knitting will whisper wow. The ones who have been around the block (HA! get it?) will hold their sides laughing, because I DO NOT HAVE BLOCKING WIRES, and I have about the same amount of pins as patience. I damp-block and pin out haphazardly, which leaves me with little sticky-out points, which I am OWNING, people.
This is my point (GET IT? Ha!). This is Cold Mountain, silk/merino, from Ellen's Half Pint Farm, bought at Maryland S&W years ago. I gave it to my sister Christy, and she put it on, and it looked simply gorgeous on her. And from a trotting horse (or, truly, held up for close inspection) no one will ever know whether I blocked the shawl on lace wires well or on pins carelessly.
This is what I wanted to show you. Just make it. Don't worry so much.
My gorgeous sister, looking even more beeyootiful:
Happy birthday, Christy. May this be your best year yet.