planets askew

All day we heard reports that a major snow storm is brewing - heading down from Denver. By late afternoon the organic market was so crowded that I could hardly maneuver my small cart through the aisles - everyone stocking up on food supplies. The sky rapidly changed from soft gray to ominous gathering clouds gradually closing off the view of the mountains. Some snowflakes began to fall. These changes reflected my own discombobulation. Is there some retrogradey thing going on with the alignment of the planets? Nothing seemed to be easy today. I worked at my desk all morning and had emails returned, bank accounts mixed up, telephone service interrupted, and my cell phone made the most amazing animal sounds when the battery died All of  this was a prime example of what I to refer to as the miracle of technology strikes again! As dusk descended and the mountains disappeared into a threatening atmosphere, there were soft sky happenings going on in the west. I'm glad the day is over and night has come. I can knit.

A new skein of Alpaca Sox yarn in a different (from yesterday's posting) surprise green arrived at the post office today. It's called Watercress and is lovely. I'll post a picture of it when I can photograph it in natural light - when the camera won't turn it to dull gray. There's that miracle of technology again - 35mm film didn't turn greens to gray, but digital imaging does, no matter the setting.


under cold pond water
at the bottom of the gorge
wavy watercress in summer

faux spring

Finito! The Ann Hansen "Roger" socks made with Classic Elite Alpaca Sox. These socks were made for walkin'. Don't know color number because (surprise) label is lost. I love these socks! The pattern was easy and fun, the yarn luscious, the color energizing. And today was another gorgeous warm one so I had to take lots of pictures of the socks outside on the mannequin feet which are much shapelier than mine.

This is the one patch of snow left in the courtyard in a shady north-facing area. Picked up camera and dog and went off for another long park walk. It felt like a spring Saturday there. Kids in the playground, at the basketball hoops, old ladies pushed in wheelchairs, dog walkers, tourists taking pictures of Kit Carson's grave, teens sprawled out on the ash blond grass, runners, walkers, talkers on phones, young mothers walking very fast with those big three-wheeled strollers.

An almost perfect day. An hour spent on the deck in the sun, writing (in one of the new notebooks). Dinner of cappellini pasta with pesto/basil meatballs, white wine, salad. A movie later and some knitting on the other Roger socks in mauve alpaca which I hope to finish soon.

did you see it?
an accidental green
in the dun colored winter grass

scents & senses

As my family and countless others back east struggle with the 59 or so inches of snow that has fallen so far this winter, my heart opens today into 53 degree temperatures. It is both scary (we need moisture) and welcome. Either way it's beautiful and brief. Forcing me from my desk and out to the park with Spike for a long walk. The sky is so blue I'm searching for my husband's art supply catalogue to find a name for it, this enormous cloudless ceiling that, depending upon which direction you happen to be looking toward, goes from pale blue to deep cobalt.

The leaves and pods left on the trees are brittle and brown and catch the afternoon sunlight.

 Lovely long blurred shadows of bare trees reach across my path and the wingbeats of the ravens are fast against the wind, their cries loud and sharp. There is no trilling or chirping in the park this afternoon. It doesn't feel like spring. It feels like a warm day in mid-winter. I shed my handwarmers and hat, unzip my fleece jacket. I begin to differentiate the smells of wood smoke: that's cedar, this must be pinon. Pine smoke near the house with the strange graffiti on the side wall.

A woman in a long black coat and hat passes me twice on the paths, smiling. A trail of incense scent lingers in her wake. When I pass the two Taos Pueblo men on a bench they smell of bonfires. In an adjacent parking lot a group of high school kids is listening to rap music on the car radio and the smell of marijuana briefly drifts across my path. I bend to take a picture of the patches of snow that remain and notice the loamy wet scent of the soil. Spike notices it too and I can't call him away from it.

We're both assailed by the new information we're getting from the land today. And I can't help thinking that this is just a park. A town park with traffic beyond its gates, rap music nearby, kids shouting in a playground, a church next door, a basketball hoop on the tennis court. But for a girl who grew up in a city and still prefers sidewalks to trails, it's nearly perfect. And, oh yes, that yellow lichen on the brown and gray tree bark?

Wouldn't it make a lovely yarn color? I think I may have seen something like it somewhere. Didn't I once knit a boyfriend sweater in those colors? Tree bark and lichens. I'll have to go now and do some research. If you have any ideas about it, I'm open to them.

I find myself being mentored by the land again
                                   Terry Tempest Williams

words and walnuts

I'm feeling a bit disconnected today and not sure why. My non-fiction writing class was good. We discussed why we write. A most interesting subject. The students ranging in age from about twenty to eighty-six are beginning to reveal themselves and, as usual, I am surprised at the level of talent displayed when the atmosphere is non-critical and supportive. We have Bonnie Black to thank for that. As for me, it keeps me on my toes and writing every day. I am easily diverted so this is a good thing. Also, I suspect that Bonnie is an organized person and I'm hoping that some of that rubs off on me. She brought in her own four identical spiral bound notebooks (in different colors) that are each designated for a specific purpose and I wanted to do that for myself. So after class I drove to WallyWorld and bought a trio of similar notebooks (they didn't have a fourth color and I didn't have a fourth subject anyway).

I have notebooks of every size and style scattered all over the house and am usually searching for one or the other or some quote or thing that I wrote that has all but disappeared. Now all I have to do is decide which color belongs to what subject, label them and try to remember their existence! I vow to get organized. And that includes my yarn stash and unfinished projects.

