Our Lives, Our Fortunes and Our Sacred Denim
July 7, 2008
I’m dying to know how your deviled aigs came out. In my family, we are mustard, Hellmann’s, salt & pepper people. We don’t think about it too much. But if we did, we’d be looking askance at pickle relish. (Needless to say, we don’t go in for decorative pastry-bag piping of the yellow part back onto the white part. That is some kind of decadent, Martha-Stewart-meets-Marie-Antoinette notion. You use a tablespoon. A dusting of paprika if you are bringing them to the PTA and you’re feeling insecure. I have credentials! I grew up knowing somebody who had an official Tupperware deviled egg carrier!)
Our 4th was its predictable, traditional self. I was gratified that a huge bowl of onion-free potato salad was made just for me, and the baked beans were awesomely caliente. The main non-eating activity was the Reading of the Declaration. Nobody had the New York Times, so we had to print it out.
It was Rose’s maiden voyage. Surrounded by supporters, she did extremely well.
Each year I realize that I have forgotten how whiny the Declaration of Independence is. Halfway through, you want to say, “So leave already! Don’t let the door hit you!” But the listing of King George’s outrages continues. He was fatiguing us into compliance! We have tried and tried to get along with the guy, but we’re SICK of it!
It was a decidedly anti-monarchy moment, but I declared myself the Queen of Lo-Light Photography.
I am slowly putting the finishing touches on the baby sweaters knitted on our vacation. I had tossed 4 balls of each color of Rowan Denim and this booklet into my bag, so it was all denim baby sweaters, all the way. I ran out of yarn for the second sleeve of this one, which turned out to be a 5-ball sweater.
It’s called “Baby’s First Aran.”
I checked with Benedict, and what do you know, he didn’t have an Aran, so it’s his first.
Inspired by the fantastic distressing of the Zoo City jeans (scored at a sidewalk sale in Germany), I gently emery-boarded the center front cable.
Just a touch. Really quite restrained. Benedict will outgrow it before there is any chance of a hole.
(Careful observers will note that I twisted the side cables a little differently than the pattern “suggests”. I didn’t realize I was doing it wrong until I had finished the back, so I just stuck with it on the front. I love tight rope cables, so twice as many is fine by me.)
That’s the most knitting I’ve blogged in about a month. I’m going to go lie down.