The Weekend Close
"Oh, you don't want those." said the lovely Scottish lady at the yarn store in Vancouver, B.C. Apparently I did because we have moved house three times with them: 14" double pointed English Aero Needles, four packs of them. And now a lovely person from Ravelry wants to take them off my hands and I am so happy. She wants to knit a human cocoon with them. Which begs two questions: with what fiber and what will she be when she emerges?
Steven completed reading me Old Man's War, which led to some very moist eyes over a large batch of chocolate chip cookie dough. Not being a huge science fiction fan, I am making an exception for John Scalzi, who writes up quite a blog.
The cookie recipe tweaks with proportions and gluten content with a sprinkle of salt before baking. At any rate, I had to wrestle the batter away from Steven. Nothing new there.
Last night I took Steven out to the Parkway: complete with couches and beer and free popcorn. They do mostly second runs when not throwing feminist soviet porn film festivals or Firefly dressup video-a-thons. Tropic Thunder was playing and I would watch it all over again to see Tom Cruise's dance. You may now cut out my tounge.
I've finished a first go-round pair of Ysolda's mitts with some handspun in various colors along the turquoise/purples line with some golds and oranges thrown in for interest. (At the best of times my creations look like an attempt to dress a crew of penniless orphans on a community theater of Les Miserables.) Ysolda's from Edinburgh, young, lovely, wildly talented.
McCain's numbers are flickering upward and I am afraid. Please don't let this happen.
Barbara Darling the Stoned Landlady is still insisting on my inability to do laundry properly. The only thing I have learned from Barbara is this: pick your battles and the ones involving fabric softener are not often worth ostracism.
Steven completed reading me Old Man's War, which led to some very moist eyes over a large batch of chocolate chip cookie dough. Not being a huge science fiction fan, I am making an exception for John Scalzi, who writes up quite a blog.
The cookie recipe tweaks with proportions and gluten content with a sprinkle of salt before baking. At any rate, I had to wrestle the batter away from Steven. Nothing new there.
Last night I took Steven out to the Parkway: complete with couches and beer and free popcorn. They do mostly second runs when not throwing feminist soviet porn film festivals or Firefly dressup video-a-thons. Tropic Thunder was playing and I would watch it all over again to see Tom Cruise's dance. You may now cut out my tounge.
I've finished a first go-round pair of Ysolda's mitts with some handspun in various colors along the turquoise/purples line with some golds and oranges thrown in for interest. (At the best of times my creations look like an attempt to dress a crew of penniless orphans on a community theater of Les Miserables.) Ysolda's from Edinburgh, young, lovely, wildly talented.
McCain's numbers are flickering upward and I am afraid. Please don't let this happen.
Barbara Darling the Stoned Landlady is still insisting on my inability to do laundry properly. The only thing I have learned from Barbara is this: pick your battles and the ones involving fabric softener are not often worth ostracism.
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