Fungus

I found the booklet and terry cloth dish towel in the same thrift store on the same day. I think they are signs that I should finish The Mushroom Sweater before I start another knitting project.

Sideways Sweaterette

Winter has got to go! I dream of flowers every night. When I'm awake, I knit and drink. Okay, I would Drink all Day with a capital D, if that weren't such a bad thing to do. I feel like I'm trapped in Alaska. There are tons of Drunks in Alaska, and this endless winter makes me understand why. Scary. On the bright side, people are actually starting to like the creations I knit them (though I haven't yet found a taker for Godzilla...) It's hard to remember that less than a year ago I'd never even increased or decreased before! Really. But now I can design and make stunning, unique garments like this side-knit sweaterette for Dear Old Mother. The herringbone lace panel was a brilliant choice, because the zig-zag looks the same on both sleeves, without having to go through any grafting crap. But please come soon, Spring!

Pencil Bouquet

Spring seems a long way off as the snow continues to swirl. What to do? Buy some tulips at Trader Joe's or turn what's on hand into stunning floral arrangements? (See answer above.) I can't wait to start gardening, but am too much the hothouse flower to begin clearing up last year's mess in 10° weather.

For Hair Loveliness

Yesterday I dyed my hair Desert Flower, the medium ash blonde shade I always use, just in time for Valentine's Day. I dye it myself, because too soon it's going to wash out into Tricolor Skank (brown roots, orange middle, and yellow split ends) whether I pay some some salon $$$ or fork over less than $10 for L'Oreal Feria. I was an Actual Blonde until I turned 13, but since then it's been Bottle Blonde. I've let my hair revert to its natural Dishwater Sludge a few times, but this made me feel like Dishwater Sludge. So I'll be slathering the smelly stuff on until The End, unless some miracle occurs and my hair turns elegantly white. But I don't even have one grey hair yet. Sigh.

Rain Wrap

Here's my wrap for the grey and wet Pacific Northwest weather. I think I made up the drizzly stitch pattern for the grey part. It's not from any book I read, anyway: ktog tbl, slip 1rst st off needle, then k 2nd stitch still on needle and drop. Then k1. Next row, purl, then back on RS alternate the 3 st multiple: k1, then do the ktog-m1 bit. It's a got a fun bumpiness, and you can get a nice rhythm going. I hate pattern stitches that don't flow, like rain on a roof. Yarn, you wonder? Brown Sheep Bulky in Grey Heather and Deep Charcoal, plus 6 of my stashed skeins of Rowan Country in "Birch." (Which I placed far from my nose so I won't have to whiff the sheepishness of its lovely puddled rainbow colors.) Someday I'll work with #4 needles, but things sure go faster with #11s!

5 for $1

Today I scoped out a Goodwill a few miles from the one I normally haunt, the one whose quality has recently been going down, down, down. By the end of the scope it was certain: this new location is siphoning off the good stuff, and sending the remaining trash to my branch! The store was having a sale: All Books 20¢. Greed is sinful, especially on Ash Wednesday, except when books only cost 20¢. The Antique Nut in me thrilled to find a highly embossed (and highly corny) novel from 1909, with an old Victorian floral calling card sandwiched between the ornate pages. The English Major in me yodelled when she spied a textbook from 1963 with whole chapters devoted to my two favorite subjects: Sentence Structure (complete with the intricate diagrams anorexic, acne-scarred, ex-stewardess Miss Modell taught us way back in 7th grade) and Clear Thinking (with an important sub-chapter, Irrelevancies.) The English Major also was happy to find books by two of her favorite authors, real Authors of Literature, not hacks: Flannery O'Connor and Joe David Brown (who wrote Addie Pray, a book which is even better than the wonderful movie made of it, Paper Moon.) I stood in front of the bookshelf reading the final pages of Wise Blood by Miss O'Connor as hair rose on the back of my neck. Why is she so ding-dang great? Gawd! How could I have forgotten her greatness? I guess my mind has been slushed by all the junk I've been reading since the ecstatic brainwaves of my youth passed into the ethers. It takes more hormones than currently inhabit my body to read things which affect me intensely. It felt dangerous today, anyway. Back to the Emilie Lorings! (Of which I found 18 more...none of them repeats of the ones snared yesterday!)

Junk Reading

My grandmother Ophelia (Felix to pals) liked to read anyone who wrote a lot: Barbara Cartland, Louis L'Amour, Zane Grey, Agatha Christie, and Emilie Loring. I just scored 12 Emilies at Goodwill, and like the other authors mentioned above, after reading one, you pretty much know what you're in for between subsequent covers, give or take a few quirks of character. Felix definitely passed on her junk reading genes to me. The aforementioned authors are all favorites of mine, too. Cartland's breathless virgins and redeemable rakes, L'Amours tall dark strangers and willful Western gals, Grey's spoiled city folk made wholesome by sagebrush scenery, Christie's brave women who eventually find love after falling for the wrong man (usually the murderer). Loring's heroine's are invariably debutantes who show "gay courage' in rough locales like Maine and Alaska despite their silver-spooned upbringings. These authors are soothing reads in the same way knitting (which skill Felix first taught me) is a soothing pasttime. Repetitive, mindless, and fun.

Garden Planning

We've probably just had the last snowfall of the year, but I'm sick of winter and planning my garden. I've got a lot of work to do before I can harvest a lovely bouquet like the one above. I have to smother the weeds I planted last year, annihilate a pesky stand of Prairie Coreopsis (which takes over by runner and has minimal flowering), viciously prune back the first stalks of New England Aster (which gets lanky and brown if I don't), yank up any Heath Asters I see, and plant a whole lot more of the good stuff. The good stuff is whatever plant thrives in my sunny spot with its heavy clay soil: Wild Quinine, Purple and Pale Purple Coneflowers, Butterfly Weed, Indian Blanket, Sunflowers, Sideoats, and Big Bluestem. Here are the plants that don't work: Phlox, Royal Cathchfly, and Wild Indigo. Although maybe they'll surprise me this year.