Sunday, July 24

limited time offer

Friday, July 22

week eight

after blogging almost everyday for seven weeks, summer activities and naps and plans took over and left no time. 

but I have still been writing. journaling... work notes... DnD vignettes... mental rants about politics and society... and yes, various blogpost drafts. 

some of that writing will become conventionally useful in future lesson plans or tenure/promotion paperwork or letters to congress.

some of it will simply exist. 

other things I've been up to since last week:

reorganizing and tidying the china hutch, carefully

-spinning wheel practice, frustratedly

-making cheesecake, indulgently

-watering plants, generously 

-planning a weekend camping trip, hopefully

-taking Hamilton for short walks, lazily

-dealing with our fritzy air-conditioning, longsufferingly

-and, resignedly, failing at Wednesday's wordle. 

I fail at Worldle all the time (despite having won 2nd place in a geography bee once upon a time; someday I really need to sit down and try to master all the countries in Africa), but I don't think I've failed any of the daily Wordle puzzles before this. ever.

I still think the game should have a mechanism for signalling when a letter shows up more than once. but maybe that would make it too easy...

oh well. 

life is about way more than mere success, thankfully. 

Wordle 396 (20 July 2022) X/6


Sunday, July 17

verbs and prepositions

Wednesday, July 13

twill or something like it

the idea with this embroidery hoop weave is to evoke the seasons, one in each quadrant morphing from winter into spring into summer and into fall.

winter is first, mainly because I have the most white and grey and gold and fir-tree colored yarn and ribbons. 

so far it's pretty fun to mess about with. fiber improv. 

Tuesday, July 12

rain spots


finally a bit of a rain storm. the puddles won't last but they are here doing their thing for now. 

as are we all.  

in other news for this fine Tuesday: 
puzzle solving 
chocolate pudding
paper mache 
weaving scraps 
chicken salad 
and True Detective, season 1, episode 5

Monday, July 11

more knitting mishaps

a month or two ago I came across this almost-finished fingerless mitt in one of my craft piles. the rest of the thumb is all that needs knitting (still, I confess, even now at the time of this writing). 

a grey fingerless mitten, thumb unfinished

but it did need a partner. I have two hands, and if one hand is cold the other probably is too. you know how it is.

but because finishing the thumb of this fingerless mitt did not sound like the most entertaining knitting task at the time, I instead fished up the leftover grey yarn from another craft pile and started on the cuff of the second mitt. I figured I would get them both to the same point of thumblessness and then do both thumbs in succession. easy. a perfect plan.

one small ball of grey yarn being knit slowly into a mitten; new set of needles just visible in the corner

so that's what I did. or rather, started to do. and then... 

mishap the first:
I absently knitted right past the point where I should've started increasing for the thumb gusset section... so I had to tear several rows back and then go find the actual pattern to reference properly, rework it, and then... 

mishap the second:
somehow I lost one of my double-pointed bamboo needles. little Hamilton is most likely to blame... but did he chew up a whole knitting needle? or did he just hide it insufferably impossibly well somewhere?

I may never know. 

but what I do know, after the discovery that we'll just have to count as...

mishap the third:
... is that all this recent mitt knitting was completely pointless!

for lo and behold-- after searching at three different craft stores in three different states while I was traveling in May, and after finally purchasing new double-pointed needles of the apparently rare size of 2.5 (or 3mm)-- lo and behold what did I find when I tidied and sorted out my horde of craft things the other week? 

I found one full and complete version of this same fingerless mitt, just waiting for its thumbless partner to match.

one small ball of grey yarn, one just-begun mitten cuff, and two other mitts, one finished and one just missing a thumb

here they all are together, an almost trio. I don't think there is yarn enough for two full pairs. I'll have to think of something else for this grey yarn. something simpler. without pesky thumb sections.

(none of this was at all as thrilling as my wintertime knitting mishap of eight months ago, by the way.)

in the meantime, the poor, unnecessary third cuff shall be ripped back one final time.

and eventually, someday, I'll have to get on with knitting that unfinished thumb after all.

Sunday, July 10

cropped questions

Friday, July 8


sometimes I bike to the pool at our community center. it's one mile away, down the road and around the corner. 

are all the HOA fees (that I barely remembered to pay on time for this quarter) worth it for this lovely nearby pool?

hm... maybe. 

the sunshine is worth everything. and swimming a bit is a nice reward of sorts for a two-mile bike ride. 

usually I bring a book. today it was podcasts instead. 


Thursday, July 7


our patio, bricks covered in some lovely green creeping weed. Wesley the pug is off to the left.

if I were more studied at botany I might know what this creeping weed is called. do any of you know?

it doesn't matter much. whatever it is, it's growing in beautiful swaths over our patio brick and I love that a lot. 

Wednesday, July 6

carry on

every morning lately, there is yoga and poetry, usually also tea and the New York Times crossword. 

(okay the daily wordle and the daily worldle make their daily appearances too.)

the poetry at the moment is not just any poetry, but that from a new collection by Amanda Gorman. I mentioned her in April for national poetry month. what a talented young woman, indeed.

her latest book it titled in a muted gold all-caps. the cover behind that is a simple bright blue striped with what could almost be clouds, but aren't quite. when you look closer, they come into focus as the soft edges of torn paper. 

the best lines I've read so far from Call Us What We Carry are in a short poem called "& So," on page 25. I don't know if they'll sound as cool out of context. but oh well. you can go find the book and read the whole thing yourself any time, right?

"This truth, like the white-blown sky,
Can only be felt in its entirety or not at all.
The glorious was not made to be piecemeal."


"Since the world is round,
There is no way to walk away
From each other, for even then
We are coming back together."

I have plenty more poetry in this collection alone to get to and savor all summer long. plenty to be grateful for, for now.