wheee pareee!

I'm so glad I got this lovely sewing book.

It's full of inspiration and beautiful photography. It's the kind of book you treasure, even if you never make a single project from it. (Though I do plan to make a few.)

But mostly I'm happy to own it now because, even though I didn't know it at the time of purchase, this will come in handy

because I'm going to Paris! Yay!

A few weeks ago I was minding my own business, G-mail chatting with my friend Michelle, when a powerful thought occured to me: Michelle lives in Paris. The way it came was a little out of synch, I mean, she's lived there for probably four years now, and I'd long been doing the someday thing about visiting her. For whatever reason, I was hit with a command to go now. A person could, I suppose, be hit with worse commands, oui?

I haven't been to Europe since 1998 and I'm soooo excited. It'll be my first time in Paris, and y'all know I'm already planning to rack up the Marie Claire Idees and that any cast-off sewing stuff the French don't want must come home with me. Most people would be thinking of wine and croissants but we, the People of Handwork, know it's all about the fabric and the fiber, which the French have the good sense to have lots and lots of.

I'll be leaving toward the end of March and spending my 1 week school break there. If anyone has suggestions to enhance my address list, please do tell. Michelle will prove an excellent tour guide for everything else, but the knitting and the sewing she doesn't know from. I'd love to find a place to buy vintage sewing things (simple things, like thimbles and embroidery scissors and tape measures).

No matter what I do or don't buy, I'm over the moon about being able to go. Yay! Yay! Yay!

on february

Poor February. Popular only because there's less of you than other months.

My February has been pretty busy. People. Projects. The book proposal (mostly, What the hell am I going to write about for a whole book? And, Now that I'm working on happiness, is it still okay to portray my miserable childhood?) . To be honest, my vision of the days behind me is a tad blurry, but this day is a standout, so I've chosen it for Snap a Dozen Days:

Schmin in love.

A day of firsts it was. The first day I've gone out with Schmin as a foursome, me, him, Bubs, and now Naiomi, his girlfriend. As we sat in The Whisper Lounge at The Grove, drinking pear martinis at Schmin and Naiomi's insistence and laughing, the two of them exchanged quick kisses and lots of I love yous.

Naiomi is an extraordinary girl, brash and brave and underneath it all, quite lovely (I told her so). She is not much like the shy lost lamb I was at 23 (even though our birthdays are three days apart and we share the same zodiac sign). I had to navigate the world, for myself and a little person for whom I was responsible, and so I did, but it was painful. I was not, like Naiomi, a natural at it.

Watching the two of them, young, in love, and unencumbered, I felt happy, but old and lost too. When did I become the matriarch?

I began to wonder how the wisest woman I know, my mother in law, felt when her son brought home his first girlfriend. Did it cause a fracture in her identity? Did she take it as a signal to wear her skirts longer? Her hair shorter? Even now, with me in the picture, how does she reconcile everything she doesn't know? Especially when I come to her, in the heart of a bad time, and expect her to say something that turns my life around.

I am twenty-plus years removed from high school yet I am exactly the same person I was then. Hopeful, searching, confused, sure, resolved, smart, stupid, funny, self-deprecating, self-aggrandizing, judgmental, non-judgmental, appreciative, resentful, trusting, grateful, sad, happy. All the contradictions are present and accounted for, same as always. What confident, sage advice do I, of all mother figures, have to offer this girl?

If she comes to me, I will tell her only what I know: That the days go on and life unfolds in ways we can imagine, but never really learn to expect. That grace and humility can carry us through the changes. That love is the best thing this world has to offer.

What a day it is, the day you see your place in this grand human experience come full, full circle.

eye candy friday -- mecca at dawn

rhapsody in blue and brown

Remember my little yarn shortage problem? Well, desperation is a hard but compelling mistress. She forced me to see the resources I had on hand, and thanks to the spit join, a color card, and a few 2 - 3 inch yarn scraps recovered from the wastebasket, I was able to piece together a length of yarn long enough to knit the last row plus the cast-off row. In the process, I learned that with garter stitch it's rather a waste to cast-off on the front of a garment. I didn't have enough scraps to knit two rows plus a cast-off on the front, so I knitted one row, which landed me on the back, and cast-off on that side. I was surprised to find it looked exactly the same as if I'd knitted that extra row. If I had been casting-off on the back all along, I wouldn't have fallen short. Whadda they say? Live and learn.

