My thermometer in the shade registers 90 degrees at the moment and half of the flowers in the garden are gasping in the direct July sun. I thank the innovative fates that I was born after the invention of central air driven by geothermal groundwater. Hard to believe that only a few weeks ago, while much of the professional knitting world was gorging on Jeni's ice cream in Columbus, I was hanging out on York Beach with part of the New England Contingent convening something we called alt-TNNA.
There were a lot more people when we planted ourselves around lunchtime, but we outlasted them all. We came prepared: we had knitting and strong sunscreen. We did all the beachy things one does like swim in the cold cold water, practiced our sand calligraphy, and showed off our cartwheels. No one paid us any mind, bunch of girls that we are, until of course, we pulled out the yarn. THEN, oh my precious, didn't we attract all of the attention there was to spare on good old York beach?
Fast forward two weeks and here I am in a quiet house hanging out at the kitchen table with the endlessly doodling kid, while the husband is off gathering supplies for the crazy weekend gathering of his own this week (45 audiophiles, some coming from as far away as Alabama, California, and Belgium, who all need to be fed and given coffee). So am I frantically making lasagnas? or am I catching up with some works in progress, hoping to have some new sweaters for when the sun has mercy?
Yep, clearly I'm pretty relaxed about the whole week to come. It's the knitting that keeps me sane. Or innoculates me against how much freaking work I have ahead of me. This is (by the way) my third Hiro, approaching the home stretch. I'm not entirely sold on this particular green, since I'm thinking I need to go a little more on the olive side of things here. But I'll try it on in a few rows and see what I really think. Then maybe I'll season the sauce and boil up about six pounds of lasagna noodles.
Don't worry. I'm doing this for love.