I’m now finishing up two cardigans: the thin Donegal Lambswool Beth and my rastafarian fiesta, Splash, in spongy, smushy, stripey All Seasons Cotton.
As you all too well know, I love pinning and blocking. Some weird masochistic urge. And you think my shade card obsession is geeky . . .
Late last night David, the 7-year-old fiber arts king, hung out with me while I tried to figure out all the curves of Splash. There’s hardly a straight line in the thing, so I was glad to have ye olde gingham to help line up edges. David read Pokemon card after Pokemon card to me. We were both in a flow state, hypnotized by collectibles and pins. At one point he said, “You know, Mom, I like doing nothing with you more than anything.” Aw.
Squeaker the guinea pig is sitting in my lap. At twelve weeks, she’s getting some meat on her. Nothing, of course, like my friend’s two-year-old pituitary case guinea pig. Enormous, cat sized. Worrisome.
Must run. Headed to the zoo with the fellas to think about those gibbons who blow up their throats and make those unearthly howls.