Wednesday, November 22, 2006


***GUEST PET: I'm afraid this whole Guest Pet thing has given me a raging case of Puppy Love and Elizabeth H's Whipper isn't helping any.

Here's what Elizabeth H has to say about her: "Here's a picture of my Minature Dachshund - Whipper. She got her name because her tail constantly whips back and forth. Sometimes even while she sleeps.Elizabeth H. in Culpeper, VA, USA. Visit my website at

My furs are not in storage,
nor lying on the bed,
They're dancing 'round my feet,
waiting to be fed. "

Which, in my most unhumble opinion, is as it should be. ***

I think I'm ready for serious analysis. My bizarre knitting behavior has grown even more . . . well, bizarre. I now have two Perfect Pouches waiting for I-cord and felting. I started a pair of Debbie Bliss cashmerino aran wristwarmers from this summer's Knitty pattern. I'm about to launch myself into one of Nancy's fab boxes (okay, so they're Mason-Dixon's fab boxes but in my heart they'll always belong to our Nancy) and am scouring the Internet for a bowl pattern. Oh yeah, and what about the washclothes I am suddenly on fire to make?

You see, shopping can be a dangerous thing for a knitter. I spent some time in a Blue Mercury store Monday evening and walked out with gorgeous soaps the likes of which I have never seen in my life. I wish we had smell-o-vision on our computes so you could breathe in Lemon Sugar from or the incredible freesia. (Funny thing about freesia. I will always associate it with our first spring in this house--I'm lying on the sofa on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The windows are wide open. The french doors are wide open. The lilacs at the family room window were in full scented bloom and on the table in front of me was a huge bouquet of yellow freesia that Goldisox had given me for no particular reason. (Isn't that the best reason of all to give flowers?) Anyway, the breeze carried the scent of lilacs into the room and the scent of lilacs mingled with the gloriously fresh scent of freesia and I swear to you I was downright high on springtime in New Jersey. Add to that the fact that I was reading LaVyrle Spencer's The Gamble and had already been transported back to another time and place.

I remember it all of one piece. The sun, the flowers, the breeze, the book. All wonderful. All just memory now.

I also remember the time my best friend and I decided to start a Friday KnitNight just for the two of us. (This was about 1985 or so.) She'd had a lousy day at work. I was having a lousy time with the book I was writing. We made ourselves a pitcher of pina coladas (hey, it was the 80s) and settled down with our knitting. Unfortunately neither one of us was or is a big drinker and before we were halfway through the pitcher we were sprawled in a tangle of cheap yarn and dented needles, alternately laughing and crying about the big fat mess our professional lives were in . . . and the fact that knitting and rum really don't go together as well as they should.


Blogger georg said...

Never drink when armed.

5:25 PM  
Blogger Fran Baker said...

I love freesia, too, Barbara. Smells like spring, even in the dead of winter. For me, spring always meant clipping armloads of blooming pussy willow, forsythia and lilac branches and arranging them in this mother-of-all-vases that I only used that one time of year. Oh, and opening the windows to blow the blues away.

9:21 PM  
Blogger Nancy Herkness said...

Could you only drink pina coladas in the 80s? I'm behind the times becaue I still love them. What could be better than an alcoholic milkshake?

7:03 PM  

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