Hot Steam
Mostly I'm pretty happy to be in Pittsburgh, which is a place that's been very good to me, and sometimes I'm even glad to be out of California -- there was all that hooh-hah with the governor, for instance, which was Sad and Dreadful -- but sometimes I open up the morning paper and am damn sorry to be gone. Oh, San Francisco. How I do miss you sometimes.
But we're not in San Francisco today, we're here -- and indeed it's a lovely day, and though we're clearly missing a Real Big Party, we're having chicken with raspberries tonight. So. Good enough.
Pictures tomorrow, I think, of the "Cul-de-Sac" vest, which is coming along nicely. Knitting with wool-and-silk is lots more fun than knitting with silk-and-cotton, and especially cotton-and-cotton -- the latter two are like knitting with string; silk-and wool is not quite like knitting with string. Though it borders on knitting with string, it's not entirely there. It's got a bit of class.
Therefore, I do recommend Lavold's "Silky Wool," for it is a fine yarn, and beloved by me.
You do NOT want to be trying to get definition with it though, as that will not be happening unless maybe you knit it up at some really small gauge, small enough that you permanently cripple your hands. So don't.
Last -- it's bits today, you'll have figured out -- I have tracked down our buddy Steve, who appeared in the comments from the last entry, warning us of yet another Dreadful Southern Spirit of the other world besides the ones my Dad was telling you about -- The Hot Steam.
I have to tell you, I have never heard of The Hot Steam by name, though I have met it in person -- it's what happens -- Steve has been told by his wife Martha -- when you're walking down a Southern street on a cool summer evening and you run into a pocket of hot humid air, no bigger than a person.
Well. This has happened to me before but I thought I had encountered Weather; I had no idea it was a Spirit. Not a ghost, I'm careful to say, on account of I learned from my father all about how the ghosts are all hanging out in the briar patches in the graveyards. So. Some other sort of spirit. Called The Hot Steam.
Ok.
I almost hate to ask this -- cause I know some of you are now going to tell me -- but are there any other Southerners out there who have heard of The Hot Steam by name, and knew it to be a Spirit and not a Weather?
Cause I have to say here that I think Martha might have been joshing him.
Oh, wait. I just thought of something. Let me ask you, Steve. When you passed through The Hot Steam, were you walking over A Grate In The Sidewalk?
Just asking, that's all. Just asking.
But we're not in San Francisco today, we're here -- and indeed it's a lovely day, and though we're clearly missing a Real Big Party, we're having chicken with raspberries tonight. So. Good enough.
Pictures tomorrow, I think, of the "Cul-de-Sac" vest, which is coming along nicely. Knitting with wool-and-silk is lots more fun than knitting with silk-and-cotton, and especially cotton-and-cotton -- the latter two are like knitting with string; silk-and wool is not quite like knitting with string. Though it borders on knitting with string, it's not entirely there. It's got a bit of class.
Therefore, I do recommend Lavold's "Silky Wool," for it is a fine yarn, and beloved by me.
You do NOT want to be trying to get definition with it though, as that will not be happening unless maybe you knit it up at some really small gauge, small enough that you permanently cripple your hands. So don't.
Last -- it's bits today, you'll have figured out -- I have tracked down our buddy Steve, who appeared in the comments from the last entry, warning us of yet another Dreadful Southern Spirit of the other world besides the ones my Dad was telling you about -- The Hot Steam.
I have to tell you, I have never heard of The Hot Steam by name, though I have met it in person -- it's what happens -- Steve has been told by his wife Martha -- when you're walking down a Southern street on a cool summer evening and you run into a pocket of hot humid air, no bigger than a person.
Well. This has happened to me before but I thought I had encountered Weather; I had no idea it was a Spirit. Not a ghost, I'm careful to say, on account of I learned from my father all about how the ghosts are all hanging out in the briar patches in the graveyards. So. Some other sort of spirit. Called The Hot Steam.
Ok.
I almost hate to ask this -- cause I know some of you are now going to tell me -- but are there any other Southerners out there who have heard of The Hot Steam by name, and knew it to be a Spirit and not a Weather?
Cause I have to say here that I think Martha might have been joshing him.
Oh, wait. I just thought of something. Let me ask you, Steve. When you passed through The Hot Steam, were you walking over A Grate In The Sidewalk?
Just asking, that's all. Just asking.
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