Gold!

I am captivated by short track speed skating. I love the drama, the feeling that anything could happen at any moment. The men's gold medal tonight in the relay was SO exciting.

I particularly love the beautiful French Canadian names of our skating stars: St. Gelais, Vincent, Roberge, Hamelin and especially Francois-Louis Tremblay. I was speaking with a very young, very gay co-worker the other day of the gorgeousness of the Canadian short track boys and he said, "Until they open their mouths.",  meaning that he thinks their voices are ugly. No way. The beautiful gruffness, the rolling r's, the TR's! Just like my crazy Grandpere Irenee. He called us French Canadien Peas and my Grandmere Aurore, my namesake, called us all Stupide! with her smoke dangling from the corner of her mouth. They never skated but I feel the same spirit and toughness in those strong, sexy French skaters (the boys and the girls). It makes me smile!

Such A Pretty Day. Such A Pretty Girl.

I went for one of my favourite walks in High Park today.  Along this path, up the hill to the off leash area (where I made friends with a goofy Labrador), then on to the Grenadier restaurant for coffee.  In honour of it being a Good Hair Day, attempts were made during this walk to photograph myself.  Not entirely successful attempts. 
Upon the Good Hair is the alpaca Meret.  Technically, it belongs to The Daughter and I didn't ask to borrow it, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her.  Besides, I've been wearing slouchy berets since long before the kids decided they were in fashion and I will continue to wear them long after.  'Cause, dammit, I make them look good.

Cabled Goodness

Don't my right twisting cables look so much better than the left?  What's up with that?

Olympic Fail

So, I spent the better part of yesterday knitting the first third of a sleeve, ripping, calculating, and trying again.  There is just no way my Queensland Aran can be forced attractively into a Twigs and Leaves cardigan.  Not with my knitting ability anyway.  The yarn weight is just too heavy. 
As much as I love the pattern, I love the yarn more.  Using that yarn right now is my priority, so the pattern is being shelved.  I'm back to the proverbial drawing board.

Twigs It Is

OK.  The survey results, all four of them, are in.  My cabled cardigan will be Twigs and Leaves.  After much thought, I've pin-pointed my hesitation toward this pattern.  It's the funky reverse stocking stitch that trims the sleeves, bottom edge and closure edge.  With all due love to Robin Melanson, it looks sloppy and unfinished to me.  You all know how I feel about rolling.  So I'll do either garter stich or seed stitch instead, probably the former.

Dare I call this my Olympic project?  Sixteen days you say?

I've been sick as a dog since yesterday.  Too sick to knit even!  Living in the bathroom.  I had to cancel a long shift at work which cheeses me off no end! My joints are killing me so I've not yet had the opportunity to swatch.

I'm feeling a bit better today so let's say that if I get a swatch done, and if I complete The Daughter birthday celebration prep tomorrow, and if I can even drag myself down to the Drunken Knitters opening ceremonies at The Duke of York, then maybe I'll be ambitious and call this an Olympic project.  Ha!
 

Help. I Can't Decide

I really want to get going with this tweed yarn.  I bought it over a year ago to knit a cabled cardi.  The problem is I can't decide on a pattern!  It's down to four:  Twigs & Leaves Robin Melanson, Cabled Cardigan #10 Mari Lynn Patrick, Cabled Jacket #13 Jennie Atkinson, and Forestry Veronik Avery.

I quite like Robin's jacket but was thinking I should try something more formal. Then again, would I really wear something more formal?  My favourite cables are on the Patrick cardigan but I find the shape boxy. I'd definitely make it much shorter if this was the choice.The Atkinson jacket is probably too formal but some Ravellers have done lovely things with it. I hear the instructions for Forestry are very difficult to follow so I'm not leaning toward it though it was my original choice way back when.
What do you think? Any preferences?

Not Random Poetry

My Feedjit site traffic tool tells me that the most often visited page here, is my August 2006 posting of Adrienne Rich's poem, I Dream I'm the Death of Orpheus.  Consistently, over the years, strangers searching for that poem, land on my insignificant (by comparison) blog.  So, I thought it only fitting that I post another of Ms. Rich's works.  Opening my well thumbed edition of Selected Poems 1950 - 2001, I decided that the first page I randomly touched, would be my posting. 
Ah, the Universe. 
Like a mysteriously apt Tarot reading performed by a Gypsy woman in a dim room,
like what it is, joyous, perfect, serendipity,
I opened to this page:

Lonely

You're wondering if I'm lonely:
OK then, yes, I'm lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield in the ocean

You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely

If I'm lonely
it must be the loneliness of waking first, of breathing
dawn's first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep

If I'm lonely
it's with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it's neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning.

Adrienne Rich
from Diving Into The Wreck
1973