I had that dream again last night.
You know, the one where I'm standing in the middle of Wrigley Field wearing only my watermelon-print Gap boxer shorts, trying to knit a Clapotis out of Rowan Kidsilk Haze with one broken needle. I look up, and the stands are full of screaming people. Then I realize it's 40,000 Lily Chins yelling at me to knit faster, knit faster.
Every Lily is working a crochet hook the size of a Louisville Slugger, producing a gigantic swatch of "Nolita" that streams onto the field like a tidal wave. I drop my needles and try to run, but the flood picks me up and carries me right over the top of the bleachers and suddenly all of Wrigleyville is inundated by "a fun dusting of eyelash." I start screaming for everybody to head for the lake, but when we get there Rick Mondragon is waiting on a giant scallop shell dressed as the Little Mermaid and holding an Uzi. He pulls the trigger and this jet of cheap bouclé shoots out at us and Mayor Daley screams, "All is lost!" And then I wake up.
Yeah, that dream.
Big Fat Bobbin
I finished a whole bobbin of the Wensleydale from Black Bunny Fibers.
I like the greens even better spun up. If I were eight years old, I would have faked being sick this morning so I could stay home from school and ply this.
It's good thing I didn't knit as a child. I'd have been a complete delinquent, hanging out in the alley behind the yarn store, huffing Kookaburra Wash, trying to score a bit of cashmere from the big kids.
There, but for the grace of God.