Beauty is whatever gives joy. –Edna St. Vincent Millay
Found today during creativity class in the workbook : It’s Never Too Late to Begin Again by Julia Cameron
Category: Blogging
Four heels! I wanted to see if I could math my way from a 40 stitch Cast-on to a 60 stitch Cast-on. Wahoo! It worked!
Double Pointed needles (Knitters’Pride Dreamz) the Cascadi superwashed yarns are very soft. I have the needles pointed to the heels. These four, tinks included, took me all day. But I feel accomplished on this first day of spring.
By the way, this day started out like this:
Progress has been made on other socks over the weekend.
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is โtape.โย Use it as a noun or a verb. Use it any way you like. Enjoy!
I am trying to break the habit of saying, “I need to tape that for later.” I realize that we don’t use tape anymore. But I still stop rewinding before hitting fast forward. I know! No tape is going to break, but I guess I was well trained!
Yay, despite the weirdness of life knitting happens.
On the other hand… I found Knitters’Pride Royale Circular Needles a pain to work with. This happened a lot:
Here’s a nearly finished pair of cotton socks on ChiaoGoo red-lace circulars. The cables stay out of the way.
By the way, is there anyone in the country that likes Daylight Savings Time?
Yay! Son and SO made it to my house! Finished his socks!
Here is the YouTube I followed loosely.
I used Knitters’Pride Royale Circular Needles 40″ size 6 (I think–I’m not in the same room as the needles right now.) The yarn was a bulky superwash wool. I think these turned out too big. But I think they’ll shrink. They will be warm slippers.
Oh, and I discovered a cool bind-off.
Just a quick personal note. Knitters’Pride Royale Circular Needles are harder for me to work with than ChiaoGoo red-lace circular needles.
I’m doing my best to be my usual positive self despite the mully grubs of reality.
Snow. Lots. Just not all at once. It gets to this level, melts and reflakes.
Meanwhile, my therapy of knitting keeps my hands moving while I process life, pets, and loved ones no longer with us.
My son and his girlfriend are traveling up. Snow or no snow. These socks are for them.
The reason for their scary mission is a memorial for my first dear sister in love. That’ll be Saturday in Portland. For my son it will be a 12 hour or more drive in much worse conditions than we have here. That’s how beloved Barb was/is for us.
I wanted to go. But my body is telling me that’s too long to be in a car. I used to handle long drives. But, especially being emotionally distraught from the losses of my furry friends, it seems far too much.
My older son is being picked up by the younger couple on the mission. I must admit to being very worried for all of them. As much as I would love to see my nieces and nephews, and sharing my condolences, I just can’t. I think I’ll write a letter or record my thoughts for them.
All of this plays on the huge housecleaning we need from our poor sickly Kali. We’ve done some but we are exhausted and can’t do as much as our younger selves could have accomplished.
One thing at a time. Doing what we can with what we’ve got. Sending and accepting love. Healthy mind and body.
This showed up in my creativity workbook today.
Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.–Joseph Campbell (page 150, It’s Never Too Late To Begin Again, Julia Cameron
Thank you, SARK
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is โwild animal.โย Choose a wild animal (or many wild animals) and use it any way youโd like in your post. Enjoy!
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas – 1914-1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
From The Poems of Dylan Thomas, published by New Directions. Copyright ยฉ 1952, 1953 Dylan Thomas. Copyright ยฉ 1937, 1945, 1955, 1962, 1966, 1967 the Trustees for the Copyrights of Dylan Thomas. Copyright ยฉ 1938, 1939, 1943, 1946, 1971 New Directions Publishing Corp. Used with permission.
Dylan Thomas
Dylan Marlais Thomas, born October 27, 1914, in South Wales, was the archetypal Romantic poet of the popular American imagination
In other words fight like a wild animal. I’m not ready to talk much more about it. Just know, my poor Kali is fighting against the machine. Old age is mean even to dogs.
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