I got more than an inch done on the new afghan while my daughter was working from home, but the picture is stalled in the ether somewhere. Which just means that when I do show you any progress there will be a little more of it.

Man, it feels good to see something new coming to be.

Seed stitch is so  s l o w. Finally got past it. And we’re off!

Nope. Added a few more–259 stitches, because a couple extra inches in width is always a good thing, right? It was a tired day but at least I got three rows into the thing.

Went to Cottage Yarns yesterday. Wound some stash yarn today. Considered patterns again. Looked at some old projects to give myself a pep talk. Counted stitches on the ocean afghan that was my big pandemic project, since it’ll be the same yarn. Considered the sketch I’d sketched and what else it should have had in it.

The hardest part is getting the needles started when you know that by the time it’s all done you’ll have learned what you needed to know before you started it to make it what it could be. But I don’t yet.

So all I can do is take the yarn and let it run wherever it wants to go.

Haven’t found the one I was looking for yet, where Division 1 (that would include Stanford) men tried to mimic Simone Biles–but this is better. Fred Richards, a fellow Olympian: the two of them trying to mimic each other’s moves and clearly having the time of their lives.

You wanted to see the colorway. The tag in the bag says London Sky, but it could be the wrong one? It’s mainly on the brown side of purple, but that could be my cataracts talking.

Knitting intentions aside, it turned out to be a day for running around getting things done. Including a two-hour  trip to Andy’s.

Searching for Lorings, the great peaches of my childhood, is how I discovered Andy Mariani and his orchard I don’t know how many years ago now and it was a treat to bring some home. My family used to drive out to an orchard in West Virginia well after the peaches had been harvested: all the tiniest hardest rocks of fruit left behind would, by the time the farmer called Dad, have had the entire resources of the trees to themselves and by the time we six kids climbed the trees to get to them they were huge. How often do you get to eat a 24 oz peach that streams juices through your hands as you do? And that taste that good?

I did not believe there could be a better peach. Andy gently let me know in those initial emails way back when that, in fact, there is. And proved it when I tasted his Kit Connells and Baby Crawfords.

They’re not on yet and Lorings and happy memories would definitely do for today.

On a side note, I don’t know if you can buy a tree of it yet, but if you ever want the perfect nectarine, the Raspberry Red variety that Andy developed is the best I have ever tasted.

A new-to-me colorway. A doctor appointment a dozen miles up the freeway at rush hour, so best leave quite early because every five minutes later is ten more minutes spent on the road, right?

And that is how I fell in love with knitting all over again today.

They came. They took me to the other side of the fence. They saw. I saw. They said Why isn’t there a marked line where the fence should actually be? Measuring from stakes is not how it’s done.

And so we continue.

Meantime, in proof that yellow visually dominates any colorway it touches, this is what I ordered awhile back. Merino/silk/cashmere.

And this vivid little thing for I have no idea who is what it’s turning into. I had to go look for the original picture because it’s so, um, different.

Thumper’s Admonition says someone out there will love it. Intuition says this was the time when it was supposed to come to be so keep going, but that’s all I know so far.

Hottest day in the heat wave, the Saturday after the Fourth of July, thirty-five degrees cooler at the beach than inland, where are you gonna go. Right?

Except it happened to be the day of a family get-together with a cousin who actually lives near the beach. Otherwise we would never ever…

Much Waze and Googlemaps checking ensued.

Ken’s brother later exclaimed, Four hours forty-five minutes?! (For an 83 mile route.) You could walk it backwards!

Which made me laugh, and no we didn’t take that route, and it was a 6 pm event so we left late enough that most people who wanted to spend the day at the beach were already there (or trying to be) so the extra 45 minutes wasn’t too bad.

The dinner was outside, but at 7 and under the shade of a huge oak so I pulled up a chair.

Cousin-in-law Ken’s mom, who lives in Arizona, sat down next to me to catch up a bit. There are only so many weddings and baptisms and the like to get to do that.

That close to the ocean and in the thick fog and breeze it was getting cold. I’d grabbed a silk cowl on my way out the door with the fleeting thought of, since anyone can wear silk (well yes it matches my blouse?)

It matched her dress even better, and she was quite grateful for the rescue. It is amazing how much warmth something around your neck can add. (It’s the Fettucia tubular silk in that link in blue, bought at a half off sale, just so she doesn’t worry about that price tag if she sees this.)

When it was time to go I told her, When am I ever again going to have a chance to totally match your outfit? It’s for you. Loosely spun silk has a tendency to stretch over time, so it may, just so you know.

Richard wanted to go before the two hour trek home (reverse beach traffic ended up demonstrating that it was a thing) so we didn’t linger too long from there. But I’m so glad for those limited times that she and I have had.

