The latest tam. There are a couple of unintentional little ziggy-zaggies in Blue Daze, but otherwise I like it. I added a little duplicate stitching in pink (it's really coral, but the blue tones it down), which sets off the top. I've already started the next tam (I'm telling you, these things are addictive!), using a tubular cast-on that is picky as all heck but gives the ribbing a very smooth, polished edge. Another virtue of the tubular cast-on: you can thread in some elastic if your ribbing is too loose (which mine almost always is, after a little while). There are several online tutorials for this--google it and you'll find them. I'd do it for you, but I'm also packing this afternoon, as well as blogging.
Tomorrow is the Great Getaway Day. The three dogs and I are driving out to NM to join Bill, who is already out there with the cat. Yes, we do have too many animals, which you count in the cows, sheep, and geese (who are not going along on this trip). But we can't figure out which of them we could possibly live without. Actually, I could. I could do without those particular ganders, who are particularly nasty during testosterone season. The funny thing is that what we have (through no fault of our own) is a pair of ganders, one of whom pretends to be a goose during the months of January-April. We do not inquire too deeply into this arrangement, you understand. We just observe.
Anyway, tomorrow morning bright and early (dark and early, probably), I'm outta here, heading west, with enough yarn for a couple more tams, and some quilt fabric, and a big box of books. Oh, and three dogs. Can't forget the dogs. They would be very unhappy.
Reading note. Maybe we need different places for different phases of our lives. Maybe cherished places remain alive inside us even if we have to move on--our attachment to the earth not thinned, but widened. Still, I worry over the pile of fragments in my past, the running of one place into another. Wherever I am is cluttered with the memory of dozens of other landscapes.--Deborah Tall, From Where We Stand: Recovering a Sense of Place