In the kitchen, I usually keep a pile of emergency reading for use when eating my morning baked good and slurping coffee while keeping Clif from skateboarding in the kitchen. At the moment the emergency reading is Clara Parkes’ Knitter’s Book of Yarn, which I have moved from my bedside table because I keep falling asleep before I get to read anything. This book makes the best emergency reading because you can read exactly one-third of a page and get something out of it before having to say in a crabby way, “STOPIT! If your feet are on the skateboard, and the skateboard is in the kitchen, that means you are skateboarding in the kitchen which you CANNOT DO.”
The other morning I managed to read the Gospel According To Clara In Regard To The Tricky Issue Of Chenille. It was so inspiring–the photograph of her chenille washcloth was so lush and lovely–that I immediately dove into the stash to find my cone of FoxFibre® Colorganic® yarn, which I have been hoarding since Nancy Parsons’s sock Woodstock last March. I paired its chunky self with some shelf-aged Rowan Fine Cotton Chenille, and the hand towel I’m cooking up is going to be really cushy. Or squishy, as Ravelry goddess Jess says. Clara encourages the washing AND drying of all-cotton chenille in order to make it more dense and velvety. It’ll lose some size, but I can’t wait to see what happens to it.
I am dragging these days; it’s some sort of a cold, or bubonic plague, which has me rooting around in the medicine closet, fighting the urge to slurp some Nyquil and call it a day. I started pitching out old medicine and unearthed enough rolled gauze to bandage a World War I trench war victim.
I also discovered some ancient, quaint family planning items. Not exactly amulets made out of goat’s hair and booby feathers, but close enough. It made me realize that family planning used to be a big hobby of mine. I spent a lot of time and money planning not to have a family. Then, when the time came, I spent a lot of energy planning TO have a family. Now, I’m mostly done with the planning and I spend most of my time executing a family–aw, not EXECUTING my family, but you know, HAVING a family. Done with strategy, on to tactics. Keeping the extreme sports out of my kitchen. Explaining gravity to an eight year old as it pertains to why you might break your elbow coming off a plywood ramp if you’re not wearing a pad.
Life rolls on, doesn’t it? Anybody who needs a half a case of Today sponges which expired twelve years ago . . . I’m your girl.