Erka+Days

I have ten years of journal entries on my desk top. What to do, what to do with such history? The bulk of my ancient hand coded site is gone to swirl amidst letters, colors and links in the land of the lost digits. But my writing down of the family bones remains. I have the urge to upload a few every time I write here, which would encourage me to write and refloat my life into the vortex of web. But why?

I got to thinking this through after the Pop sat on the ancient leather couch to share a moment of our eldest caught in a blue spiral binder. He read aloud a Moo journal from her sixth grade plastic seated desk. It is a rarity that we are caught just sitting, reading aloud. I was spinning, Pop was taking a break from the basement of doom where he unearthed the journal. My daughter wrote about dance, plans, her brother, her classmates, my cooking, spelling pain, the disadvantages of sitting too close to a good friend, despised plastic seated desks and the family. Positive straight forward contemplation. I am left with a smile on my face.

I have begun to knit the top down garter stitch yoke vest (short rows version) by naganasu… I am adding pleats to the front…. nice to knit.

As far as I can tell it is once again Friday. Another week spent in a chair in front of a computer pushing pixels. Drive in, push pixels, drive out. I have hopes that I get home before the ancient dog poops on the floor. I let the dog out, and search for evidence. Then I cook. Then I eat. I spin or knit. I read, I sleep. I am Drawn To The Rhythm. Now consider what would happen if I were to break the chain and do something else. Would I be disciplined enough to make it happen, or am I too jaded from years of pixel pushing? needing an entire 6 months to just do what eva i wanta.

sassymetrical is almost done. I am down to the seed stitch hem and then on to the sleeves. Knit in my hand spun, merino plied with BLF. A jewel tone of golden green curry plied with variegated magenta, blue teal golden green. I placed a 1×1 rib triangle shape in the lower center back and added a few stitches for a flounce. A note to thyself: there is a reason for an odd number of stitches.

Been listening to Sarah McLachlan all morning. Her voice wraps around you. Imagine her singing with Joni. oooooh. I really wish that I had a functioning set of speakers in my car. I miss listening on loud.

Looking for pac n plays and bouncy chairs. The boy and his maymay are soon here. I dunno how Stefano will stand not having them home for an entire month.

Spinner’s Flock meeting is tomorrow. I look forward to sitting in a room full of the like minded. I need to get more involved tho.

After flock we are going to engage in some serious decluttering of two rooms both nominated as Art Projects of Long Departed Children. Wish me luck.

Sunshine, and melting snow. Drip by drip emboldens the creation of flow, ponds form across the fields and roads and drives. Our drive an ice rink, the gravel below a smooth suggestion of summer dust. The living room ceiling leaks from a damn of ice two stories above. The bird baths are glacial, the largest still has a huge flow of ice and snow. The birds are frantic to clean out the feeders. Robins bounce back and forth through the woods in large numbers, flashes of orange breast, yellow feet and beak startle the rest of us out of or dormancy. The snow has not yet melted in the bog, but I am curious to see how much of a lake forms for a minute and then I wonder how many peepers will announce spring this year?

Duff Liam turned a gracious 30 years old. As he so nicely pointed out his being 30 makes me old. I have known him since his first breath.

I created two curries dinners this weekend. Chicken curry with red lentil dal and cucumber raita. Lamb curry with red lentil dal and cucumber raita. Two curries without worries in one weekend. The later I hauled to Duff’s birthday celebration. I made chicken curry for sunday dinner with BDM because neither of us got any lamb curry at the party. Red lentil dal is an excellent breakfast.

I spun wool left over in my basket from Three Waters Farm, BFL that was blessedly colorful compared to the pound of brown that I spun up last week. Neen chose the brown over a green for his sweater. Need needles for said sweater.

I drove to the yarn store in the brilliant sunshine, through a haze of salt mist and melt. I left the house with boots on but no socks. 40 degrees people not -12. By the time I got to the bridge my feet were getting cold. I have not been in a yarn store to buy needles in a long while. They were knitting mittens in the center of the store. Jillian at the head of the table leading knitters down a path of colorful lace enhanced mittens. Hellos were had and needles were chosen. How I wish I could have just sat down there and hung out for the rest of the day. The lure was huge, intoxicating.

I finished reading Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson last night. I was reading the last chapters and realized that the words said, February 8th. And that February 8th was on it’s way to ending with a full moon crusing across the night time sky. A good luck moment in book reading moments. It was a book that I picked up each night, entangled layers of history and herstory.

We skyped with Moo and Giovanni, Stefano was in and out of coherence as he was glued to the Roma game. Giovanni is growing fast and now smiles on his Mother and gurrgles his commentary. I also had the pleasure of skyping with Neen at length. We talked on tortillas, the Ruins, tripe, brain, travel, culture and radishes. He is doing well, learning lots and expanding his proverbial horizons both gastronomic and historonic.