Midwinter blahs, the bane of February around AuntyNin's Place, have set in with a vengeance. Most of the
drifts of snow from the Valentine's Day storm are still obstructing progress of both vehicles and pedestrians.
Dragging the reluctant body out of bed in the morning has become a major challenge, in spite of slight improvements in
the mobility arena. There's something about six-foot-high snow piles that just makes me want to pull the covers
over my head and whimper.
Besides that, all the current knitting projects have suddenly become intensely boring, which foreshadows an imminent
case of Startitis. Not that I really need to start new projects with all the stuff currently on the needles. Still,
the SeaSocks swap socks (try saying that three times fast!) must get done, if only I could decide on a pattern and
Progress has happened in a couple of areas. The Sorbetto cardigan only needs to have its buttons sewn on and a
cold pressing to set the front bands, and it'll be ready for wearing. Over the weekend, a ball of leftover worsted in
bright colors almost magically transformed itself into a pair of kid-size mittens for Dulaan.
Now the question arises: with Sorbetto as good as done, should I (a) swatch for the Celtic Icon pattern, or (b)
finish the top-down t-shirt before heading out on vacation. Decisions, decisions. . .
Perhaps the arrival of the first Rockin' Sock Club package will break the grip of the blahs. Time will tell.
Sn*w. In my vocabulary, this is one of the worst of the four-letter words. This is particularly true
when the first thing I see in the morning is a fourteen-inch-deep drift on my windowsill, and nothing but swirling white beyond
it. Thus started yesterday. And to the people who scoffed at me when I predicted that we'd eventually have
to pay for all the good weather in December and January . . .
Fortunately, my boss agrees with me that it's better to take an unscheduled vacation day than to risk a broken hip
trying to get to the office. Since there was nothing particularly urgent on my agenda for the day, I stayed at
In spite of having had a deliciously decadent day, curled up in my Knitting Throne, sipping fresh-brewed cinnamon coffee
and knitting my fingers off, I must confess that I'm tired of this "winter" thing. Cold and blustery and slippery underfoot
gets old really fast. I'm ready for it to be spring, with crocuses and daffodils blooming and bright-green leaves peeping
out of the trees.
On the knitting front, the Sorbetto cardigan is moving along nicely; the plain stockinette is good for showing off the
yarn, and is utterly mindless to knit. It's on the second front now, and the only potential obstacle to completion would
be my absent-minded knitting of a second left front instead of the right front that it needs to become.
Since I'm completely capable of this kind of brain-spasm, there are no guarantees being offered at this time. Still,
even if I did have to re-do part of it, the odds are looking good for it to be done in time for SeaSocks in late April.
Aside from Sorbetto, the only project that's getting attention right now is the baby cable rib sock in Austermann's "Step"
yarn. This yarn has a lovely feel, and is knitting up quite well, almost no problems aside from a slight tendency to
tangle. These should be done by the end of the month, as I'm already midway down the leg of the second one. That'll
put me right on schedule to start a pair for my SeaSocks Sock Swap partner, as soon as the matchups are announced.
Five weeks to the official start of Spring. That's about six weeks too long for me.
For some reason, I've got a bad case of "Friday afternoon sillies" and it's only Friday morning. So, the poem that
seems most appropriate for this year's silent poetry reading is the following:
Once there was a elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant--
No! no! I mean an elephone,
Who tried to use the
(Dear me! I am not certain quite
That even now I've got it right.)
Howe'er it was he got his trunk
in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee--
(I fear I'd better drop the
Of elephop and telephong!)
by Laura E. Richards