And so the Stevie 41 Scarf is warming the neck of its intended recipient, possibly as we speak.

Made from Beaverslide Dry Goods' 100% wool -- you haven't used wool like this before -- in "bison brown" and "hidden lake," it's a simple garter stitch, vertically striped piece. I did it in panels for portability and flexibility. This is not a project I had planned, but I was minding my own business one day (in December, yah, because this year I haven't bought a single skein) when I came across this post. Before you go here, BE WARNED. This guy is a pusher. He takes the sexiest and most seductive pictures of yarn your eyes have ever seen. I loved his scarf, done in another of Beaverslide's yarns, a merino/mohair blend. I loved it so much that I had to order something from them. I called myself saving money because the yarn I bought is a bit cheaper, but the minute I received it, I placed two more orders. Oops. This yarn is a heavy worsted, and it feels/looks a little bit felted. It has a lovely masculinity, saturated color, and blocks like a dream.

Here's what I did:

Stevie 41 Scarf

• In color A, cast-on 46 sts using size 9 needles
• Knit 8 rows in color A
• Switch to color B and knit 8 rows (word to the wise, save your sanity by doing this)
• Switch to color A and knit 8 rows
• Switch to color B and knit 10 rows
• Switch to color A and knit 8 rows
• Switch to color B and knit 8 rows
• Switch to color A and knit 7 rows
• Cast-off on row 8

Alternate colors A and B so that the panels will be opposite. In other words, knit 3 panels where brown is color A and three panels where blue is color A.

Once you've done 6 panels, crochet them together. (Or use whatever method you fancy. I like the ridge the crochet join creates. It gives the scarf an industrial look.) Wash and block. I repeat, wash and block, especially if you're into drape. The finished size should be about 8.5" x 72".

vision quest

By now a huge number of people have heard of the DVD The Secret, especially since Oprah's done not one but two shows on it. The first time I heard of it was when Schmin excitedly told me about it last summer. I didn't watch it then, but a couple months ago, Valecia generously gave me a copy, and I've watched it a few times since.

It's right up my alley. I'm a fool for anything that serves to remind us of the goodness of the Universe and the power of the mind. I like to joke that I tried living from a place of depression, fear, and limitation and if it had been any good, I would have stayed there. A joke, but not really a joke. It's Agape that helped me change my way of being in the world. Since I started attending in earnest a year and a half ago, my life has burst wide open. My external circumstances look the same, with the exception of my job. But let me tell you, inside, the only place where it counts, things are very different. And I know that things will only get better from here.

I can say this in the face of having lived through one of the most devastating life experiences I've ever had, which began this time last year. Even when I was in the depths of it, I could see the light, and it wasn't too far down the tunnel. I don't believe this thing would have destroyed me under any circumstances, but had I not begun the process of transforming my thinking, it would have taken me down harder and longer than it has.

To thoughtful, conscious offerings like The Secret and What the Bleep Do We Know!?, I say yes and yes again. And I am proud of Agape's spiritual leader, Dr. Michael Beckwith, for his participation in The Secret and his recent appearances on Oprah. So proud that I am working hard not to complain about having to attend Sunday service at 6:30am in order to beat the throngs and get a seat.

So enough deep, meaningful talk about my spiritual path. Now for the fun stuff.

My friend Efuru, who introduced me to Agape several years ago, and I were having brunch and talking about The Secret Friday before last when she exclaimed, We should have a vision board party! I know divine inspiration when I hear it, so I immediately agreed. We worked out the particulars and yesterday we held our gathering.

OH. SO. FUN.

And moving. And personal. And open. And beautiful. And imaginative. And giving. And supportive. And inspiring. And humbling. And playful. And transformative. And, did I mention? Fun!

I invited Natalie and my other GFTK (great friend through knitting), Darcy, along with Valecia, Carol, and The Bubs. Efuru's hubby attended (I LOVE it when men get involved in these things), along with their close family friends, Dianne and Rita.

I'm all about collage and, if nothing else, the party was a chance to practically roll around naked in a pile of cut-outs, glue, and, thanks to Natalie, sparkles. On a deliciously superficial level I thought of it as a craft orgy, which for me, and I'll wager, many of you, would have been plenty fabulous enough.

But it was so much more than that.

a few of our boards

See what I mean?

