If you’re Rhinebeck bound, we would love to see you at Jill Draper’s studio in Kingston on Saturday night. Details here.

Tea Party

Tea Party - 1

Dear Ann, Can it really be a year since we sat knitting with pals old and new in the beautiful old mansion that houses the Southampton Historical Society? Apparently this knitting thing is catching on, because the Society and the Rogers Memorial Library have been nice enough to invite us back this summer. It’s a crying shame you can’t be there, Ann. It’s on the afternoon of August 15, in the village of Southampton, New...

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Dateline: Inside Cat Bordhi’s Brain

Dateline: Inside Cat Bordhi's Brain - 1

Dear Kay, (My suitcase showed up, you’ll be relieved to know. Those cones of organic cotton chenille are safe with me. You can go back to your moving and Passovering now.) We Arrive at the Oregon Coast And we discover that this was no “Puppet Show and Spinal Tap” situation; the Magical Moebius Festival was definitely the hot ticket at the Shilo Inn in Newport. As incredible as it may seem, I have never been to a knitting...

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Dateline: Southeast Portland

Dateline: Southeast Portland - 1

Dear Kay, So last night when I had finally disembarked from two legs of air travel with the 105 members of the Camas High School Papermakers marching band, the lost baggage clerk asked, “If we were to open your bag–if the tag was missing–what sort of recognizable items would we find in it?” “Yarn. It was about 50 pounds. A bunch of knitted stuff in there, but mostly, yarn.” Such a poetic end to our little...

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Dateline: Somewhere on the Oregon Coast

Dear everybody, So we’re on Day Three of Cat Bordhi’s Magical Moebius Festival, just us and the hard-corest sock and moebius makers of the universe. This pretty much sums up how things are going this weekend. This, plus sock knitting: Full NewsChannel 5 Storm Tracker team coverage to come. Our heads are about to blow up with the awesomely cool wonderfulness of it all. Love, Ann and...

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Dateline: Portland

Dear Kay, So I’m sitting here in the Portland, Oregon, airport, waiting for you to show up. All around me I can listen to people talking on their cell phones, and I continue to be amazed at how people will carry on–at a level that we can all hear–about stuff I guarantee you nobody wants to be hearing. It’s not eavesdropping that I’m doing; it’s the unavoidable sound of talking that I’m absorbing. Hey...

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