Late in the afternoon on Friday I did manage to drag myself down into the basement to start "tossing the stash" by which I mean that I began my annual fondling of each and every skein of yarn I own to make sure there're no bugs munching on my fibers and to draw forgotten yarn to the surface. By the time I was through it all yesterday afternoon I had collected 6 or 7 single skeins of "souvenir" yarn (souvenir yarn is something that was either on sale or caught my eye at an out-of-town yarn shop or was too expensive to buy more than one of but too pretty or soft or interesting to leave behind) into a basket, then I spent yesterday afternoon and evening searching the pattern files on Ravelry to find what I can make with a box on onesies. I found lots, a surprisingly varied selection for small amounts of yarn, and picked one per each, putting a small Post-It on the ballband, adding the pattern & yarn to my queue, and printing off the patterns to put them in the basket to be started soon-ish. Right now I'm in the throes of a bout of "finish-itis" a much rarer knitting malady than "start-itis," let me tell you. In the last week I've finished 5 projects, 2 of them today. (go, me!) And I've got 2 more in my bag that are much closer to being finished than started so I'll be bearing down on those this week. There will be no casting on of new projects until those are done... well, before the washcloth's done and the last afghan square is knitted anyway. I'm not going to make myself get the afghan all sewed up and edged before I let myself play with something new; I'm focused, not nuts. Plus I know myself and this bout of "finish-itis" will pass soon enough so I need to git while the gittin's good. Or something.
Just before it got too dark to see out there Durwood noticed a few snowflakes drifting down. It's back to being cold and frozen out there now that most of the snow cover's melted down the gutters instead of soaking into the parched but frozen ground. Naturally there wasn't enough snow left to snowshoe this afternoon. But I am confident that there'll be enough soon. Although that means I'll have to shovel or snowblow the drive soon too. Oh well, that can't be helped.
I didn't write last night. I stayed up late watching an episode of House Hunters International because the couple was looking for a house to buy in historic Gouda (how-da), Netherlands and gouda is one of my favorite kinds of cheese, not the smoked kind, the regular kind. I like it young (jong) and old (oude) and I'd like to be in Bonaire, part of the Netherlands Antilles where generous wedges of fantabulous Dutch gouda is in the cooler of even the smallest, dimmest market on the island right now. Because it's Sunday night and Bobbejan's BBQ is open in the garage of a house on a side street in the capital tonight and I could really have ribs and satay and plantains and coleslaw for supper, yes, I could. We're having spaghetti and meatballs which is good but it's no Bobbejan's combo platter. Well, now I've just given myself a small but painful shot of wishing I was someplace that I'm not. Good work, Bags. Sheesh.
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