It was such a lovely, lovely time. Before we got started, Natalie presented each of us with a set of Buddhist mala beads from India. On each one, she'd hung a tag with a different word written on it. We chose our beads -- seemingly -- at random, but it occurred to me that each one of us drew the perfect word. Mine was "Enthusiasm."

We talked about what we want for our lives, and I learned many surprising things about these good people I call friends. Carol wants to run a scholarship program in honor of her late sister, Natalie plans to build her yoga teaching by offering a class in the park, Darcy wants to expand her music career. Everyone knows I want to write full-time and teach creative writing at my own leisure, but I also want to design clothes and own a house in Barbados. We all want to go on Oprah. :)

Dreaming big is such a blast. As I listened to everyone talk about their heart's desires, I realized how rarely people, even close friends, sit down and share these kinds of intimacies. It's possible to spend time with a person everyday and never get to this place.

Armed with so much information about one another, we all found words and pictures to help each other build our boards. It was wonderful, then to top it off, Valecia held a drawing and gave away a set of CDs by Esther Hicks, who is a prominent presence in the first version of The Secret.

This time next year we will gather again. We'll bring our boards and see what has been made manifest.

A few of us carried the magic through to church this morning. Joined by Laurie, sometimes fondly referred to as Crazy Aunt Purl (Laurie, I'm throwing you a bone because I know no one reads your blog, ha ha), Bubs, Efuru, and I attended the crack of dawn service, all wearing our mala beads.

eye candy friday -- boys in the front

Schmin and The Bubba, Venice, California, Mother's Day 2006

Maybe it's leftover Valentine's sentimentality, or maybe it's the monthly hormone shift, but today I am thinking about how much my life has been shaped by men. Not just shaped, but gifted. I am not a woman who can't have female friendships, thank God, and my life is as rich as it is because I am deeply connected to a number of unique, spirited women. But there is something about that Y chromosome that presents me with particular growth opportunities. I am calling them opportunities for growth rather than challenges to overcome because I like to keep things positive like that. (I've been watching Oprah since 1782, I'm no dummy.) I have known frustration, yes, but I owe so much of the tender way I've come to see myself to the men who saw me that way long before I could.

Perhaps it's because they don't have to deal with the aforementioned monthly emotional blitzkrieg that the men I know pretty much play it as it lies. I don't know for sure. But what I do know is that, with them, there's not much flare for the dramatic. Don't get me wrong, to me a life without a bit of Sturm und Drang is a life unobserved, but who can live in that space all the time?

Years ago, before I crossed over, I bought a Mac laptop. I was a struggling graduate student trying to make ends meet with the help of student loans and I knew I'd be paying for that Mac a few times over before it was all said and done. So when the thing came I felt like my entire future hinged on its performance. The moment I laid eyes on it, there were, well... expectations. More accurately, I opened the box and waited for the laptop to hop out and propose to me, then whisk me off in its jet airliner to my favorite Caribbean hideaway.

Not only did this not happen, which, when I think about it, was a wee bit unrealistic, but when I went to put in a CD, the drive wouldn't open. I tried and tried to get the thing to pop, but it wouldn't, and eventually its door fell off. This left me in a simpering heap, where I stayed until Schmin happened along. He looked at me there, crying and poking at the computer, and asked calmly, What's the matter with you?

I blubbered something about God being against me and all the fates and the saints conspiring to force me to carve out my ovaries because my brand new out-of-the-box laptop was no good and now I was going to lose precious life moments in sending it back and waiting for it to be repaired and hopefully this wasn't the beginning of a long period of scourge, drought, and locusts attacking the earth.

Schmin looked at the laptop, but not as long or as intensely as I wanted him to, then looked at me again and said, You didn't want a broken one, did you?

Through his words, the wisdom of the Universe finally began making to me: Shit happens.

A broken laptop was what I had, there was no other reality, and if I didn't want it, why was I crying over it? Especially when the thing I did supposedly want was just a phone call away?

I would have to accept the Great What Is -- not my specialty, I tell you -- and send the laptop back, because no, I did not want a broken one, I wanted one that worked. Planning hara-kiri because I couldn't let go of what I'd never had was over the top.

But I couldn't let it go because I had already developed an attachment to the pain I felt over it. Schmin, who was maybe 12 at the time, saw this right off the bat.

Years later I still hear those words: You didn't want a broken one, did you?

