Adrift

For days I’ve been planning to take pictures of the snowdrift we have between the house and the garage. The changing winds resculpt it every day, and it does give the feeling of being lost at sea. The most important thing it does is block, over and over, the little sidewalk that goes from the porch to the cars. It’s happened so frequently that we’ve given up on it, and make our way through the snow via the “shortcut” we shovel from the base of the porch’s ramp directly to the driveway.

Late yesterday afternoon I glanced out the window and saw a dark figure leaping towards the house. It was my husband in his black suede jacket, nimbly bounding over/through the drift after toiling for many frigid minutes to repair the blower in his car. (Alas, the fix was merely temporary.)

The driveway has an underlayment of thick transparent ice; the field below us is covered with snow that looks like gentle waves lapping up at the edge of a lake, frozen in mid-lap.

Inside it’s still warm and wooly, and now is when I’m wishing I had started some really comfy adult-sized sweaters a few months ago. No such luck.

Here’s what’s on the needles:

1. Irish Hiking Scarf, in doomed yarn (long story), waiting for more doomed yarn, ultimate fate unknown
2. Kelp Forest Scarf, three repeats in, probably replacing the IHS as the Currach Club raffle item
3. Second Jacquard sock, waiting for the rest of the yarn
4. Packer Hat, waiting for me to pick up stitches and knit the brim
5. mystery giftknit for my IT guy

Yes…for those of you with detailed scorecards, I decided to frog the cute little Knit One Purl Two cap. When I experimented with the crown decreases I just didn’t like how it looked. Since it wasn’t sized to fit anyone in this household (as far as I could tell) I just frogged the thing, releasing some perfectly good Plymouth Galway in navy blue back into the yarnstream.

Other than knitting on Scarf One and Scarf Two, I’ve been watching Doctor Who, reading old Doctor Who paperbacks, watching Last Restaurant Standing, laughing my head off at Top Gear, and witnessing the probable decline in fortune of Robert Irvine, the hunkiest chef on television. (I’d still go out drinking with Bobby Flay, but come on!) It seems he may have, along with his commanding presence, a tendency to exaggerate his experiences. I’ve read Kitchen Confidential and I think part of Irvine’s actions may stem from cuisine culture, and the, um, cojones it takes to get ahead. And everything may have just taken on more steam than he wanted to give it. Just my own theory. Sigh.

Tonight we watched Dinner: Impossible with some trepidation (though the show was as good as always), and noticed with relief/amusement that the intro had changed. No longer does the voiceover claim he cooked for presidents, queens, and kings — there’s just a vague reference to “culinary challenges” and a new video treatment.

Blogland, Wisconsin, is all aquiver with the news that we’ll have two rockstar knitter visits in two months: Franklin Habit (AKA Panopticon) at Yellow Dog Knitting in Eau Claire in March, and Stephanie Pearl-McPhee (AKA The Yarn Harlot) at Borders in Madison in late April. I’ll be out of state for Franklin’s visit (though Dale-Harriet has already scheduled her appointment), but you couldn’t keep me away from seeing and hearing the Harlot. Though, once I’m there, I’ll most likely be hiding in the shadows from paralyzing shyness. At events like this I usually end up running from the featured speaker and chumming it up with the staff. Somebody slap me!

Time to knit something. Anything.