My plans for Christmas week were blown out of the water yesterday. There will be no spending days and nights talk talk talking with my bestie. No cooking together. No introducing her to new friends. And no one to blame but the flu. I spent the whole day disheartened and disoriented by the change in plans.
Today was better, I found my footing. The Christmas eve dinner party is still on, lots of lovely people coming over with food to share. And a new, luxurious plan is in place for Christmas day.
But it’s funny how after plenty of experience with disappointment and loss I still find myself standing on my expectations as though they’re solid. Only to be reminded, again, that faith and not knowing are the ground that will support me.
I live an hour away from Rhinebeck, home of the New York State Sheep and Wool Festival, but for five years I’ve managed to stay away. Until this year.
I was afraid that what happened would happen. And it happened. I bought yarn. Mucho yarn.
Somehow in these pictures it manages to look like not too much yarn, and I am grateful to my camera for that, but it’s enough to knit a sweater, a cowl, a pair of socks and some sort of lacey shawley something. (I swear, if you’d touched that lace weight angora/silk mix it would be at your house right now, and you probably aren’t even a knitter.)
So let’s ignore the fact that I already had plenty of yarn, and instead focus on the pretty, pretty colors…
After a string of beautiful dry days, today was gray and drizzly. I spent yesterday pulling dead tomato plants and stacking half of the great pile of firewood so it was a relief to have a quiet day inside, and let my arms recover. But the bees didn’t seem to be put off by the rain.
They love the borage.
Hi. Wow. This blog was hacked and taken down and I can hardly believe that I’ve been able to fix it. Fingers crossed. It feels like the first hours after a long power outage, when I doubt that these switches all around me will actually turn things on. Will typing create a post? Wow.
So hullo. And sorry that I was so seriously neglectful of this place that the gremlins came to dinner. Here are some glimpses of this soon-to-have-sped-by summer.
Picking wild blueberries at Minnewaska state park
Lots of good moments, stopping to breathe and appreciate what’s right in front of me.
Hope your summer is a good one too.
My sweet feline friend Annabelle left us ten days ago. She died quickly and without help, and I buried her with Wolfie’s ashes, since they were such good buddies, and planted a beautiful crabapple tree over them.
They’re just outside the kitchen window, so I can chat to them when I wash the dishes, if I feel so inclined.
I’ve been thinking about the things Annabelle loved. Sun spots. Cut flowers. Getting her fur combed. The couch. Jerk chicken. And me. I was so lucky to have her with me for so many years.
The work center of the studio is making its annual pilgrimage, closer to the wood stove. When it gets cold outside I find that I’m like the cats — I want to be as close to the fire as possible. So I end up working at the dining table, where it’s warm and the morning light is brightest since the windows face to the east.
I’ve been making some of my aunt and mentor Jessica Rose’s designs.
These Ruffle Bracelets are fabulous. Made of stone beads, they have a softness and fluidity that is super feminine. I love them in jade and carnelian but I might have to make them in white pearl next, for a vintage lacy look.
Noodling through some more of the Library of Congress‘s pictures on Flickr, I found these two which really amuse me. It’s not just the silly hats and the sagging, pre-nylon socks and, shall we say, revealing shorts. Or the precision of the oars lined up in a row. What is it that makes them so delightful?
Click on a picture to see it larger.