Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Wednesday, July 02, 2003 I am tracking my package from Little Barn in Huntsville AL. It’s already in Nashville and won’t it be fun if it gets here tomorrow - in time for a holiday weekend. If only I could hope the package from Stony Mt. could be here on Saturday - wooeee - dyeing time for me. Mom and Dad brought down the metal porch furniture yesterday. It’s very filigree - I remember it now - but for the life of me I hadn’t been able to remember it till I saw it. It’s white but I am thinking of painting each piece a different pastel color. Only - it would look good scattered about the garden too. There is this image I have of the garden at perfection and a table and chairs set for elegant MarthaStewartish style dining. With just a little effort I can insert Bess clothed in sweeping frock with silk shawl elegantly draped over the back of the chair, her face tilted upwards in a sparkling smile, as her suave companion, in dinner jacket and tie, lifts his glass in a sophisticated toast. Only flaw in this picture is when it is warm enough to dine outside, the mosquitoes are so bad you’d never go out there - that, and well - if BigDarling is the companion - you can be sure there will be no suave outfit and he’d sooner wear a dress in public, than a tie at home. Oh well. Life is not a photo shoot anyway. I finished the bobbin of mohair singles. I also noticed that the red dyed locks stained my hands. This yarn will need a thorough washing when I set the twist. There is a quilt shop in Mechanicsville, on old Rt. 360 where the windmill bank is, so I shall probably be able to pick up more core thread for the yarn. This looks like the BigProject that’s been lurking in my subconscious. I haven’t picked up a pair of needles in so long, other than to swatch a little, I hope I don’t forget how to knit. Next week I’ll be cutting steeks at our Tuesday Night Knitters and I’ve decided not to knit the neckband on Sigvaldi in the round. I don’t want that extra fold of stitches right at the neckline. It’s only about 7 rows and not many stitches so I’ll knit it back and forth. This means I don’t have any knitting left to do on it. Poor sweater, though - it is so big and heavy and hot. I’ll have to stand under the A/C blower for an hour just to get up the nerve to try it on. It is a handsome sweater though. Last night was Weight Watchers and the progress is 1.6 lbs. This is a happy step for me since the 11 lbs gone means I can go shopping in the attic for clothes. H is my WW companion - and inspiration, since it was her great strides, accomplished at a slow steady pace, that prompted me to join. She and I both have the structure/discipline problem, not the knowledge problem. Guess most folk there have it too. The meetings are very pep-rally-ish, but they are short and give us both an opportunity to verbalize and draw issues out into the open and stir them up to see if they really are issues or just memories. We are both E’s and if we don’t have a committee to help us solve our problems, we’ll drag strangers in off the street to form one. In lots of cases, we can be each other’s committee, but with the weight issue, we are too lenient with each other to provide the structure we need. Last night’s topic was “are you moving towards something or away from something?” Interesting thing to ponder. Not only which direction, but what is that something? Image is so complicated and so intimate, so hidden, so visible, such a conundrum. What popped first into my mind, though, was that I have felt helpless for so long, both threatened and flung apart. As if I were on one of those centrifugal force amusement park rides that don’t let you drop, but only because it’s got you smashed up against the edge of something, unable to move or stop. So it wasn’t really a weight, or a size, or an image that I was seeking, but that sensation of being able, being capable, being free to move about without impulsively eating stuff I didn’t even want. It was the same way I felt that last year I smoked cigarettes (20 years ago!). Constantly doing something I didn’t like that made me feel bad, look bad, and was surely killing me, yet somehow unable to stop doing it. So I guess I was moving away from something and that something was the thrown-away-life - the life that belonged to mindless, thoughtless, compulsive habits instead of my choice. I rather like thinking again, instead of reacting to inexplicable impulse. Feels pretty nice. Doesn’t look too bad either. posted by Bess | 7:17 AM |
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