these days of leiderhosen

Okay, the Stash is way out of control. I've been reviewing the current spinning production, rotating the skeins through the vegetable steamer and draping them over all the doorknobs which we might be running out of. Have I mentioned that I've yet to knit any of this? Currently on Esme the Ashford Wheel: merino supahwah ! fuchsia, orange, merlot deep reds, rusts, repeat. Wicked stuff the color of some really potent girly cocktail ; guzzled by some slightly older tall brunette with great eyebrows who will tell you the best joke you've ever heard, finish her drink, and will take you home and wreck your life. It's making a very wild fun yarn. Definitely part of the orange kick I've been on lately. Update: (I thought you'd like a picture.) Next to arrive, Pigeonroof Harvest and some kind of pink. Then more Fat Cat (see description above) Buffy merino and her mad cool Carrot Top in orange tencel . I just handed over a pair of Saarjte's booties to the Momm...

Okay, I suck. Are you happy now? Life gets in the way of lots of things, documenting this life that is dribbling through my fingers being the first item to be jettisoned. Cause I'm not getting rid of Straus Coffee ice cream, I can tell you that. Lexipro 20 mg tags are on their way. Joy....I feel calmer just thinking about it. Reading: yarnabuse.com Admiring: Ben's writing . Nocturnally Murdering: domestic wool moths. Where the great *&#^ are these fuckers coming from? Anticipating: a weekend with Mum, travel to Mix in S. CA, knitting group, a niece in February! Spinning: 8 oz of black alpaca. Sure, it's sensually soft but unspun (?!) it takes up a whole lot of space. And it drifts everywhere. I am a tablespoon of corn syrup away from being a very convincing wolfman. Knitting: booties! I am almost finished with the BIG glamourous Christmas gift. (Just one a year, thank you.) And that's today. I leave you with a photo of Lucille, domestic house hippo of Casa del Grant...

I can't help it. I lust after this . Want! Want

My word of the day is pterygium or " tympanic membrane ". Gosh, it just gives me goose-flesh. Delightfull . The perfect triptych of white family Berkeley hippie- dom appeared to me today on a busy street (Telegraph, actually. Northbound.): Young- ish 20-something man wearing waist length dreads and what appears to be either rags or an orphan's costume for the musical "Oliver" propelling his skateboard mid-lane. He is closely followed what must have been his father wearing similarly shabby earth-toned clothes, a corduroy blazer and a natty battered fedora peddling a very stylishly ancient bicycle and towing his young daughter who is wearing Rollerblades and an immaculate derby with a speck of peacock feather peeking out of the band. And what are they using for a tow-line? A navy blue tie. I have been tempted to change my profile photo; it was taken four months ago at an impulsive San Francisco outing to the most wonderfully old and eccentric bar. I was so d...

I just can't think of anything that says love like a homegrown tomato. I am currently having a torrid affaid with a loaf of Semifreddo's sourdough, a fresh jar of Best mayonaise, a good grind of my very best salt (the fooodefoo grey french stuff) and the most marvelous tomatoes ever. Maybe some pepper. On both sides. Lettuce and bacon would just get in the way and I am inordinately fond of very good Niman bacon. Most times I even leave off that second slice of toasted bread.

You know all my kvetching about Californians? My musings on the 45 year old man being towed by his enormous dog down the middle of the street on his skateboard, drinking a beer? The bank teller that comments on the color of your aura? Food Psychics? Metaphysical Life Coaches? SUV drivers/phone addicts of epic rudeness? (And, yes, I have not forgotten that I AM A CALIFORNIAN.) Well. I might just take it all back because each and every person in this state apparently owns their own lemon tree. And now every person is overwhelmed with a sense of largess. Huge barrels have appeared on street corners, overwhelming food banks, sold for a dime on street corners by Frank who is trying real hard to kick the crack habit. Workplaces vie for "Take Me" plates, with impatiently written post-it noting the sweeter, oranger Meyer varieties or the monstrous bright yellow mutants. I sit here with a chipped blue bowl with six perfect pesticide-free shiny green plugged specimens. Heaven. A full-b...

What is about smell that brings the Dead before us, fully realized and perfectly colored? I have 75 pounds of promotional tee shirts in the basement from the cleaning out of Heather's dresser, comprising almost a decade of competitive running in a state where every weekend is some kind of fun run, each complete with its own tee shirt. Always hated running myself. I had thought to cut them up for a project and knit them into bathmat sized rugs. Today I began and as they came out of the black plastic garbage bag, a waft of soap and laundry detergent would hit me flat in the face and I would have to stand there with my eyes watering buried in a piece of give-away cotton printed with 2001 Campbell Bunny Fun Run, waiting for the sensation to pass so I could wield the scissors again. Do you know what 75 pounds of cotton tees looks like? A huge heap from the floor to almost above your knee. I am gonna be at this a while.