I see the way my son looked at me, the way his expression conveyed This is the fact of the matter, deal with this instead of illusion and you will be okay. I hear the lesson he wanted to me to learn -- Go easy. On myself. On the world.

he hearts me

The Bubba and I don't usually celebrate Valentine's Day, but for the past year we have been scaling a mountain, and I felt myself deserving of acknowledgement for the wonderful person that I am (sometimes). I didn't know if my request would be taken seriously, but The Bubba is quite wonderful himself (most of the time) and he went about the gathering of meaningful little things, which I love. A pane of stamps; my beloved Rickie Lee Jones' latest CD; two cards, one given by hand and the other sent through the mail, which I think was an extra-sweet gesture; my favorite junky candy, peanut M&Ms (there's a reason I only photographed half the bag); and, oh my, a gift certificate to my favorite local yarn store, Stitch Cafe.

l'amour

In honor of Saint Valentine's Day, here's one of my favorite photos of me and The Bubba. I love this picture because it captures one sweet moment in a wondrous and still unfolding journey, and because it was taken by the lovemeister himself, Mr. Stevens.

Happy V-Day, Bubba. J vous adore. Always.

as joni sang, a little green

Just a little green
Like the color when the spring is born
There'll be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow
Just a little green
Like the nights when the northern lights perform
There'll be icicles and birthday clothes
And sometimes there'll be sorrow
--Joni Mitchell, "Little Green"

We don't have much reason to long for it here, but around this time of year, lots of people begin to dream of green. I recall Februaries and Marches in New York that seemed like endless winter solstice; the flicker of sun only a match struck in the dark. Those days I would ache for spring, for just a sign that the earth was still restoring itself.

I remember when friends would return to New York after having tried living in Los Angeles. Every now and again, one of them would look at me as if she had recently escaped from a cell in outerspace and say, "...and the strangest thing about it is that there are no seasons."

I don't miss the dead of winter. I don't miss the accompanying longing. But I do miss the awareness of being alive and inextricably connected -- to the moon, the trees, the sky, the wind, the sun -- that the seasons force upon you. When you live with seasons, there is no room for insolence. If you want your car, big baby, you must dig it out of the snow.

Today in LA it is sunny and almost 70 degrees. Tomorrow's forecast is 64 and mostly cloudy, but trust me, it'll be sunny and 70 degrees. I thank the god of my understanding that there's someplace on earth with a winter like this, and that I'm lucky enough to be living in it, but some days it's hard won gratitude because the price I pay is that I get lost in the sameness of it all. I've been here long enough to know that in order to hold together, one has to look outside of nature for markers. More than looking, though, one has to cultivate the presence of mind to create them.

And so with November comes good quality heavy wool, the same as if I were still at home in Ohio. I doggedly knit accessories and wonder when the two or three days will come when I can wear them in the light, without having to wait for the drop in temperature that folds itself inside the cover of darkness. Most of the time, I wear them no matter. What I don't knit for myself I knit for others, which is the case with the majority of these items. The feel of the wool alone is enough to provide a temporal reminder.

In the case of this whimsical hat, it was about the wool, the most sensuous I've ever worked with, and the evocativeness of the color.

Reversible Kitty Eared Hat

1 skein Black Forest Wool Naturwolle Soft (#10 Greens)
Clover circulars, size 9 (for ribbing) and size 10 (for body)
Gauge: 3.5 sts/1 inch in stockinette on size 10s

Pattern: For an 18 inch hat, cast on 60 sts. On smaller needles, knit 1.5 - 2 inches in 1x1 ribbing. Switch to larger needles and knit in stockinette until hat measures 7.5 inches or whatever height you'd like. Close using three-needle bind off. Weave in ends.

Wear or send to a friend.

eye candy friday -- great wall of f&s

One of the murals that adorns the exterior of F&S Fabrics. I often wonder about the dog. To whom did he belong? Is he still alive? Did he have a fondness for sewing with ribbon?

she'll be mine in no time

A few months ago I made a few tote bags out of old sweaters. I got the idea out of AlterKnits, though I'm sure that, just like the jeans-to-skirt idea, it's nothing new. Probably it started in the '60s, when deconstruction became the order of the day. I guess I wasn't born in the heart of it all for nothing, because I do love me some recons and I think the sweater tote thing is especially cute.

