You're thinking I'm standing on the edge of a bridge about now, right? Or at least sitting alone on a stage in some smoky club with a glass of whiskey between my feet and a 12-string on my lap, with all the singing of the blues I've been doing these days. Fret not, my friends! (Pun intended.) As much as I love threes, this post will not complete the triad of woe-is-me-posts. I've reached a bit of a crossroads a la Robert Johnson, but instead of the devil, I've met someone else there- someone very unexpected. More about that mysterious figure in a later post.
Blues begone! There was an arrival Chez Frick last night.
Readers of Green Kitchen are familiar with this face already and are likely also familiar with the generous spirit that is Michelle. I commented on Sad Cat's photo on Flickr, and perhaps because of my inventive spelling, or maybe because she just sensed I needed him, Michelle emailed me and offered him as a gift. He now graces the spot above our kitchen sink. I felt a window seat was imperative. Michelle, thank you so much. I luuuuuurv him even more in person!
Welcome, blues!
This is my Project Spectrum project for February- the Peace Fleece Wonderful Wallaby. I knit a size 6, expecting it to fit the Biscuit next year (he'll be three). While the Peace Fleece is a bit rough to work with (twiggy!), I can tell it will stand up to some serious rolling 'round in the piney woods, and after washing it bloomed and softened beautifully. I modified the pattern for a moss stitch edging as opposed to the garter and rib stitch called for in the pattern. I will certainly be making another one of these, this time using Brooke's cable mods. Check out (and join!) the Flickr group if you'd like to knit one of these miraculous little sweaters.
And in honor of Project Spectrum and Black History Month, here's another of my favorite poems. I love the gallows humor in this piece by Langston Hughes. After all, I find I get my biggest belly laughs from my darkest times. This poem is in the anthology I use with my students, and each year I have to explain, to their unbelieving faces, that yes, this is a funny poem.
Too Blue
I got those sad old weary blues.
I don’t know where to turn.
I don’t know where to go.
Nobody cares about you
When you sink so low.
What shall I do?
What shall I say?
Shall I take a gun and
Put myself away?
I wonder if
One bullet would do?
Hard as my head is,
It would probably take two.
But I ain’t got
Neither bullet nor gun—
And I’m too blue
To look for one.
