How could one be anything but with so many apples?
I love apples. So much. And fall is their time to shine.
October was the month of the funk — and not in a good way — and my sister gently reminded me the other day that I was becoming something of a drag. An espeically worrywartish grandmother might have been mentioned. It’s time to turn this around, people.
All of that to say, I went to the farmers’ market downtown last weekend and bought lots of apples. Then I finally tracked down the giant map of Tennessee in Bicentennial Park and wondered anew at the weirdness tucked away in unlikely corners all over Nashville.
It was a busy week and these guys — 4 varieties I think: Cortland, Winesap, Arkansas Blacks, and one I’m forgetting — had to hang out in the fridge. But today, oh today, they will achieve their destiny and be united with much butter, cinammon, and flour.
Because fall is here, though it feels like winter, and I’m going to a botanical garden tonight despite the frost … and apple crisp just might be the perfect thing to come home to and read with.
Speaking of perfection …
Terra is shaping up nicely. I love the pattern: it’s so intuitive and only 2 rows of purling (per 10-row repeat) produces a lovely, simple bit of texture. I’m almost to the lace border, and truly can’t wait to get this off the needles and around my neck.
Perhaps this is a violation of my own internet-privacy rules, but …
Why did I it take me getting not-dumped to hear about the Scissor Sisters? Seriously, I have got to get out more. And get not-dumped less.
I have a feeling my life would be very, very different if I could bust a move like the guy in the purple PVC.
Have you ever had one of those days?
Yeah. Me too. The bad news: I spent the day smelling like icy hot (surprisingly mintyfresh), rubbing on a fresh coat every so often in the women’s bathroom. The worse news: I have become my grandmother. Hip pain. Physical therapy. Satin sleeping cap.
Even Alice doesn’t want to be seen with me.
At least my hair will look nice. High five!
In other news, I’ve been making a bit of progess: what you can’t see here is that there’s one round of garter-stitch edging completed.
Shut up. That baby blue satin is so my color.
Cincinnati was great! More than anything, I just wanted to get out of town. That the destination was someplace I’d always wanted to visit made it that much better.
The conference was good, but the Skyline Chili was better.
I don’t know what it is about me and Ohio, but I’m definitely going back.
So summer is not over in Nashville. I’m beginning to think it might be here to stay. Forever. And ever. It’s pretty lame, really: I’ve got all of these kicky shawls and shawlettes I can only wear indoors … where the air conditioning is set at “frostbite”. Then I wander out-of-doors — to go to class, buy some gummy bears, make copies, commit acts of tom foolery in front of my students — only to find myself over dressed.
That might be why I’m kissing my beer at the end of a very. long. day. In which I tried — and failed — to vanquish Faust I. I might have knit a row and a half of my Idlewood. The cowl is complete, the body is in an advanced state of shaping, and all systems are a go.
Except fall isn’t here yet.
Back home, Pimm’s Cup in hand. It was a good day.
Let’s just not talk about how it was also the first day of my fifteenth semester of grad school. (Secretly, I’m not horrified.)
They say you learn something new every time you teach. Well, consider me enlightened: not only do I still get nervous, but it turns out 18 year-old boys will look down your shirt if you wear a v-neck. Duly noted.
Good thing the rooster introduced me to a project with no shortage of coverage: Idlewood.
Yeah, that’s how I feel. A little confused, a little lost, a lot behind. Often whiny. Where did the summer go?
But go it did, and the new semester starts on Wednesday. All in all, this first year (or first year and twenty days) has been very good: not just second chances and academic challenges, but hot chicken, Robert’s Western World, giant chryselephantine Athena, new and old friends, George Strait, sloe gin, and a summer full of happy surprises too.
All that to say, I can’t complain.
But on to the knitting!
I finally blocked and photographed the stormclould shawlette. It’s soft and airy and I love it very much.
See how it opened up? With lovely differences in texture in each section … I love the movement from dense to open and back again.
Please, let’s pretend that my bed is made and my hair washed.
Since I like my shawls large and in charge — and was on a mission to use as much of my two precious skeins of Crown Mountain Farms sockhop as possible — this version has only a glancing kinship with the shawlette: I used almost two full skeins of fingering-weight yarn (approx. 400 yards) on size US9/5.5mm needles. Final measurements: 68″ across the top, 20″ deep at the center.
A perfect, quick shawl.
… but, it’s been a busy couple of days. A friend from college came for a visit and we did the town: giant statues, lots of food, some walking, more food, a very bad midnight movie, and — okay — a bit of knitting. She learned to knit socks and was very excited. Probably not as excited as I was, but still pretty thrilled.
Yep, she’s 42 feet tall. And gilded. She will blow your mind.
Double yep, I ate all of that. It blew my mind.
So that’s it for now. Things are good here, people. Very good.
I’m a person who gets stuck. On people, on ideas, in routines. Needless to say, I also have a lot of rules. All of them are designed to protect, a few of them are productive, most of them are wrong or unhelpful, but there you are.
There are serious examples, of course, places where I’ve been stuck that have been very dire and sad — but that’s not for a knitting blog. Today, it’s about guacamole.
Which is not to say I’ve tipped into frivolty. It’s been a hard adjustment, coming back to Nashville from Switzerland. My trip east and across the Atlantic was a confrontation with some serious nostalgia and I don’t quite know what to do with it all yet. It was fun, but it was hard.
And in the midst of feeling a bit unsettled, a bit mopey and sad, I lost track of my summer project. Indeed, I made guacamole last night, not so much because I wanted to, but because the avacadoes were about to go bad. It was sad guacamole, the guacamole of necessity. Not what I wanted.
Now I have all of this guacamole. And I wasn’t sure what in the world I was going to do with it all. Then I thought, I could put it on toast. Who says you can’t eat guacamole for breakfast? So that’s what I did. And I feel better.
It was delicious.
Now I’m going to the public library to track down some Alice Starmore.