My chum Nancy, a true master knitter, considers knitting with black yarn a waste. Want a black sweater, why not buy one? She says. Well, there's a real kernel of truth there. I am knitting a shawl in black and hot pink right now and it is very limiting. I can't knit it backstage, since I can't see the stitches well enough in low light. I really can only work on it during the day, as it has just enough detail to need scrutiny. This afternoon, I had to un-knit a big chunk of short rows in it. I had to take a nap to recuperate afterward.

I continue apace with my hexipuffs, with a little help from some kind fellow ravelers. My posts asking for spare bits of sock yarn have yielded excellent advice and both MadTosh and STR ends. Each puff takes about fifteen yards, which is not an unusual amount to have left over at the end of sock project. Still, I am grateful. It will be nice to have an influx of different colors, as my palette is very heavy in blue and green. We knit the colors we like, I suppose, but I hadn't really considered how positively Piscean my choices are until I looked at my collection of puffs the other day. They're now housed in a big popcorn tin from Trader Joe's that was once mistaken for a can of cat food. It is gratifiying to throw another puff in there, though I am still far from having enough for a throw.

A few days ago, I got a package in the mail from a kind soul that contained two pounds of STR ends. It was a real cornucopia when I poured the yarn out of its ziplock. Not just little ends, but fair sized balls in some colors. I suspect that the other knitter has small feet or loved ones with small feet, which cannot be said of anyone in my family. This influx of kindness and gorgeous yarn overwhelmed me a little: so lovely and so much. It may end up composing a good quarter to third of the finished blanket.

My cousin Bam Bam spotted the yellow bug out an about the other day. He told me that he saw a young woman driving a yellow beetle with a paint bubble on the hood just like mine had. I hope she enjoys it, and that she wasn't swindled by the dealers like I was. I miss my sweet little bug, though I am glad to have more schlepping room as I contemplate my upcoming move. I decided to measure the interior cargo space, since cubic feet listings (or God help me, liters) doesn't really tell me if I can fit a futon mattress in the back. Then I couldn't find any of my measuring tapes. They must have run off with all of my darning needles. Some future archeologist will wonder about the proliferation of notions and odd socks.

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