Faded and Rusted

tin roof, faded

Dear Spring,
Where the heck are you? I'm cold and my wandering ways are giving me fits. The family has taken to calling the ubiquitous grey scarf knotted at my neck, even while in my pajamas, my wubby. I want to explore; find the waterfalls, an old coal mine, and half buried track that leads to nowhere and everywhere. I want to take pictures of anything other than the inside of my house. I want out. Spring, you are letting me down. Why can't you start now instead of almost three weeks from now? Call me. I'm sure we can work something out.
Love,
H.

The Lady has been inspired and I'm passing along her request. She is going to do an art project with the bits and pieces of love ephemera we send to her (photos, letters, stories, postcards, etc.). If you are interested in participating, read more here.

I would send in the feelings Patrick's music evokes in me but I wouldn't know how to mail them...sigh...

tin roof, rusted

Love! Hate!

'Frida' torquoise necklace & 'Fiesta' earrings

from polishedtwo.etsy.com = true love

Ok, I'm not sure if I found this group through Eireann or not, but check the collection of amazing photographs at The Archival Moon and Waiting flickr group. Absolutely haunting and lovely and ugly and horrifying and simply beautiful. Which reminds me of another thing Eireann has posted lately: Derrida. Oh my love/hate relationship with Derrida! I know, I know. Another French philosophe, really, Heather? Ah oui. Here we go...

Derrida makes no damn sense. I mean this when I say, none, no sense at all. I hate him. Unless, I stay away from his obscure theories (deconstruction- really, only nihilistic teenagers get this, right?) and instead read his ideas on, well, everything else, then I love him again. Among the great philosophers, he even tops Nietzsche on my 'boys I should know better than to love' list. I just can't help myself when I read things like this:

"But precisely, when my gaze meets yours, I see both your gaze and your eyes, love in fascination--and your eyes are not only seeing but also visible. And since they are precisely visible (things or objects in the world), I could precisely touch them, with my finger, lips, or even eyes, lashes and lids, by approaching you-if I dared come near to you in this way, if I one day dared." On Touching

I know, right? There is no way I can pretend not to understand this sentiment. Who hasn't felt that way before: the intensity, the burning, the absolute compulsion to reach out and touch the one who has no idea the power they have over you. I began this month by writing about the many forms of love and how each offers us a new point of view and should be respected. So, Jaques, I love you and I hate you and I wouldn't have it any other way, ma petite chou.

As a random but oddly fitting aside, because I am listening to my ipod as I type this, the sound of the pick on the strings in this song tickles the back of my neck. Don't you love that shivery feeling?

Ninebark Vest

Pattern: Ninebark Cowl, Knitscene Winter/Spring 2010
Yarn: Knit Picks City Tweed HW 'toad'
Needles: US# 5 & 7 circulars

This is what happens when you lose your perfect light while making SpongeBob shaped macaroni; you end up standing in your bathtub after dark for a photo. The Ninebark Cowl: a pattern no one will knit the way it was written. I didn't bother with the attached cowl because I thought it limiting. I added a row of 2x2 ribbing at the neckline instead. The fit is nice, but I shouldn't have added the increases at the hip, which gave me a bit more ease there than I needed, although I think an adventurous knitter could replace the bottom ribbing with a peplum and embody the Coco Chanel 1940's shapely aesthetic before rigid boning and girdles prevailed again in the 50's.

Knit while reading the Kreutzer Sonata by Tolstoy and listening to Elizabeth Klett's fantastic recording of The Awakening by Kate Chopin. Two affecting novellas I highly recommend unless you are considering a engagement of marriage- then I say read at your own risk!

Contrast

outside

inside

Thank you for the birthday wishes! Winter gifted me snow (much to my surprise, this type of accumulation is very unusual here). The black cap chickadees tucked into their nest in my crepe myrtle and were at the feeder safe and sound the next morning. I snuggled inside, enjoying the tulips my son picked out for me.

My life is a mess of contrasts right now and I am at a loss for words to describe how I am feeling. The only descriptive I can come up with is longing. I have a strong sense of longing: not really melancholy because I am happy with so many things, but not really contentment either. Simple longing; I wish I knew what for. Cabin fever of the soul, I suspect.

This photo from the Sartorialist caught my eye. The contrasts are palpable; the almost burka-like quality of the woman's monochromatic outfit contrasting against the snowfall is compelling enough, but as you scroll down to the clandestine red on the soles of her shoes the whole affect shifts from practical to provocative. I wonder what it is like to be her. I'll bet she has longing too. For pants.

This Day

"Would you tell me, please, which way I
ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"I don't much care where--" said Alice.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.

"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk
long enough."