It's cold here. I'd say "unseasonably cold" but 'tis the season after all, so I guess that just makes it plain old cold. Early in the morning when I'm scraping ice off my car window I have more colorful adjectives for it.
I'm about to begin a cape knit-along. This is not to be confused with a caped knit-along, where one knits incognito. Or a crepe knit-along, which would involve breakfast, though that's not a bad notion either.
I've got a stack of finished fiber that I haven't blogged about yet; reader be warned. I eventually will tackle the write-up of the quidditch robes process, but right now that project and I are taking a little time apart. I need some space.
So let's talk about knitting.
I consider myself lucky that I have found a cat who is not overly interested in yarn. (I know I just said that I wasn't going to bore you with a lot of gushing about the new cat; this post is not about the cat. See title.)
If you love to craft, and you Lovecraft, or you've always meant to try, grab your yarn and head over to the Frankensocks board on Ravelry, where we'll spend a month reading the best of H.P.'s weird tales that the public domain has to offer and knit or hook something appropriate to match. An insanely good time is assured.
The US Olympic committee has now issued two formal apologies to the Ravelry community. One for their original inflammatory accusations and a second to apologize for their apology in which they invited knitters to make them free stuff. This, I think, proves that it is unwise to piss off two million people holding sharp sticks.
An open letter to the U.S. Olympic Committee:
As an American and a knitter, I want to personally thank you for making our country look like morons on the world stage. As if our general approach to foreign policy wasn't enough. Thanks. We really needed that P.R.
Man oh man, did I ever need to get out of town. Last week was fairly nuts. Or the last few weeks... months. I don't think either my husband or I realized how much we needed to get the hell out of dodge until we woke up in a guest bed Saturday morning.
A lot of blue skies around here. Bluer than they ought to be.
Not all my readers are from California so let me explain. It doesn't rain here in the summer. Really. You know those picture books we all had when we were kids? Wind-blown leaves for fall, snow for winter, rain for spring, and sun for summer? Those are about California. I was nearly grown when I found out there is actually a thing called a summer rain storm in other places. With thunder even. Weird.