I stayed up later last night to finish binding off the body of the Khaki Cardi. Whew, that was a long knit, but then I do have quite a bit of acreage to cover (not as much as I did before, I know, but still a goodly amount). Today I'll start one of the sleeves, which will go much faster since they're knit in the round, no purling which slows me way down and makes my left thumb hurt. One of these days I need to visit a knitting teacher to see if I can figure out a different way to purl, maybe that'd be better.
On Sunday for zoo knitting I didn't want to haul my big bag o'sweater around so I cast on another Neon Sock. I had enough yarn to do a second one switching the cuff and foot colors so they don't exactly match. Well, I can't have matching socks, now, can I?
And, DS, look what arrived yesterday. A new Oregon Files book! I confess I shoved Appetite for Life aside to dive right into the adventures of Juan Cabrillo and his merry band of mercenaries. Just what I needed to stave off the spring fever.
It's supposed to rain today. Rain. It's March. In Green Bay, Wisconsin. And it's supposed to rain. Not even freezing rain. Just plain rain. I want to go out to the edge of town and check the "Welcome to..." sign to make sure I haven't been transported to someplace in the middle of the country (the North-South middle, not the East-West middle) overnight. I have vivid, adult memories of snow on May 2, piling up a few inches, stick to the ground snow, and this year we're barreling into spring like we're on a runaway train. As nice as it is and as much as we all like this, I'm afraid we're headed for a train-wreck of a spring. And that has been the Wisconsin Pessimism Report for today.
March 9--Capri, Italy. It looked to Martina as if she could walk from boat to boat all the way across the harbor. Tied up, gunwale to gunwale, the blue and white hulls rose the calm water like placid horses in narrow stalls. Like any other vacation spot, real estate was scarce on Capri, and that scarcity extended out into the harbor. Martina's eyes flicked over the placid scene watching for movement, for a flicker of green moving away that would reassure her that Carlo was going like he had promised he would. She knew it would take years for her to feel safe again, but knowing that he had gone back to his wife and her father's money would start the healing.
This feels more like an ending to me than a beginning, but, oh well, it was the end of the day when I wrote it. Stay dry!
--Barbara
Last Sunday it was gorgeous--50 degrees and sunny. That took care of my plans to go snowshoeing with a bunch of knitting friends, but we wanted to do something.
When I hadn't heard from anyone by 11:30 I called and suggested th
at 
we meet at the zoo, feed the animals, and then knit in the cafe. So that's what we did. No one else had ever fed the giraffes, I would pay out all my $1s for giraffe crackers but then all the kids would cry and I'd feel bad. But I do love it.
We strolled around the zoo and lots of the animals were out in the spring suns
hine. I finally got to see the red panda; it was out climbing around on the branches in its cage.
We fed the sheep, alpacas, and llamas, but they really didn't want to be petted, so no feeling some of our favorite fibers "on the hoof."
After our walk we found a table in the corner of the new cafe at the zoo, had a bite to eat, and then spent a happy hour knitting and chatting. We all resolved to plan more outings like that. It was a great way to spend the first really fabulous day of the year.
Is Mother Nature setting us up for a big fall? My guess is Yes. It's been all sunny and warmish, the snow is melting merrily away, and the birdies are singing in the trees. I just cut down last year's raspberry canes for Durwood and they were budding nicely. You know that means that we're in for more snow, more freezing rain, more of everything winter-y and yucky. It's Wisconsin, and we do winter in a big way and for way longer than the 3 months allotted for it on the calendar. This is just a tease before the final smackdown., you mark my words.
Still not much writing mojo around here, but I am still doing prompts, so here goes last night's effort.
March 8--San Blas Islands, Panama. It was like a movie set, right down to the uneven and rickety-looking dock that scribed a straggly T in the shallows at the shoreline. The soaring queen palms grew close enough that hammocks were strung from one trunk to the next and the row of thatched huts reminded Angela of the little molded plastic houses you bought when you played Monopoly. She had read in the cruise brochure that they would spend one day on the "private island" owned by the cruise lines, but riding toward it in one of the launches she was dismayed at how much like a set their destination actually was, how contrived and artificial it looked. She imagined the island teeming with the sudden influx of a few thousand people all determined, frantic to have fun, and then its rapid return to desolation as the sun set and the last launch sailed away. She watched the loud and colorful tourists spilling out of the boats ahead of hers like grade-schoolers on a field trip destroy the peace of the little islet. "I think I"m getting a headache," she said to the launch driver, "I'll just ride back to the ship with you." He smiled.
Oh, Angela, now you are convinced that the cruise was a mistake. Tsk, tsk.
--Barbara
A bunch of the knitters went to the zoo yesterday. I convinced them that we needed to feed the giraffes--my favorite thing.Writing this weekend? Not so much. I resolve to do better this week. I fell asleep in mid-prompt last night. Guess a 2 hour stroll around the zoo in the sunshine and spring air is tiring.
March 7--Kagoshima, Kyushu, Japan. She never expected to see palm trees in Japan. In her mind Japan was temperate not tropical, not hot enough to grow luscious crotons and prehistoric cycads in the heat and humidity they needed, but there they were. The hillside about the town was full of the lush green of the palms and the shocking yellow of the crotons' leaves. She had packed the wrong clothes. It was hot, hot and humid. She wanted shorts and all she had were jeans.
And that's when the pencil point went skating along the page making scribbles over the already-written words. I barely remember putting the notebook and pencil on the nightstand and turning out the light. Have a Monday.
--Barbara
I'm fascinated by the Ugly Bunnies, and I need to stop. Yesterday I carried all the solid color wool back downstairs so that if I want to make a fourth bunny I have to go down there and dig some out again. This one went to live with Dusty. She quilts and makes gorgeous fabric purses and so I thought she'd need a pincushion. She didn't want to put pins in him but I suggested that she name him after someone she wouldn't mind sticking pins into, which might make it easier, kind of voodoo doll-ish. That got her thinking.
I'm an inch into the bottom black stripe on my Khaki cardi as of the end of F
riday Night Knitting Circle last night. In half an inch I'll shift from stockinette to an inch of seed stitch and that'll be it for the body. Next I pick up and knit 3 rows around the neck, then do the sleeves, and I'll be done! I can't wait to finally have it finished and blocked.
It's a good thing they're strong--and fake, because the writing energy is thin these days. I think I have an epidemic-sized case of Spring Fever and very little of anything is getting accomplished around here. I do intend to go straight downstairs once I get this posted to whip up a couple batches of lotion and some lip balm. Stores are low and new product needs to be made. Maybe I can make some smell and taste like spring to set me back on track. Wonder what fragrance I could use? Moist earth? Melting snow? How about snowplow repellent!
March 5--Baunei, Sardinia. Julie liked how the sides of Punta Pedra Longa leaped from the waves. There were no soft sand beaches here, the land came straight out of the water on this side of the island. The exposed rock was dark gray and the angles of the mountain were sharp, not wind softened and weathered by time. She pulled over under some trees and parked her rental Fiat where she could look over the edge of the mountain and watch the waves dash themselves in an explosion of foam and spray on the tumbled rocks far below. The narrow roads that wound up and down Punta Pedra were challenging to her, she was used to the wide American roads. Here on Sardinia she had to pay attention because too many times she rounded a curve only to find a few goats or a gigantic truck in the road. It just made more sense to stop and enjoy the scenery.
Enjoy the taste of spring wherever you are! I'm off to lotion.
--Barbara
