If you’re looking for a baby-steps way into lopapeysa knitting, the wee Gilipeysa is literally a baby sweater, and the cutest thing going.

Now Joining the North and South

Dear People Who Are Still With Us, We’re tuckered out. So tired we can’t even go find any goofy stuff on YouTube. (That’s TARRED, my friends. That’s zero-point-zero gumption. Tai Bo? Kung Fu? Did anybody else see Bronx Beat last night?) This week’s agenda is hinted at in this lovely photo (Thanks, Mary!). See that freight car? That’s Ann’s Suitcase of Love, which is packed with knitterly...

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Reyoonited and It Smells So Good

Dear Kay, Sweet sassy molassy, it’s here, and it doesn’t even smell like smoke or jet fuel or Vinny OR Artie. I’ve never hugged a suitcase before, but it’s like that scene in Reds where Diane Keaton sees Warren Beatty in the train station, and she thought he was gone forever and–oh, Suitcase! I thought you were dead! Thank you for your concern, everybody. Believe me, if I could figure out how to carry on all that...

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Dateline: Limbo

Dateline: Limbo - 1

Dear Kay, Greetings from Nashville! I just love awanderin’ the big city with ya and all, but there’s no place like home. Within five minutes of giving the fellas a souvenir from New York, a copy of The Dangerous Book for Boys, one of them took a magnifying glass out into the sunny day and set fire to a wicker basket on the front steps. I mean, on fire. Like, comes-and-gets-Mom on fire. They didn’t get the idea to set fire to a...

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Where The Girls Are

Where The Girls Are - 1

Dear Ann, So. Here was the situation this past weekend: seven females, ranging in age from 5 to (ahem) 50. (A real RECENT 50, a very FRESH and SPRITELY 50.) We ventured, in a mutually supportive and empathetic way, with plenty of “please”s, “thank you”s, and “don’t do that, sweetheart”s, to a house in sunny, springlike UnHampton. UnHampton is a mythical place that is surrounded on all sides by...

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Picnic at Split Rock

Picnic at Split Rock - 1

Dear Ann, The last 10 days of August were quite literally a washout on the East End of Long Island. Now, I had no right to mope. Weather is weather. I generally like the rain, as it provides a respite from Wholesome Outdoor Activity. I can do more knitting, more quilting, more [insert seated activity here]. But day after day of rain, in a town with one movie theatre and no bowling alley—it eats the soul. You can read only so many...

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