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All Right, I Admit It!
I’m on my lunch break, and I’m not using the time for my montaña of homework. Yesterday was one of those days that you think you can salvage, but you can’t. The final straw was when I went to do some relaxing bedtime knitting and discovered I’d lost the pattern 10+ rows down. So I’m
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Little Things
The minute, the curtailed, the packable seem to be taking over my life. Lunch fits in a box. My working memory is about the same capacity as a floppy. And any knitting larger than a washcloth seems an insurmountable task of Hurculean proportions. Why? Because it’s back-to-school time. Not the rejuvenated-by-summer, won’t-this-be-fun, brand-new-clothes fall back
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The Final Installment
Here it is: the long-awaited, much belated final installment in the saga of the skirt. My unofficial completion date was the day before school started. After my previous post, I realized that I was getting down to the wire; school started the 14th. The knitty powers that be were on my side, though, and I
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More Pleats
Few things are more distressing than trying to get some blogging done in the quiet of early morning and discovering that the Internet is down. Not permanently down: down until the power strip that the router is plugged into gets switched back on. Por desgracia, the router and its power strip are in Hermanita’s room,
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Fresh Out of Words
So here are some pictures of Monita in her bolero. And there you have it, the world’s crummiest knitblog entry.
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Need More Knitting Time?
Get a stapedectomy. This ingenious operation will leave you flat on your back, with all the normal dexterity in your upper limbs, alert enough to follow an intermediate-level knitting pattern, and has the added bonus of preventing further ossification of the bones in your ear, thereby improving your hearing! The strong of stomach can view
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Christmastime Is Here
All right–I have gotten over my Calmer tizzy (that statement is loaded with irony) and I am quite pleased. Seeing the Fiery Bolero finished, tiny as it is, somehow made all the stress, the entire days and late nights spent finishing it, the feeling that my triceps was going to peel itself off the bone
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Brain Break
I can’t take it anymore. I have been home sick all day (thank you, Hermanita), and in an effort to feel useful, I have been working on the Fiery Bolero. As of right now, I could die, be reincarnated, and live out that life without ever seeing a single milligram of Rowan Calmer, and that
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I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself
Like the Burt Bacharach song (but the White Stripes’ cover). Back in the throes of the semester, I was sure that when I reached this point, I would feel like walking through the streets of Paris singing We’re Here like Fyfe Dangerfield. But that’s not the case at all. I’ve spent the last three days
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So Close!
And this weekend I’ll be far away. Santa Monica, to be exact. I *love* traveling to California. Firstly, it’s usually a roadtrip, which gives me hours of scenery watching, knitting–whatever. Secondly, our California trips are usually undertaken at transistional points in the year. At semester’s end, they’re a celebration of freedom. At semester’s start, they’re
Anti-Quotidian 