Every night there is more snow. The plow trucks go past my bedroom window, thundering in the silence, and they seem both monstrous and valiant--they are the way we can go forth in the morning, but the sound of them when they are upon you, right outside your window, is tremendous. I think that's a job I might like; it's 3:00 am, and there is nothing outside but stillness and the crunchy cold and a fresh and precious snowfall, still untouched. You fill a thermos with coffee, you put on your thermals, your woolen wrist warmers, your Carharts (with red suspenders) and climb into the tall cab of the plow truck. Breath fogs up the window. You turn the heat all the way up, crack the window an inch. Then you drive up and down, along the quiet country roads, back and forth down the deserted highway, and along the fresh, silent streets, branches and twigs all sugared and dusted. Mighty in the silence. Warm in the truck. The sleepy town, and me, doing the hard work of clearing it, making the way. For a girl who really loves to sleep late and then hang around in her jammies, having a long breakfast that morphs into lunch and hunkering lazily beside the fireplace with her catdog, this seems out of place, even to me. There it is, though. It must be so cozy in the snowplow cab, and so beautifully singular. Maybe one day I'll do that, right after I take up bartending, which is the other job I think I would love.
Speaking of cozy, here is my most recent finished project--look at that enormous cowl! I love those cables. This thing fits me perfectly, too. I must be getting the hang of choosing a project that will suit me, and then knitting it to fit. You can't imagine how many total failures there have been over the years, but then I suppose that is how you master a thing, isn't it? I am getting there.
This is Lanvad by Justyna Lorkowska, knit in Berocco Ultra Alpaca worsted weight yarn. This color, hard to capture, is a very complicated and muted purple/pink/gray, and I was madly in love with it until I read the actual color name on the label--the geniuses at Berocco are calling this very lovely color "Candyfloss". Once I saw that, I could not unsee it. Candyfloss? I am so influenced by these things that it almost made me give up halfway, and I am not kidding. I don't want to wear anything the color of candyfloss. (US friends, that is Cotton Candy to you and me, and calling it "candyfloss" does not make it any less evocative of throwing up on the Tilt-a-Whirl.)
I pressed on, though, through all my color doubts, and Doc very kindly came up with roughly a thousand other names for this color, trying to appease me about it, and I will accept just about any one of them, and actually this finished garment is near perfect, so there. You can try to throw me off the trail, but I am too tough. Take that, Berocco. You can't candyfloss me.
I wish you all a very Happy and Cozy New Year. Stay warm out there, lovely friends. Xoxo