One Long Day

Today is the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year, so I hope you've got some sun-worshiping on your calendar.  Today is the day we celebrate the light because it's the day we have the most of it all year long.  Technically speaking, the summer solstice occurs when the sun is directly overhead the Tropic of Cancer, or 23.5° north latitude.   That was at 11:24 p.m. last night, not the perfect time to celebrate light, so I say we celebrate today.
  



As promised I finished the Calypso Anklet last night and got the tails woven in.  Now I have to knit another one out of the same kind of yarn (but not the same color way, what, are you nuts? who'd wear matching socks?) so I have a pair (but not a pair) to see if I like how they wear in shoes.






Oh, I almost forgot, I visited a new yarn shop yesterday.  It's The Lost Sheep Yarn Shop in downtown Sheboygan and it's very nice.  It's only been open since January and it looks like they're already expanding.  Lots of lovely yarn, samples to drool over, they even offer a blocking service.  I exhibited what I consider to be the ultimate in self-control because I only bought one skein of yarn and a tape measure.  Admittedly it's a very fancy and pricey skein of Crazy Zauberball sock yarn but it's the first red skein I've ever seen of that yarn.  You know I love red; I couldn't leave it behind, besides that's what "mad" money is for.





Then I spent an hour at the Rawr-West Museum in Manitowoc soaking up the glorious Chagall prints from his book "Le Cirque."  Chagall has always been one of my favorite artists so it was lovely to be able to see them.  I'd love to see even one of his paintings but this might be the next best thing.


Then I drove home and back to reality.  It was a lovely little run-away.  Now I'll be saner for the next few months until September when it'll be time to go back to The Clearing for a writing workshop.

June 21--August Macke, Tightrope Walker.  She has to be blinded by the lights, Theo thinks.  The lights make the spangles of her costume wink and flash but the lights must shine in her eyes too.  The tightrope is so narrow, so dark, so unstable that he thinks every step will be her last.  Behind the pasted-on smile he can see her fierce concentration.  He watches the way her fingers flex and grip the pole she uses for balance.  Isn't the music distracting?  He wants to call out for quiet, to shush the chattering children.  In his imagination she begins to fall and he leaps down the stands and out into the center ring to catch her.  Sometimes he keeps his feet, sometimes he falls with her in his arms.  She always puts her arms around his neck and kisses him right there in the middle of the whole circus.

It seemed oddly coincidental that the art for last night's writing prompt was a circus scene when I'd spent part of the day looking at Chagall's circus prints.  I keep getting interrupted by customers and haven't even had time to eat lunch.  I think I'll do that now.  Cheers!
--Barbara