The 31st of May always comes as a slight surprise to me -- I expect this most delicious of months to have only 30 days, like its ugly sister November. And every year, this wonderful bonus day.
Knitting-wise, there's little to report. The Clapotis is now more laddering than knitting, as stitches are dropped for ladders at both ends of the row, and the rows themselves are getting shorter. The whole object has reached the stage where my husband asked what it was last night, clearly about to think of someone it could be whisked away to, in case I threatened to wear it myself. I told him it was for (Rachel's daughter) Hellie, who looked at the pattern and pictures in Knitty and pronounced it OK before I started. He was comforted.
A bit more winding of "Pioneer" was accomplished, too. The skein is so big that it doesn't flow easily on the swift, and I am considering trying to lift it off onto the back of a chair. If I get it wrong, of course, I'm left with the mother of all tangles.
We went to see an Italian film called "The Consequences of Love" yesterday. Cool, strange, very interesting. It is hard to know, about my eyes -- are they getting worse? How fast? Or am I just worrying because I have been told to worry? But there was an objective test -- things are undoubtedly worse than they were the last time we saw a movie. When was that? Probably Farenheit 9/11. I was sort of scared for a while.
The rocket and lettuce on the doorstep are growing so fast that I think we will have another photograph this weekend.
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