When I went out with Terry last Saturday, she admired the one I was carrying and said she'd bring me a sweater so I could make her one. Well, mama ain't got nothing if she ain't got a stock of old sweaters waiting in the wings, so Monday I came home from work, dug into the felted sweater stash, plugged in Rosie, and made a tote for Terry.

I know that to give is to receive and I can really dig this. But I don't know many places where it's more evident than in handwork. I gained a lot from making this tote. For one thing, it'd been a while since I'd used Rosie and I was back to my old fear that I'd turn her on and she'd spit a needle directly through my eyeball. I needed a simple project to help me get over my terror and this one did it.

Once I'd gotten through the tote I started thinking what a shame it is to waste a good sweater sleeve (the other one became the pocket). I could so easily see a buttoned pouch. The only problem was that I had no earthly idea how to sew a buttonhole. This meant I had to face The Manual.

Here's where I dust off the old saw that there are two kinds of people in the world. Two kinds. Manual people and non-manual people. I am a non-manual person. I like to learn by diving right in and screwing up big time. I like to cuss my way through. I like to come out on the other side having left a little blood on a project for the recipient to remember me by. But dealing with a potentially deadly piece of machinery, there was no way I could wing it. I consulted sewing books, but of course they couldn't tell me how to sew a buttonhole with my machine, so I poured myself a glass of wine (I'm not even a wine drinker) and once I felt all warm inside, went step-by-step through the paces. My first obstacle was the buttonhole foot, which looks like a miniature tool of degradation and torture. Here it is from the rear:

Very dangerous and off-putting, but the fallback was sewing a buttonhole by hand, and that wasn't going to happen. Working with a piece of scrap fabric because my momma didn't raise no fool, I eventually bumbled my way to this:

If I were to relate how elated I was, I'd be too embarrassed to ever sidle up to this bar again.

The buttonhole foot turned out to be impressive. It measures the hole based on the size of the button you insert. Surely this is not novel, but to me it was more fascinating than tailing Wesley Snipes on April 15th. I rode the wave and made my next buttonhole directly on my pouch.

And walah!

Just the right size for a pack of smokes.

I was so giddy that once the I'd sewed the tote and the finished the pouch I had to embellish something, so I sewed a little button cluster on the tote's pocket.

I tied a postcard/gift tag around the handle and stuffed the tote with burns of Ray Lamontagne and Aretha and the goodness was complete. I didn't know what kind of music Terry likes but I'm not above forcing my taste on someone new and unsuspecting. It so happens Ray's from Maine and so is Terry and she'd been meaning to check out his CDs. This morning I went in to work and she'd left me a thank you card that read, in part, "I feel like I finally have a boyfriend now that Ray has entered my life." She loves the CDs, loves the tote and pouch, and now we have plans to see Ray the next time he plays LA.

Bonding through craft and music. My plan to take over the world is coming together nicely.

how sweet the days

If life isn't about balance, it's not about much of anything.

As a person of legendary introversion, I work diligently to create balance through spending time with friends and family when I'm more inclined to hole up by myself. It's not always easy, but along the way I've learned that when I really, really need to be alone, I know it. I am always grateful for and often surprised by the wonderful experiences I have with other people, and this weekend the rewards of my efforts were simple, sweet, and so worthwhile.

In addition to a fun and inspiring Friday breakfast with my friend Valecia at my favorite neighborhood spot, Mani's, my friend Carol came over on Friday night. Carol, whom I've known and loved since our days as hungry film students, never comes alone. This time she brought a tasty dinner of Cuban food and a nice bottle of red wine. For dessert she brought flan, which after having stuffed myself on fried sweet plaintains I'm glad I didn't have the appetite to eat. For me to like flan, it has to be soft, almost closer to pudding than custard. Carol said the flan she brought was too firm for her taste too, so I was safe from a late night flan raid. The two of us watched The Departed. I know everyone raves about this film, but Carol and I found it formulaic and dull. Oh well. It was about the company, not the activity.

Capping off my social calendar was a Saturday outing with a co-worker, Terry. It seems like once we abandon the sandbox set, we never know when it's safe to call a relationship a friendship. Remember 7? When someone moved next door and with that sole gesture, became the best friend you ever had? I will venture to say that Terry and I are becoming friends. This is especially true after seeing her in these:

1960s sunglasses that remind me of old TV sets. Terry liked them, which makes her a good candidate for friendship. Almost as good as if she'd moved next door.

