I might not be as fast (or as dedicated) as some of my knitty girlfriends. But I did finish a few projects today (they are ridiculously late, they should have been mailed weeks ago).
Here are my baby hats:

I can now go run some errands and enjoy the beautiful sun outside (and the 33 degree F, not C, temperature).

The last few weeks have been busy with colors, natural or not.

Dying (how could I not mention the dying party at Heather's?)

Gallivanting in the wood

I could also mention the colors of my cheeks when I finish my first 5K yesterday...but I don't have a photo.

It's been a busy busy busy month, and it's only half of it.
Coming soon:
a wedding, another race, a Halloween parade. No wonder I don't have time for vox anymore....

It's getting chilly outside. Pumpkins and mum are out. Leaves are begging to be raked.
And I'm inside drinking my favorite fall drink....

it is 9:00 p.m. here,
Abby is flying to France,
Jon is making cookies in the kitchen,
I have a headache from watching too many episodes of Weeds this evening
(or maybe I just have a Huge Cold?).

Paul Newman died today. I just found out.
I had some Paul Newman popcorn this afternoon.
I wonder if this is just a coincidence.

I went to one fair this morning.
Bought some yarn -that I totally needed.
I am going to another fair tomorrow.

it will be 9:20 p.m. by the time I am done with this post.

what a beautiful use of my time on a *cough* cough* lame Saturday night.

Heard yesterday on NPR, tonight I am sharing an excerpt from this famous poem by Walt Whitman:

Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

by Walt Whitman

 

1

Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!

Clouds of the west-sun there half an hour high─I see you also face

to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious

you are to me!

On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning

home, are more curious to me than you suppose,

And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more

to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

 

2

The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of the

day,

The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme, myself disintegrated, every

one disintegrated yet part of the scheme,

The similitudes of the past and those of the future,

The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on

the walk in the street and the passage over the river,

The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away,

The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them,

The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others.

 

Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to

shore,

Others will watch the run of the flood-tide,

Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the

heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,

Others will see the islands large and small;

Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half

an hour high,

A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others

will see them,

Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the

falling-back to the sea of the ebb-tide.

 

3

It avails not, time nor place─distance avails not,

I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many

generations hence,

Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,

Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd,

Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the

bright flow, I was refresh'd,

Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift

current, I stood yet was hurried,

Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the

thick-stemm'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.

 

I too many and many a time cross'd the river of old,

Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air

floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,

Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left

the rest in strong shadow,

Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the

south,

Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,

Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,

Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my

head in the sunlit water,

Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward,

Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,

Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving,

Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,

Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at

anchor,

The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars,

The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender

serpentine pennants,

The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their

pilothouses,

 

The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the

wheels,

The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset,

The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the

frolic-some crests and glistening,

The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the

granite storehouses by the docks,

On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd on

each side by the barges, the hay-boat, the belated lighter,

On the neighboring shore the fires from the foundry chimneys burning

high and glaringly into the night,

Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow

light over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of

streets.

 (...)

I have been reading this a-little-above-mediocre gothic novel:

And I have been enjoying the relation between the characters from the past and the present. 

This weekend was a combination of

and

J'ai tourne le bouton du travail, absente pour 2 semaines -ca s'appelle aussi etre en vacances- et ca fait du bien.

Lecture, tricot, jogging, balades avec les parents qui nous rendent visite, tout cela sur fond d'ete indien.

J'ai bien sur quelques projets en cours, mais je n'en dirai rien ici, pas pour l'instant, c'est trop tot.

Je me repose en famille. Tout va bien.

inspiree par une note de Crockette, une petite bouchee de mon ete 1994....