Husband unit is still in recovery and last evening, quite uncharacteristically, he was craving something sweet. Not willing to drive to the store at 7p.m., I scrounged around the kitchen and found the ingredients and recipe for a walnut and raisin clafoutis (sounds like the clapotis I'm knitting). I've only made it once before, but it turned out well. It didn't quite satisfy his sweet tooth, but we both ate too much (mine with a glass of Chardonney) and today I bought him a family-sized Hershey milk chocolate and almond bar. Now he's talking about steak and mashed potatoes. Oh dear! I don't eat red meat or potatoes. The thing is: he doesn't gain an ounce no matter what he eats. And I do love good food. I'm doomed.

in his sickbed
he dreams about chocolate
recovery will be sweet

liquid potions

It's a quiet cappuccino kind of a day. Mostly gray outside and very cold. Ron is sick with a flu (or cold or virus). He's been in bed since early last evening, sleeping a lot. Sneezing and coughing so badly last night that I slept in my workroom downstairs. This room with its sofa bed also doubles as a guestroom when someone comes and I must say that I owe my daughter an apology for having had to sleep on that bed for a whole week last summer. It was so uncomfortable. Even with an extra down pillow I woke up with a stiff neck and shoulder. Ah well, at least I wasn't exposed to whatever ails him. I'll have to decide tonight what to do. He seems a bit better today - and I made a big pot of chicken soup (organic chicken and vegetables, acini pepe pasta). He's been too sick to eat any of it yet.
          Making the soup reminded me of the time I was in North Beach in San Francisco staying at my friend's house and she was sick. I decided she had to have healing chicken soup. So (because I do not ever drive in SF) I walked to Chinatown and bought all the ingredients. When I got back to the kitchen and unwrapped the chicken I discovered it had a head and feet! Help! My friend's partner rushed into the kitchen and cleanly and unemotionally removed the scary parts and said I'd probably paid extra for them. I once heard the phrase woozy-pants. That was me. However, the soup was delicious and my friend recovered quickly (because of or in spite of) and I'm hoping today's pot of soup has the same effect on ailing husband unit. I must say that I'm enjoying the quiet, but don't tell him.

scant sun hesitates
dark birds fly past my windows
a dull winter's day

color of wind

The Lobster Pot lace shawl is about three-quarters completed. The cashmere has begun to bloom enticingly after being stuffed and unstuffed in and out of one of my small KnowKnits pouches (I love them) and it's so soft that I want to cuddle up with it against my naked skin. It is a total pleasure to work with this yarn. But, lest you think that I have put all other projects aside after promising myself that I'd finish first, start second, I must confess to a bout of uncontrolled multi-knitting. I received in the mail the other day a gorgeous skein of Lorna's Laces Helen's Lace in a limited edition color called "Alice's First Kitchen" - at least that's what I recall of it's name since the actual label, in my hands for about 15 minutes, has entirely disappeared. The colors are a prod toward positive thinking ala spring.

Yummy shades of milk chocolate, kiwi, taffy. I couldn't resist seeing how a swatch would knit up (oh sure!) and started another Clapotis. Other knitters may be over this pattern, but I'm not. I find it a most relaxing project with lots of knitting and not much thinking.  I call it my Stress Cure Project (SCP). I do have to glance at the instructions occasionally, but the long knitting time and final result are worth it. It's a good travel project, too. When it's knitted in lace weight yarn it becomes both a summery shawl and non-bulky scarf. It's my favorite and most used article of clothing when I visit northern California. Best utilized during a walk along a Pacific beach on a breezy day or an autumn evening walking to a neighborhood restaurant . One would think that I'd have drawers full of these shawls (how many have I made?), but I don't. Most have been given away (and traveled the world) or were commissioned for others. I plan to keep this one. I'm in love again.

After a gloomy gray start, the sun is shining in late afternoon and the sky is deep blue. Looking out the window one can easily think early spring! - but it's a trick of light since the wind outside is howling (literally) and screaming (like the voices of the ancestors) and the temperature has dropped considerably. My dog is confused, wanting out and then begging to come in. He hates wind!

The bare branches of the apricot tree struck me as looking quite dramatic with flailing black branches against a background of  scudding clouds.

wind howls loudly
and my only dream of spring
is in yarn's colors

friends faraway

I know that weather and landscape inform many of my blog posts and inspire me. But when you live in a place known as the Capital of Sunsets and you have a nearly 360 degree view from your very own humble home, it's an inevitable condition. Tonight's soft sunset (this is a view to the east!) in this January full moon realm drew me outside with camera.
          One friend spending winter on the Cornwall coast (with some handknitted socks) sent me several pages of her manuscript to read and my other friend who is at this very moment in Venice (with a fine handknitted alpaca shawl/scarf), sent me pictures and a challenge. Before imparting any information about her whereabouts and activities in that magical city (which she knows I want to know), asked me to identify the location of two photographs first. I guessed that one was taken from the interior of Florian's cafe toward San Marco Piazza, and the other in the Accademia or maybe San Rocco (that one was harder).  Since it's the middle of the night in Italy I won't learn whether I'm right or wrong until at least tomorrow. And these two friends inspire me. They are both writers, both photographers, beautiful women, and both are appreciators of handknit scarves and socks. What more could one ask for in a friend?

on a full moon night
light behind fleecy clouds
brings thoughts of faraway
                      friends