It's so humid right now that everything is completely stuck to everything else, and we are sprawled around on the furniture sweating heartily and trying not to touch anything, so naturally I am knitting an enormous, thick, wooly, cabled pullover. I'm not sure what it is about me, but this is what I do. This is the least seasonally appropriate thing I could possibly be making right now. I did try to bring things around to summer by attempting to use a zucchini as a nostepinne because the
vandals farmers down the street have given us a gigantic armload of zucchini and I am looking for uses. I'm sorry to get your hopes up, but sadly a zucchini cannot be used as a nostepinne. (I can't share the photos of the failed attempt--suffice to say it was pretty funny, and that a zucchini, no matter how you hold it, just looks naughty.) What else to do with eight zucchini? Why can't cantaloupes grow with that much enthusiasm? I could eat cantaloupe until I turn into one and roll away.
This yarn! Oh my goodness. This is Cascade Ecological Wool, more of my share of the spoils from the Great 70% Off Sale of 2012. I know you're wondering how there can still be anything left from that magical day, but if you had seen the four 50-gallon bags I carried out of that place...I'm rethinking the stash now, too, more about this later...anyway, just look at that gorgeous, lightly plied, handspun-looking stuff! Oh, my heart. It is fluffy and plump and soft, and somehow light and thick at the same time, and it is so hot right now, I don't even...why? Why did I suddenly think
I want to make some kind of weatherproof fisherman's sweater out of the woolliest yarn I can find? Yes, that's what I want to have draped all over my lap as I boil in my own sweat! I told you I liked the heat.
There's always room to be a little bit warmer.
Exhibit, Catdog in summer: is this dog having the best life ever, or what? We sit on the porch together and she enjoys a small snack of ice cubes, until the sun gets to be too much, even for her--and this is the dog who will press her face against the fireplace until I worry about brain damage--then she comes inside, gets up there on the couch, stirs all the pillows around until she's happy she's found the fluffiest one, and then flops down with a snort. I point the fan at her and, after a quick sniff of her Frito-scented feet, tiptoe away, leaving her to her peaceful dreams. Back to the knitting.
