My son decided fairly early this year that he was going to be a superhero of his own description for Halloween. That description itself continued to evolve/mutate with super speed, along with the various accoutrements which spanned from crowns to dragon tails to super symbols that "look like fire in the shape of bacon" (direct quote, that), but the idea itself stuck true.
At some point plowing through the fabric store a year ago or so on some specific and urgent mission, I came across a pattern for this dress on a $1.99 sale rack and was taken with it. Even though I had no earthy purpose for it, I threw it in my basket. Turns out it's a rip-off of some costume that the chick from Twilight wore in a horrible Snow White movie. (Cheryl and I later rented it; it really was horrible, but not quite horrible enough to be funny.)
I'm dreaming of a Halloween fright
Just like the ones I used to dread
Where vamp fangs glisten
And children listen
To hear monsters 'neath the bed
I'm dreaming of a Halloween fright
With every zombie that I smite
May your days be spooky and weird
And may all your Halloweens be feared
I keep a spiral notebook on my desk at the office. It's a work habit I picked up from my dad. And in that notebook, in addition to actual note-taking, I've been known to doodle. (Another habit I picked up from Dad, I believe.)
For the past eleven years, the bulk of any strenuous physical activity I've undertaken has occurred at the barre in ballet class. (I may have mentioned.)
The string of logic that has taken me from there to here where I'm sitting right now might be better categorized as a thread, but it does exist. The long and short of that thread breaks down to wanting to try something completely different.
It was late by the time we all trickled into the house this evening. With a take-and-bake pizza sitting in the oven and a text from my Dad about the start of the first A's playoff game, I hunted out the remote in search of the proper station.
"I'm not sure we'll get it here," Shawn calls from the kitchen. "Not on any TV station we get anyway."
He was right. Apparently the Oakland Athletics don't rate out here in the greater Sac-of-Tomatoes area.
Meanwhile, my six-year-old is listening to this exchange. "What's a TV station?"
I love this time of year. Here on my scrap of the west coast, it turned into fall exactly 24 hours early. (Which gave Dad and I a two-hour rain delay at the Oakland Colosseum last Saturday waiting for the ball game to start, but that's neither here nor there.)
You know that thing where you find a knitting pattern that just takes you in certain way?
Maybe you don't have that thing. Maybe you don't knit. Maybe you whittle, or you paint, or you clean your house or something. I hear there are people that do that. Anyway, whatever your thing is, you know when it hits you just right and you just don't want to stop?
Whoosh. That's the way my days are going lately. Work's been a little hectic. Busy is good. I like feeling useful and I don't care for being bored, so I don't mind the busy. This is enough, though, that I'm coming home with my intellectual tank running on fumes. Things that take a certain amount of brain power have been going undone or underdone. Case in point, I cast on for another ribbed scarf over the weekend. This is getting serious. I'll have to change my Ravelry avatar to a knitted zombie soon. (Someone find me an amigurami pattern. You know there is one.)
I did what I'd consider crazy amounts of travel up and down the length of California this summer. I hit Humboldt, Big Sur, San Diego, and a few spots in between, and in nothing like so sensible an order as just listed.
In the midst of a busy summer with more travel plans than my hobbitty self copes with well, I reached into my yarn stash, pulled out a couple of balls of fingering weight merino, and cast on for the most complicated scarf pattern my over-taxed psyche could handle. Two-by-two rib, baby.