Xanga has apparently gotten all its servers across the Hudson, a phrase which seems as though it ought to have a ballad available for it. However, I do not yet trust it enough to write much, because posts, pictures, and comments are still disappearing into the ether.
So I will merely mention that I am making progress on the Regal Orchid Jasmine sleeves.
The term “sleeve island,” coined by Fluffa! back in the mists of blogtime, is often used in knitting blogs to refer to the sense one gets while doing a sleeve that time is stretching out. You know how it is. You have completed the front and back, you sort of feel like you are almost finished, you’ll just whip out a couple of sleeves, and then you knit and knit and they do not seem to get any longer. You feel stuck, rather than as though you are sailing along briskly, prepared to shout “Yarn, Ho!” at any moment.
This blog has allowed me to discover that sleeves for an adult sweater take me about two weeks. So I still expect to finish this sweater in May.
There was a time in my knitting life when I mostly made baby things. That was because I had a house full of babies at the time. I could whip out a garment while they had their naps.
I am not nostalgic for that time, but I do look forward to having grandchildren so I can make baby stuff again.
Anyway, I have no objection to sleeves. I read while I knit, so long stretches of stockinette with minimal shaping are welcome.
My choir director, Bigsax (I did not make up that name; it is his screen name), told me the other night that he does not read novels. We were talking about The Da Vinci Code, and how het up over it people were getting. At one point he asked me, “Have you read it?”
I was a little bit taken aback. Wasn’t that what we were talking about? But he had not read it, had merely read about it. “I don’t read novels,” he said. And fewer than half of Americans do, if you believe the studies.
This is old news, of course, but Bigsax’s remark made me think about it again. And I was wondering whether it is fiction overall that is suffering, rather than novels as a medium. Because it seems to me that a lot of popular TV is also not fiction.
The TV is often on at my house, so I do not think that I am entirely ignorant about TV, although I am rarely the one in control of the remote. And it seems to me that most of what is on does not have a story line. We watch The Daily Show, and then there are the sports and news programs, and then there are things like Nashville Star and game shows, which my husband loves for reasons which are not clear to the rest of us. I watch Monk when I can figure out when it comes on, but otherwise there is probably not a single plot on the TV in a week.
I am not prepared to draw conclusions about this yet, because I might put lots of thought into it and craft paragraphs persuading you to my point of view and then push “submit” and get that “not responding” screen and that would feel a lot like Sleeve Island.