two knits of ivory

I am knitting. Not a lot, but some. I finished the laptop condom last week. It is nearly perfectly sized after two felting washes: I haven't decided on whether I'm going to add a button, or some other closure device. And though I feel the nascent pull of spring cleaning my knitting WIPS, I was compelled to cast on the new Madtosh I purchased in the lighter of the two shades of Cove: The colors remind me of my hometown, Long Beach, NY. I don't usually look back fondly on Long Beach, as the dense congestion of it's streets is a poison to my constitution. But these colors? Herein lay the colors of the wet sand, the multifaceted Atlantic Ocean, and the earthy hues of the life-supporting jetties. I loved playing on the jetties. Alone. Jumping from one boulder to the next, challenging my agility while imbibing freedom with each gulp of the salty air. Or I could crawl along the beach floor and look at the myriad life forms that called the jetty home. Would

My mind is all over the place these days. One minute there's some funneh , the next there's national socialism . These are the daemons I can't control. And I have to remind myself I am not responsible for them or the repercussions of their crazeh. But then there are the daemons I can control: Sundara Sport in LE color Time Travels Sundara Sport in Glacier Two different intensities of Madtosh Sport in Cove Madtosh Sport in Violin There are as many opinions about stash as there are people. I have, in fact, two paradoxical opinions. The first opinion is that "one should only have the yarn one needs to knit now." The second opinion is "Pretty! Wowza! Pretty! I wanna, I wanna, here's my money give give give it to me now! NOW!" The latter opinion has been the dominant one at chez yarn for over almost two years. I now have no more room for yarn. Or should I say, I don't want to make anymore room for yarn. The amoun

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality. ~ Emily Dickinson This is the thought that came to me as I opened the "new post" window. My muse speaks and I never understand her. 'S okay. I'm used to it. I am growing more and more devoted each day to giving her free reign. Or, should I say, my capacity for indulging her is growing each and every day? Some days she takes on mythic proportions. Other days? Notsomuch. There was a bit of a lull in knitting at chez yarn. 'S okay, too. I'm listening to my inner knitter agitate over the fact I haven't had an FO in forever and I've cast on a new project. She can suck an egg. Yeah. That's the ticket. Wow, there's a tone change. This project, another pair of Waving Lace socks with Sundara sock yarn, has been given the frothy name "Escape to Russet Moon Mountain." (If you're into Twilight snark, tak