We are both on a green journey.
This is the latest output of my Honey Cowl cottage industry. I used two skeins of Hiwassee Creek DK Weight which I scored at the Arkansas Fiber Arts Extravaganza in December. The dyeing style of this yarn reminds me of Madelinetosh: it’s basically a solid color, but there are lighter and darker shadings of the color, a few speckles of its close relations (here, a dark blue-green), and the occasionally flash of the white yarn underneath. (The photo is brighter and shows more variation than in real life; in real life, it’s a forest green.) I love this style. It avoids the perfect consistency that can make industrially dyed solid colors look flat, but also avoids jangling up a bunch of colors together for a finished item that screams LOOK AT ME I’M HANDMADE. (I look forward to your letters.) (Sometimes, I, too, want my knits to shout their handmade-ness from the rooftops, but not always. Especially gifts. This is a gift for Colleen. Colleens, in general, look great in green.)
(Note: this is not a black & white photo.) Breaking: I managed to finish up a stranded Thorpe hat to send to Afghans for Afghans, for their January campaign for teens in Afghanistan. Confession: after knitting the delightfully intuitive patterned yoke on my Icelandic sweater, Thorpe’s 2-color chart had me stopping and starting. I had to keep looking at the chart; the pattern wasn’t intuitive. It wasn’t a problem, it just wasn’t a joy.)
If the yarn looks familiar, it’s because it’s leftovers from my recent lopapeysa. Two close shades of grey Lett Lopi. (Icelanders: feel free to insert your own diacritical marks.)
I have no opinions on the Golden Globes because I am too busy watching the final episodes of Season 1 of Friday Night Lights on my newfangled Netflix machine. I am seriously crushing on a fictional football coach. These are not words I ever expected to type. Go Panthers!
Here’s a thought for the day: I have zero interest in what Lance Armstrong has to say. There are decent things to do after such an epic, self-engineered fall from grace. Talking to Oprah is not one of them. I would suggest firing the publicist, and handing over the charity to others more capable of honesty. Am I bitter because It’s Not About the Bike was once a form of armor in a time of need, in my house? You betcha. Trying to be grateful for the courage it gave, and letting the rest of it go.
That’s all I got, sister.