Monday, May 22, 2006
Gifts from Fairies
These lovely skeins of Merino Frappe were found at my doorstep this evening as I wandered home from a long day of driving. Who would be so kind to send something so delicious? And in such a gorgeous color? None other than Stuntmother, the blogger who introduced me to knitting and its theraputic benefits. What a wonderful, wonderful present to find for my birthday. Stuntmother, I thank you from the very bottom of my heart. These skeins shall make a capelet, and I shall name it after you. Oh! I am in love with wool!
And then! For turning 27, I was graciously rewarded with four skeins of GORGEOUS Mohair yarn, thanks to my mother--Madame Fritz. She purchased it at a quaint yarn store, along with some other tools. As you can see, I have begun a simple shawl, and it will be enhanced with ladder yarn throughout, to give it a diaphanous, fuzzy look. And where will I wear it? On the beach. At night. In September. ON MY HONEYMOON.
Nota Bena: Mohair is goat hair. It comes from the Angora goat, not to be confused with Angora, which comes from fluffy bunnies, or cashmere, which DOES come from a goat, but only the stomach of a goat. Who wants to try that for a living?
Anyway--THANK YOU, Madame Momma Fritz! I am knitting away, and really enjoy working with such lovely fabrics.
And here is one ball of my varigated wool. It's probably going to make its way into a cardigan, if I ever figure out how to actually knit in the round.

DISCLAIMER: This WAS an insightful/mundane/attempt-to-be-amusing blog. I fear it will become a knitting blog. I do not mean to disappoint my readers, but I am currently obsessed. I'm in a pit of needles, patterns, yarns, hopes and dreams. Forgive me--I'll return, soon. I hope.

So does Michael. Posted by Picasa
Written by FRITZ
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Name: Fritz

Location: Detroit Rock City!
Where the weak are killed and eaten

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    What I Live By:
    We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall And the children in the apple-tree Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always— A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one. -T.S. Eliot "Little Gidding"

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