I adore Feather and Fan. It made this lovely (yet strangely Rastafarian) yarn look ever-so-much better than it did when I was knitting the scarf in Farrow Rib. Here's a close-up:
Delicious.Yarn: Fleece Artist Peter Rabbit (70% Angora, 20% Nylon, 10% Wool) in a color whose name I can't recall.Needles: 5mm/US9 Addis.Specs: The scarf is 6" wide by 60" long, and I used almost the entire 273 yard skein.Time to knit: less than a week of evenings.
I think this will be a Christmas present for my co-worker T., who, when she saw it in progress, gasped and asked if she could buy it from me. No way. It'll make a fine surprise.
I've been inspired (or else I'm just crazy) to make three more little scarves for the other women who work at the store. I'm fortunate -- two of them are away until next week, so I'll have extra time to get theirs done.
Time is something I'm really short on these days. I haven't been able to appreciate the season yet. I've yet to put up my little tree, but I did manage to haul it out of the closet. A wreath is on the door, the envelopes and packages have been sent to my family, and I've gotten as far as creating an image for my holiday card.
I got to do a little more shopping today, my last chance before Christmas to drive to far-flung stores. I'll be working every day through Christmas Eve, so anything else I need will have to be gotten locally. Our village has some really nice little shops, and I know I'll be able to do all the last-minute things on Main Street.
I'm in my usual mood this year. It's not a bad mood, exactly. I'm not terribly depressed. My heart aches a little, though. I miss my family, miss being near all the people I share traditions with. I miss my tribe, the sisters and brothers with whom I stood on the stairs or in the hallway, in a line from youngest to oldest, while our parents made sure Santa had put everything in the right place. I miss that music box recording that meant we could finally come in the room. I miss my grandmother's sweet rolls, and my father's plaid woolen bathrobe. I miss the Christmas village, with the skater with the broken foot. I wish I could be little again, just at Christmas, in the middle of my big, crazy, funny old family.
As I was driving home from Sag Harbor this afternoon, the melancholy lifted a little. I acknowledged the effect this place always has on me: I chose to come here, and I don't regret it, and I get to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. I have another family to be with on the holiday, and they love me.
I don't want the old days back, because of course they weren't all shiny and bright. I have plenty of new, sweet memories that I've accumulated in my thirteen years here. And yet...
I've been inspired (or else I'm just crazy) to make three more little scarves for the other women who work at the store. I'm fortunate -- two of them are away until next week, so I'll have extra time to get theirs done.
Time is something I'm really short on these days. I haven't been able to appreciate the season yet. I've yet to put up my little tree, but I did manage to haul it out of the closet. A wreath is on the door, the envelopes and packages have been sent to my family, and I've gotten as far as creating an image for my holiday card.
I got to do a little more shopping today, my last chance before Christmas to drive to far-flung stores. I'll be working every day through Christmas Eve, so anything else I need will have to be gotten locally. Our village has some really nice little shops, and I know I'll be able to do all the last-minute things on Main Street.
I'm in my usual mood this year. It's not a bad mood, exactly. I'm not terribly depressed. My heart aches a little, though. I miss my family, miss being near all the people I share traditions with. I miss my tribe, the sisters and brothers with whom I stood on the stairs or in the hallway, in a line from youngest to oldest, while our parents made sure Santa had put everything in the right place. I miss that music box recording that meant we could finally come in the room. I miss my grandmother's sweet rolls, and my father's plaid woolen bathrobe. I miss the Christmas village, with the skater with the broken foot. I wish I could be little again, just at Christmas, in the middle of my big, crazy, funny old family.
As I was driving home from Sag Harbor this afternoon, the melancholy lifted a little. I acknowledged the effect this place always has on me: I chose to come here, and I don't regret it, and I get to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. I have another family to be with on the holiday, and they love me.
I don't want the old days back, because of course they weren't all shiny and bright. I have plenty of new, sweet memories that I've accumulated in my thirteen years here. And yet...
