Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.
Because a mere summer is not enough. For a WHOLE PAIR. Honestly.
I did manage to knit one of the pair but......eh. It's toe up, which is not my thing, I like the magic of heel turns and the cable on the heel turned out to be an antler cable that doesn't excite me much either. It looked so much more complicated in the picture.
So the half way done second sock not only does not have the lace that the first one lacked but it's also going to be minus the cable. And it's still taking me longer to finish it.
In the meantime, I've cast on (about eight thousand times) (in eight thousand different patterns) a black and white variegated that refuses to be wingspan (it just looked dingy and it was quite, quite boring to knit. Never mind that's what I was aiming for) (I need something mindless to knit on the needles for sermons, meetings, lines, TV.....) or any number of other patterns but I could really use a black and white smallish scarf.
To teach it a lesson, I frogged the 10-ish inches I'd knit of Fuse.
Pictured: Stuff I found in my purse looking for quarters for the vending machine. I barely wear lipstick or lipbalm so why do I have SIX tubes of the stuff? on me? Beats me.
Bah. On to books.
Binged on series this summer. I've read almost but not quite all of Lois McMasters Bujold's Miles Vorkosigan series (I have Memory up next but since I'm almost caught up........I'm saving it. So it won't be done.) and then all five of David Baldacci's Camel Club books, which, by book five got a little weary.
I do love his King & Maxwell TV series on TNT though. Edgar makes it. Hard to believe he was Opie in Sons of Anarchy.
Somewhere in between I read A Reconstruction of Economics by Kenneth Boulding, A Fire Upon the Deep by
Vernon Vinge, Broken Harbor by Tana French, The Time In Between by
Maria Duenas, Altered Carbon by Richard
K Morgan, Life After Life by Kate Atkinson.
Just finished The Discovery of Jeanne Baret:
Currently reading The Wednesday Sisters by Meg Waite Clayton. So far, so good!
Oh, and so far (knock on wood), not on fire from the Morgan Fire. It did creep me out and kept me up half the night when I went out Sunday night to see if I could see it - oh yeah. I could see it all right.
The mountain ridge on FIRE and firetrucks dotting the hillside. We're 7or 8 miles from it but it's bone dry (I heard 4% which is roughly drier than killed sawn wood at Home Depot) and close to a greenbelt if the winds pushed it that way.
I had library books to pick up and return last night (my branch is actng as the local emergency shelter). Coming in with me was a guy with five pizzas. Not something I see every day at the library.....
SAVE THE BEES.Well, actually that's the why. This is the how. Well, one of the hows. Google it. But pretty fascinating! 20,000 species of bees. I watched this clip So Many Kinds of Bees from Cornell University for a STEM class while filing the updated replacement pages for tax deskbooks.
THANK YOU, FISCAL CLIFF and possibly SEQUESTRATION. Next year I think I'll cave to technology and switch to the online library.
I've been knitting! Very little finishing, of course. Restarted the breadbasket liner. started another Tudor Rose project to go with my Mary Tudor before the reprint hits the stores in November and I will probably cast on a pair of socks if summer ever gets here because Cookie will make me do it.
Lilacs before the wind and the frost got to them.
Lots of reading lately even if I gave up on David Drake's Hammer's Slammers: The Warrior. I read the begining and the end but not so much the middle. The Heretic, outlined by David Drake and written by Tony Daniel is more my speed. Hey. That's a series. From 1991. Argh.
I did finish One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson and enjoyed it despite the whiplash POV's. I love a good policeman turned private detective turned millionaire story and the differing narration worked reasonably well flesh to out the scenes, but it was a bit confusing. I'm glad I didn't try to read it over tax season. Also way too much animal abuse. She was clearly against it, but I skimmed more than a few paragraphs. Yes, abusing an animal is shorthand for evil to me too but I don't want to read about it or hear about it unless I can actually do something about it. We can barely convict/intervene for human on human cruelty.
The garden is planted, the gophers have checked it out and given their seal of - disappoval? They can't dig from the bottom up because of the chicken wire, but apparently they can dig the middle. Idiots. The tomatos and the marigolds are all on the edges.
Hopefully the marigolds will do a bit better soon. The weather is veering from hot to cold (60's to 80's) which is actually quite nice but means I still can't put away my winter clothes.
Because yes, 60 degree weather is WINTER weather. And COLD. COLD.
Those frilly daffodils are really pretty and seem to be a lot hardier. Of course, it's entirely possible that the frillier daffodils are some other flower entirely, what do I know? I can usually tell a rose from a daisy.
Hez isn't allowed in the back yard (as if I could actually enforce that,the truth is, she finds the backyard dull compared to the excitement of the street) which is a good thing because the quail really really really do not like her around.
Yesterday morning there was a California Woodpecker in the birdbath, a pair of mourning doves (morning?) on the fence, quail under the oleanders and some little black throated birds I think are chickadees.
I'm sure the blue jays were somewhere, but uncharacteriscally quiet.
Wanting is -- what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant, -- Where is the blot? Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same, -- Framework which waits for a picture to frame: What of the leafage, what of the flower? Roses embowering with naught they embower! Come then, complete incompletion, O comer, Pant thro' the blueness, perfect the summer! Breathe but one breath Rose-beauty above, And all that was death Grows life, grows love, Grows love!
Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist--slack they may be--these last strands of man
In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? Lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bone: and fan
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all htat toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer.
Cheer whom though? The hero whose heave-handling flung me
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night,
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wresting with (my God!) my God.
That would be Oscar above - he spent his Christmas vacation hissing at me. I bribed him with treats and eventually he got to the point where he would walk by me, realize I was there, halt in mid stride and walk on. No hissing.
Less of a victory is typead. WTH is going on with the formatting? It's only giving me headers as font type? I do not have the time or inclination to keep fooling around with this.