A Foggy Day...

 


Fog is what happens when the ground is frozen below zero and the air warms up to freezing and a bit above.  What also happens is that the birdbath glacier starts to thaw a bit.  I'm glad I'm not out driving around because I'm sure that the streets are slicker than greased glass right now.  I'll make a decision about whether to go to the Y to walk tomorrow based on road conditions.  Maybe I'll put myself through my paces from Megan the trainer's handouts and get all sweaty in the comfort of my home rather than venture out.  We'll see.

A couple knitting friends invited me to accompany them to check out the newly opened yarn shop in Appleton, Casting On.  It's right on College Ave. down near Lawrence University in an old building with gargoyles on the pediment.  They're about half stocked with high end yarns, a bit out of my price range.  I did fall prey to a skein of Crazy Zauberball sock yarn in purples but couldn't justify buying any others.  I didn't ask but wonder if they'll be getting more yarn in since they didn't have any cotton or baby yarn and nothing really moderately priced.  I hope so because I want them to be successful and stick around.



I knitted a few more rounds on the Zauber Orange sock inching closer to the blue-green yarn that LB likes so much.

I also frogged my first attempt at brioche, went down 2 needle sizes, and am happier with the result.  I think that the yarn I chose might not be the best for this technique but it's good to learn on.  Something plied a bit tighter might be better but this is just fine for practice.



2 February--Tropical Obsession. 

Sunday morning and people are on the move. It's easy to tell who is a local, who is an expat, and who is a tourist. The tourists are easiest; they're the sunburnt ones in tank tops and flip flops, but nice flip flops, on their way to a dive site or standing frowning in front of Cultimara grocery trying to figure out why it isn't open. The sight of the string of locals entering the church down the street finally clues them in--the dignified women in their dresses, white shoes and hats, the men in dark slacks, pressed white shirts worn with a subdued tie, and the children starched and pressed in their Sunday clothes. The boys and girls are easy to tell apart; the boys look like miniature men in their dark slacks and white shirts, the girls look like flowers in pastel or bright dresses, their long coltish legs all knobby knees and tendons, their hair captured into braids to lie close to their heads with a handful of plastic clips or beads on the ends. All of them wearing Sunday faces filing into the cool dimness to say a prayer or sing a hymn or even, judging from the look on a few of the older women's faces, set God straight about a few things.

Well, I tossed the remaining containers of that veggie & farro stew that I over-kaled.  I've eaten about half of it and it isn't improving with age.  I looked at the bowl of it I heated up for supper and was underwhelmed.  Out it went.  Once again the laundry chute is full.  Has it really been that long since I did wash?  I don't know but I'll tackle it tomorrow.  Did the groundhog see its shadow?  I never remember if seeing the shadow means more or less winter.  Personally I don't think that an overgrown gopher's view of itself is a reliable predictor of weather, anymore than the TV weather guys are reliable.
--Barbara