call it progress

Dang it's hot. In the evenings there is really no choice but to crack open a cold beer and get to knitting. At least, that's all I've been able to swing in this hideous, oppressive muggy heat.

I'm moaning about the heat right now maybe a little more than ususal because I was driven from the cool interior of the coffee shop and onto the patio by the ceaseless chattering of a very loud-voiced woman who has absolutely nothing to say worth eavesdropping on. Yet she will NOT SHUT UP. The baristas tried turning up the music really really loud, but her voice has a metallic edge to it that carries above the sound system - it's amazing, really. So here I am mooching wireless on the patio, and it's ninety degrees. Whine!

Anyway, above you see the progress on the little sweater I'm making from the salvaged Knit-o-Graf yarn. I am so terrible at intarsia - you can see all the stitches being pulled this way and that. Does the graphic look like a flower? Does it look like a lotus? It's supposed to be a lotus.

So the lotus baby sweater (I am naming it "Baby Om") is about to take a break, because I've just picked up some yarn for some new projects I'm itching to try (and it's too hot to be knitting with alpaca silk right now anyhow).

This cotton fleece is for a pair of punk rock fingerless gloves - a belated birthday gift for my friend Marge. The color is called "raging purple." Marge is going to rage all night in these things.



And this is for my top-down top:



Once again, my camera has failed to produce anything like the actual color of the item. It's a really soft, washed olive. I really like olive. I could wear it every day (when I'm not wearing black). This is a lovely cotton/silk blend - an all-weather blend for the south (unlike these cotton/wool blends that nutty people who live in places like Greenland or New Hampshire call all-weather).

The yammering girl and her friend have left. I don't think her friend said a single word for an entire hour. I guess it's time for me to quit sweating and swatting mosquitoes and go inside. They could turn down the music now, too.