She donned these Jetsonian wonders at the Vintage Expo in Santa Monica, where she'd invited me to join her and Eileen, a student and former employee at our school.

Here's Eileen before she discovered that this shawl cost $300:

And here she is afterward:

This expo was not for the faint of heart. The first item I looked at, a pretty (but simple) green and white cotton 70s summer dress, was $172. It was one of those if you have to ask, you can't afford it sitchiations. I know that vintage has become a misnomer for pricey, but we all thought there'd be more of a mix of price points. Once I realized my $50 budget wasn't going to net me much booty, I treated the experience like a visit to a museum and very much enjoyed myself. It wasn't long before I came upon a classy dress pattern.

Completely cute and only 7 pieces to cut! I look forward to making this one.

Because my desire to make this dress is sure to be overshadowed by the amount of time it takes me to get it done, God must've looked at me and thought, Let me throw her a bone. I went on to find a fabulous printed cotton dress -- from my favorite sartorial decade, the '50s -- with the most flattering ruching ever. Really, it's a dress among dresses. I tried it on and it looked so good that I decided to have a birthday party just so people can see it. I'll be a lady and wait to debut it on the big day. The cost? Thirty-six dollars, which prompted the woman who zipped me up in the dressing room to remark that I'd found the only $36 dress in the whole place.

A few other notables:

These bloomers had Terry's name all over them

Dial-up purse

Show me to the Oscars, if you please
Terry's dream jacket -- Vivienne Westwood (only?) $450
A blast from my past
Felt story belt

I'd shot my wad with the dress and the pattern, so when Terry asked if I wanted to join for lunch, I suggested Tacos Por Favor (thank you, Ellen!). Great food cheap. We all loved it, and it was such a joy to get to know Terry and Eileen -- someone I'd only seen in passing -- better. It's so easy to forget that everybody's got a story. Everybody.

I woke up feeling so good this morning that only French toast could provide the proper celebratory sustenance. I like to do a healthier version, with a snap.

How about a recipe?

Spicy French Toast
(yields 3 slices)

• Start with a good whole-grain bread. The more seeds and fiber, the better. I like to use Rudi's Organic 7 Grain and Flax (available at Whole Foods)
• In a wide, shallow bowl or dish, break 1 egg and whip it up a bit
• Pour in 3/4 cup of soy milk and stir. Westsoy Unsweetened Organic is pretty tasty
  
• Add cinnamon to your heart's content, but at least 1/4 tsp
  
• Add nutmeg to your heart's content, but no more than 1/4 tsp
  
• Now for the kicker, stir in a pinch or two of cayenne pepper
• Whip it good. The consistency should be similar to a thin eggnog
• Heat a large skillet laced up with about a tablespoon of butter (Yes, dammit, butter! Good, fresh butter. Organic if you got a bonus at work. If you use margarine to make this recipe, I will personally come to your house and beat you.)
• While the butter's heating (don't let it brown -- if you want to slow the browning process, coat the skillet with a cooking spray, preferably canola oil, first), take a slice of bread and lay it in the batter. Because whole grain bread tends to be more dense than white bread, I like to poke it with a fork a few times, especially in the corners, to make sure it gets moist all the way through. There's not a thing worse than dry French toast. Flip the slice and do the same on the other side. Get the bread nice and soaked, but not to the point where it's falling apart
• By now the butter should be ready, so gingerly place the slice in the skillet
  
• Repeat the dunking, poking process with the other slices, and place them in the skillet
• Cook each side to an irresistible golden brown, flip and repeat
• Take out the slices as they are ready. Stack 'em up and add fruit, a dollop of cream or yogurt, or my preferred topping since I'm just a gal from Toledo, syrup
• Enjoy the sweet and spicy goodness as it dances on your tastebuds.

Ooh. I want more right now.

Happy New Week, everybody.

eye candy friday -- the silver lining

I am two rows away from a nice finished project and guess what? I've run out of yarn. Ack. I think I'll just block it in such a way as to create a visual illusion. No way am I spending $15 on a ball of yarn and waiting for it to arrive in the mail just to knit two rows. Especially now that I've gotten thrifty on the yarn shopping. I'll scheme my way out of this situation. You'll see.

Meanwhile, here's some eye candy from a lovely spring day in Tucson. It's especially nice when enlarged. So click. :)