two knits of ivory

I've heard through the grapevine the weather may be turning. I've been a prisoner of the heat and humidity for about a month. One month of freon filtered air can make a woman batty. So yeah, a few weeks of staying late in bed on Saturday and Sunday have been fun, but I am more than ready for the next phase of life: Fall. The name of this Malabrigo sock colorway is Primavera, which according to Merriam Websters derives from the Italian as "in the style of springtime." Me, I see the colors of Fall. (Even though I have named the project I'm knitting with it "Shetland Printemps," I think my subconscious has determined it is a bastardization of the word Printemps, which means Spring in French. What it's bastardizing I have no clue; the muse hasn't let me in on this secret.) The only plans I have for the weekend are building my KOC kingdom, knitting, sitting and breathing natural-ish air, and finally, but not leastly, becoming intimately ...

What do you call a man with no arms and no legs who happens to be hanging on the wall? Art. Or as we say in the patois of my adopted homeland , aht. What I do know, and have known, for a long, long while is that I don't know my aht from my elbow. What is aht? No friggin' clue. I only know what I like to look at. And what I like to look at is photos I take of my knitting. Or to be more accurate, photographs of things I have knit at some point this summer. I've since tucked these sleeves, knit in my favorite Jo Shark DK tweed, away in favor of some really mindless knitting: A Shetland triangle in Malabrigo sock, Primavera colorway: But to be perfectly honest I have been sucked into the vortex known as Facebook gaming, specifically Kingdoms of Camelot. Oh woe betide my knitting life.

One good thing about being childless is that I get to be a restless adolescent for as many Saturdays as I can muster. I'm in bed, with the Ripplestillskin, playing Facebook games, and thinking deep thoughts about federalism and republicanism, and this can go on for as long as I like. That is until the day ends and it's Sunday. For the first summer in a long while I feel absolutely entitled to do nothing of import. I'm enjoying my second childhood. And I'm done with thinking about republicanism for a bit. I'm thinking about other things too. A couple of nights ago an interwebs friendship was rekindled. The hubster and I met Knitting Kris and her engaging family for dinner at the Olive Garden in South Bay Thursday night. Friendship is not my forte, but there seems to be such an urgency the two times we've met in person. Like I'm trying to fit an entire friendship into a couple of hours. But then it's quiet and I'm back in my bubble o...

I've recently (maybe April or May) realized that I don't seem to enjoy knitting stockinette with lace, which is different than knitting stockinette, then lace, which I really love. An example of a great stockinette and lace combo is the Ishbel pattern (Sundara FSM in caramel apple): What I find mind achingly dull to knit is a lace project that couples plain knitting with lace on each row. Current proof of this malaise inducing phenomena maybe found in my knitting basket, a Saroyan scarf: I want one of these scarves; the pattern is absolutely lovely. My body just doesn't want to knit it. Why I don't really know. I first got an inkling into this inclination when I attempted to design a wide scarf using the day lily lace motif: This project turned out to only be a swatch. Even though the day lily lace pattern is engaging, and this madelinetosh DK yarn in the violin colorway is deadly scrumptious, I just couldn't find the will to continue knitting the proj...

My mind wants to talk about two different things simultaneously, feminism and my latest FO. My latest FO, the Tea Leaves Cardigan aka It Felt Good to Get Out of the Rain: I think I've finally mastered a good armpit seam: The sweater is hip length with short sleeves. It took about 700 yards of madtosh DK in Terrarium and was knit primarily on size US 6 circular needles. I loved knitting the ruching.

Decadence was, for me, yesterday, sleeping in a beach chair in the shade and privacy of my back yard. I have a memory as old as dirt. It was from my toddler years, when I lived, briefly, in rural NY. There is such a warm happy feeling associated with this vague memory. I am lain out in the sunny, grassy, back yard in a sandwich of cotton quilts. And there was an egg salad sandwich somewhere in there too, but the connection between the two is hazy. It is the sheer ability to relax and sleep during the day of which I am in awe. To exist. To be therefore you are. Not to be an object in motion, beholden to some chore or responsibility. That is what my mind thinks is bliss. With Mrs. Norris running the main game, it's no wonder this is what I dream of. I am pretty ignorant of what most folks dream of. Is it fancy clothes, fancy cars, trips to Europe, being famous? Me, I just want the luxury to relax and sleep in the warmth of the outdoor air - preferably in the shade.