Sunday morning

I'm still perturbed with that bonehead from Friday night. I know that it's meaningless, and I should not dwell on it, but more I think about it, I realize he was incredibly rude. I did nothing to encourage him, did not allow him to buy me a drink (I buy my own drinks, always). In fact, I did not even flirt. He interrupted (repeatedly) a conversation I was having, and it took three times for him to get the message. Then, I was having another conversation, with a male friend, he leaned in and said something strange about owning a nicer suit jacket. Needless to say, I left earlier than I normally would have. I was plainly annoyed.

But, there are good things happening. Snow is melting, rapidly (I guess I will find out if my basement is dry) and the sun shines, sometimes. Today is the day I will do some of my chores, and hopefully go on a long walk, to procure a few groceries. Nothing exciting, but that's exactly what I love about Sundays. The long stretch of hours to do nothing but putter. My head is clear, I'm rested, and I plan on making myself a decent dinner and enjoying some wine while I watch Desperate Housewives or whatever drama is on TV tonight.

My happiness mostly derives from this:

The first of MW's socks is coming along nicely. The more I contemplate it, the more I love the pattern. The picot edge is much more elegant than ribbing, the pattern repeat is fun, the heel flap construction is clever. And pretty. Here's a photo:

My picture taking skills aren't so hot, but I think this shows the lovely diagonal pattern. I think it's called a pheasant heel, but I'm not sure.

Here is my attempt to get a close-up of the pattern:

I adore cables. I know people find them intimidating, but I love the "braid-y" look. Always have, always will. And, not scary at all. I remember knitting a pair of mitts, way back when, and my hands were shaking as I slid the four stitches onto the cable-needles, double-checking the pattern to confirm if I was to hold the needle in front or behind the work, knitting the next four stitches and then swinging the cable needle around to knit those four stitches. My tension was awful, there was a gaping hole, and it looked like garbage. But, I persevered and a few rows on, I looked down, and there it was! A cable!

That's the best thing about knitting, that with two sticks and a piece of string, you can make something three-dimensional. I will never get tired of that feeling of amazement, the mysterious language of the instructions. How one row does not stand in isolation but when put together with all the other seemingly incomprehensible rows, becomes something useful and beautiful.

Hmm, it seems I'm waxing poetic this morning. That must mean it's time to switch the laundry, have some breakfast, and get going before I break into Haiku. That would be unforgivable.