Two peripatetic American tourists stumbled on this cultural phenomenon by accident one fine fall day in Paris, in 1985.
At first, I was miffed. Bridge repairs? Now? When I wanted to take pictures? Slowly, we began to understand that a different kind of history was occurring.
Christo had wrapped the Pont Neuf. It was a thorough job. Divers had wrapped the bridge under the Seine. The lampposts were starched ghostly effigies, pointing skyward. These pictures are camera shots of slides that we took at the time. The wrap was beige canvas, and stayed up for two weeks.
1. Yourself: oversubscribed
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend (spouse): saint
3. Your hair: hopeless
4. Your mother: clueless
5. Your father: dead
6. Your favorite item: Schacht
7. Your dream last night: fears
8. Your favorite drink: tea
9. Your dream car: testarossa
10. The room you are in: bedroom
11. Your ex: none
12. Your fear: earlydeath
13. What you want to be in 10 years? healthy
14. Who you hung out with last night? MrE
15. What You're Not? efficient
16. Muffins: chocolatechip
17. One of your wish list items: Italy
18. Time: short
19. The last thing you did: slept
20. What you are wearing: robe
21. Your favorite weather: snowstorm
22. Your favorite book: cook
23. The last thing you ate: tea
24. Your life: perfect
25. Your mood: anticipatory
26. Your best friend: him
27. What are you thinking about right now? self-disclosure
28. Your car: fixed
29. What are you doing at the moment? this
30. Your summer: work
31. Your relationship status: adoration
32. What is on your TV? blank
33. What is the weather like? chilly
34. When is the last time you laughed? yesterday
The Schacht is showing some Coopworth today. This is the start of the Cummington blue-ribbon bumps. It is not soft. Despite that, it is a VERY lovely spin. Long, supple fibers, glowing and shining silver/grey, coalesce onto the bobbin with little effort.
"Yes, I can be froghair if you wish that of me."
No, I think I have other, softer roving for that.
"I can be something DKish or worsted, if you prefer. How about a handspun sweater for Mr. Etherknitter?"
Okay. I'll go with that.
Coopworth (from In Sheep's Clothing) was bred from Border Leicester and Romney genetics. Uses range from outer garments, and upholstery, to carpets. That always chills my blood a bit, and I start wondering what form of sandpaper I may be generating.
It'll be fine. There are many places twixt here and there to bail out screaming. And I do love spinning this boy. (His name was Baritone.)
One of the final fall pictures was a str*ptease. Ms. Maple dropped her garments in a puddle on the ground.
Unbelievably, this is the first time it has happened to me. I'm running out of yarn. You are far too sophisticated a group of knitters to even THINK this has anything to d0 with stash. It's a sock, of course, and it's a top down sock.
The energy expended in thinking about this has been totally out of whack with its importance in my universe. I emailed the Bookish Girl to have her spreadsheet the problem. The news was not good.
I debated ripping back to make the sock shorter. Mr. Etherknitter looked sideways at me. His tone dripped with inferences of my hopefully temporary loss of logical intelligence.
"What is your time worth?" His nonverbal communication telegraphed the right answer to the question. I may be illogical but I'm not dense.
The shortest, easiest solution arrived at the doorstep this afternoon. Teyani teleported another skein of Chasing Rainbows sock yarn, colorway Lagoon to my knitting bag. A locally available black or blue or green yarn of similar color and fiber composition? I can hear it now:
Not without hours of searching, and not without feeling defeated no matter what I found. Cassie's comment? "It's in your SHOE, for heaven's sake!"
This hiding of sins in shoes is getting to be a habit.
The yarn-hungry sock is shown with the remaining yarn, and the yarn-bra holds the 150 yards I measured off to make the cuff, heel, gusset, and half-foot of the second sock. (I love my yarn meter.)
For what these socks will cost, they should be cashmere.
LeafLace is taking shape slowly. If one adds up all the time that lace should not be attempted (after any wine, when one is tired, after work, or when spousal disturbance is inevitable), there isn't much lace-knitting time in one's life. The yarn is so beautiful. I can barely wait to get it to FO status. I suspect that this is one of life's lessons in patience. Today's few rows gets me 2/3 through the fourth repeat.
The red Japanese maple is finally putting on her fall colors. Finding
a day without wind, without rain, and with enough sun to highlight the
leaves has been difficult.
Cross-country skiing is process. Crisp, dry air, warm and flushed cheeks against cold winter, chocolate chip cookies waiting, limbs moving smoothly over snow, New England landscapes stripped bare and beautiful.