Tuesday, January 8, 2013

barely, only barely beginning

tap, tap, tap
Working again. Not at the old Remington but at my mac and notebooks. Collected some research notes and a have a meeting later this week with someone who will know more about the backstory of my subject. I can't write more about it because...well...you know...that energy thing. Talk too much about a project and it kind of dissipates before it goes anywhere.

move, move, move
I needed to clear my head and move my body so I drove to walk. The maintenance guys at the park have cleared paths through the packed snow and the sun is helping in non-shady places. The temperature at the bank read 25 degrees as I passed, but there wasn't any wind and it didn't feel that cold. I came home with a couple of vague new ideas and realized I have to make walking a practice again if I am to avoid extreme slugdom.
twelve months of socks
Another new pair of socks is finished and put in the FO (finished object) box (minus the Ferrari). I've challenged myself to complete one pair a month in 2013 which includes mates for singles languishing in various bags and boxes. I'm ahead because I completed a couple of other pairs since end of December when I took time off (is that cheating?). I didn't have to confess that. I'm impatiently waiting for new yarns. Especially the Lorna's Laces Limited Edition color, Downton Abbey. It looks luscious. I do love that PBS series, it's such a high class soap opera. I watched the two hour season premier and it seems everyone from the lords and ladies to the kitchen maid is having times-they-are-a-changin' troubles. I love that it's filmed in a real mind-boggling castle - apparently one of the few still around with the actual original owners still inhabiting it. They admit that they do have to run tours and book events to pay the bills and that the Masterpiece series has helped. The other expected yarn is called 50 Shades of Grey. I'll keep you posted on that one.

He has finished a day's work
Placing his pencil in a marmalade jar
which is colored the soft grey
of a crumbling Chinese wall
in a Sierra meadow, he walks
from his shed into the afternoon
where orioles rise aflame from the orchard.
     (Robert Hass, first stanza, The Pornographer)

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