Happy V.D., Everybody!*

Despite having the world's worst head cold and/or flu, and having to completely clean my house, do my laundry, and pack for a trip to Germany, I thought I would update my blog to talk about CHEEK. As in Joey Cheek. As in the cutest little gold medalist speed skater ever! And he's from North Carolina! Ok, I really only live in North Carolina, and am not really from here, but still the stately pride swells in my bosom. I about had heart palpitations last night watching the men's 500 meter race. I was chanting "Go Joey, go Joey, don't fall, don't fall," over and over. And the voodoo must have worked. Yaaaaay!! Oh, and he's giving his 25K bonus to a children's relief charity in Africa. Be still my heart.

Other than that, yes, going to Germany. Tomorrow. Ugh. Not the Germany part, the "going" part, which of course involves plane travel, which I already can't stand, and also plane travel with a one year old who can walk, which I think might have to involve some kind of muscle relaxant for Mama. Or maybe just a forced zen feeling. Repetitive chanting of "Calm, cool, collected," maybe. Perhaps some discreet incense burning. Ok, maybe not that last one. Hopefully, the boy will sleep, but of course since he's a lap child, if he sleeps it will have to be atop one of us, which is always fun in an already cramped airline seat. I guess I should be glad that we didn't have to pay for a ticket for him. And maybe the plane won't be too full.

Ok, now I've jinxed it. Better stop talking before I say something like "and we will leave on time, arrive early, have no lines through customs or immigration, and no one will be smoking in the Frankfurt airport."

Shoot, I just did. That smoking thing is, of course, a total fantasy, so perhaps that will negate the jinx. Can you jinx a jinx? Can you tell I've had too much cold medicine?

*my high school english teacher always said this. gotta love high school english teachers.

I didn't qualify....

The Olympics start soon, and I wish I could be a part. No, not the Winter Olympics. The Knitting Olympics. This crazy brainchild of the Harlot is beginning with the opening ceremonies, and ending with the closing ceremonies (yes, of the other olympics). I, however, will be in Germany for the majority of this time, and I recently sprained my wrist so I shouldn't push it with the knitting, and I have a one year old child who takes entirely too much time away from insane pursuits like trying to knit a sweater in two weeks.

But man, oh man, I wish I could join the team.

I do have pictures, finally, of the earlier blogged Panta and Cabled Newsboy Cap (from S n' B Nation). First, the Panta, in the traditional "reflected in mirror" shot:


Next, the Cap, photographed by my hubby, modeled my me.



I should probably get a shot of the top of the hat, because the decreasing and the cables look verrrry nice. The Cap was an interesting adventure. My yarn gauge was slightly tighter, and I have a gigantic pumpkin head, so I had to mess with the pattern quite a bit. This resulted in MATH being done, which is always an iffy thing with me. I thought I had it down, thought I was a genius, until I got to the main part of the cap and realized I very much wasn't. I've thrown away my notes, or I could be more specific. Let's just say much cursing was involved. Oh, I almost forgot about the cast on! I managed to, for the first time ever, twist my stitches before joining in the round. I have never done this, because I always check. ALWAYS. Except for this time. So let's just say, after having already cast on, knit an inch of ribbing, realized what I was knitting resembled a transdimensional loop, frogged, re-cast on, knit another inch of ribbing, realized that the MATH had screwed me over, I was not willing to frog again. So I just placed a few strategic increases and voila! Cool hat.

Okay, not really a voila! moment. But definitely a cool hat.

Silent Poetry Reading

Well, here, for better or worse, is my contribution to the Silent Online Poetry Reading, read about on Creating Text(iles), inspired by Grace's Poppies. This a poem I wrote a few years ago, that I have been editing like crazy the past half an hour. I was going to put up a Billy Collins poem, but I couldn't decide on a favorite. So, in spite of the danger of appearing incredibly narcissistic, here's something of my own. Nobody other than myself has ever read this, so we'll see how it goes down (I know my ma will have something to say.)

Could Just Be Crows

I sit here, so far from the ocean,
yet I'm sure I can hear the surf,
sure I can hear gulls,
calling madly to one another.

The only explanation must be
the earth, tilted on its axis,
spilling salt water into landlocked cities.

Or is it just the wind? And crows calling?

Doesn't matter, I can feel it anyway,
Feel the sand, gritty and giving
beneath wrinkled toes,
turning the bones in their matrix
so that by the end of the day,
feet ache with the surf.
I can see glass hiding in the shallows,
smooth and worn, surface cloudy
like an uncut gem, disguising its prior existence.

(A beer bottle perhaps? Or maybe a pair of glasses,
lost in the crashing waves, given up for lost
by the nearsighted fool who left them there
to be a gift for Neptune.)

Today, I am surrounded by
the endless noise of water
beating against sand, a sound that lingers
in some forgotten memory,
my mother's heartbeat perhaps,
lost inside to years of new experiences.

Or it could just be crows,
could just be the wind.

Sara Lukjanovs, 2004