And eight-year-old Caleb, who was who the day was about in the first place, was celebrated and loved by all.

If I knew who this was for I’d have had the motivation to finish it days ago, but I made some good progress today.

Yarn is spun under tension, and typically it is wound off into hanks, i.e. long donuts of wool and not the pull-fr0m-the-center balls of my childhood.

Hanking it I think means one less step for the mill to pay for but the main reason is, it’s a prettier way to show off the yarn and if it’s a multi-color you can see more of what you’re going to get.

But then it has to be wound into a ball.

Some shops will do it for you if they’re not busy right then, with a warning that that makes the purchase non-returnable.

Many knitters have swifts, ie umbrella-type thingummies for stretching the hank onto and having it twirl around while a ball is being wound, either by hand or by ball winder like the shops.

Then there are those silly purists who, even though they have a swift and a winder, think nothing beats the artistry of the perfectly hand wound ball even if it takes more time. (*cough* *cough* I don’t know ANYONE like THAT… Oh wait. I do.)

But a hank being wound without being held in tension can get snarled up, especially towards the end; I’ve been known to put two kitchen chairs back to back, drape the hanks over the both of them, and wind from there. I have also been known, if no one’s looking, to stand on one of those chairs while doing so so I don’t have to lean over so far, but don’t tell anyone, except that I’m sure the neighbors have done a what the heck? from their side of the window.

So. Tell me. How is it that having knit all these many many many years it never occurred to me before tonight that the perfect way and length for putting just enough tension to hold a hank of, say, Rios, while sitting comfortably no less–

–is to drape it from the middle of the leg to the underside of my toes while my left leg is crossing my right knee. Need to hold it a little more firmly? Stretch your foot a bit.

It was right there all along.

How did I never see this???

Lisa asked for more pictures. The house–note the window box with the extra line of purl stitches.

I originally had purl stitches across the very top of the house to continue the point at the top but didn’t like the effect and ended up dropping down eight rows to change those few.

Daisy stitch for the low hedges by the sides of the house, then the taller sunflowers (or you could call one of them a Narnia lamp.)

The whole thing was a doodle. Very soft and machine washable for the first-time mom, who will have a blanket for her baby that will be a one of a kind.

And then, while still feeling like moping that I didn’t have anything like that to work on, I surprised myself by finishing a cowl carry-around project. Hey. I do, I like that, too!

I immediately cast on a hat. Can’t let the momentum let up.

Back when I planted a tomato seedling in a pot and a sunflower popped up next to it, I wanted them both so I left it that way and thought of it as a science experiment.

I’m so glad I did. I love looking out the window and seeing that sun-of-the-earth.

The sunflower is going to be done and gone long before the cherry tomato, which will take off from there.

Meantime, I just ran the ends in on the blanket. It came out of the blocking not only remarkably soft, as Rios is, but the gray shows how a good worsted-spun merino, where the fibers are combed to all run in the same direction, can have such a beautiful sheen to it.

There was maybe even going to be a matching hat and cowl.

We went to a ward picnic last night at a park that always has a cold breeze coming off the Bay in the evening. Quite a few of us wore warm vests even though we didn’t quite need them when we arrived but we knew we would soon.

The start of the cowl was my carry-around project; on impulse I tucked the hat in too on the way out the door. You never know.

About an hour and a half in, there was a young dad in short sleeves rubbing his arms against the cold. His wife had their baby in a front pack and that was keeping them both a little warmer.

The baby wasn’t complaining in the slightest; he had way too many interesting new things to look at: people with unfamiliar faces but far enough way to safely just be interesting, a pick-up game of softball on the field with kids and grownups alike, Chinese elm trees waving long boas of green on the breeze, neighbors walking their dogs around the perimeter, and the smells. Mown grass. (That is no longer common around here.) Hot dogs on the grill. Salad. Fruit. Brownies. You name it. (I wonder how those come across if the only solid food you’ve ever tasted so far is something like rice goop.)

I did a mental check. Yeah the colors would do, and I said to the dad, “You look cold” as I pulled the hat out of my purse.

Yeah, it is, he said gratefully as he instantly turned with it to put it on his small son, folding it over and over to make it work into quite the headsweater. The baby had a big head but not that big but he made it work.

The thought of putting it on his own head hadn’t remotely occurred to him and his wife got to see her husband putting their child first, though I’m sure it was absolutely no surprise to her.

But I don’t really know them yet. Or rather, didn’t. It made me smile all day today, too.

So so so much faster than intarsia.

Teasing about being twelve aside, I’m really liking how this is coming out. Four more rows and then I get to start the next set of pine trees.

The camera keeps making the house on up darker even though it’s all the same dye lot, and in the daylight it all matches. Curious.