Warm Legs in the Workplace

If there's anything I've grown fond of in the working life, it's break time. We don't have a water cooler, but those of us that choose, pull chairs into a circle with a snack, a sigh, and usually something to say. Conversation ranges from Justin Bieber's hair to the writing style of Elizabeth Gilbert to the best place to eat tacos, and usually I'm staring deep into whatever it is I'm knitting: washcloths, Ipod holders, a leg-warmer.

Yes, a leg-warmer. Just one. It was a trial run, an excuse to use all my scrap yarn, and a way to satisfy my co-worker, Clay's, incessant requests for a way to warm up his leg. After months of resisting, I took to the thing, trying to make the best of clashing colors and varied textures. This is what's fun about making something for the first time: you're both a participant and an observer of a brand new thing that probably won't be your best work, but at least you'll learn what not to do next time.

Like the first time I made a hat for my (at the time) boyfriend, I used too thick needles and too much yarn, and by the time I'd sewn the seam, the hat could've fit on a buffalo. So, I took out the seam and doubled it up. Luckily, he saw opportunity in the handmade gift and exclaimed, "I've never had a hat with a pocket before!" Oh, young love.

The day the legwarmer made it's debut, workers emerged from their cubicles to gawk and chuckle at the new addition to Clay's leg. No one could walk past without questioning his fashion, and he defended it with practiced sincerity. Soon, though, it got hot (as it does in the South), and the legwarmer began its hibernation in the desk drawer. Clay swears he'll wear it when it gets cold, but I'm not holding my breath. One, because the summer's heat is squashing any memory of winter, and two, he'll be much too cool to wear it once his book comes out in November: http://www.amazon.com/Greyfriar-Vampire-Empire-Book/dp/1616142472. (You're welcome, Clay.)

Until then, I'll just sit in the circle, learn about Lady Gaga's latest attire, and add some indigo to my burgeoning washcloth.


xxx Corrie Lynn

It Was Greek To Me...

"Could you tell me what the 'Big Beans' are please?"

"Ummmm.. They are Big Beans. In a tomato sauce."

" Oh ok, thanks."

He kindly brought me two beans (big ones) to try.

For a bit of soul restoration, a change of scenery can work wonders. I (along with my hubbie) spent last week on the northern tip of Corfu, a Greek island in the Ionian Sea, in a small apartment in the fishing village of Kassiopi.

How refreshing to amble down a main street and your eyes not meet the McDonald’s logo, or ASDA (Walmart). Instead you pass Agathi’s where Agathi herself is knitting in her chair, her handiwork draped and stacked and hung all around and her loom over in the corner. The loom is put to work in the cool and wet winter months. For now Agathi’s hands are moving like fire and on this day she is knitting baby booties (Glimpse into the future CL?).

For a treat to our taste buds we did some internet research and sought out recommended eateries. Quite of few of the restaurants and tavernas presented you with a little appetizer on the house after you took your seats. One of the most memorable was at Vitamins Taverna in Nissaki, where along with bread they served an olive pate of sorts. Neither of us are enthusiastic olive poppers but this dip was very persuasive and a helping hand across the bridge to olive adoration. I asked what the ingredients were, and with a reluctance our waitress (one of the daughters of the family owner) said a blend of dark purple olives, sundried tomatoes, garlic and little vinegar (although I’m sure I could taste a little wine). This one will really test my el cheap-o handheld immersion blender.

Although in Greece we did try our local Italian restaurant, just around the corner from our apartment. It was an absolute delight. Having only been open for 5 weeks, the chef Rocco and his English partner Hilary, welcomed us with open arms carrying homemade bread, aioli and chopped tomatoes with garlic. Quickly we learned of their worry that their first weeks in business hadn’t resulted in the numbers of customers they had expected. It could be due to fewer tourists as a result of the economic climate or maybe because their status as new kids in town just might mean it takes time to establish their reputation. Either way, they sincerely deserve to be successful, because Rocco’s food was simply beautiful and their hospitality as warm as their pizza oven.

Here are few photos of the plant life in Corfu.

This one was taken near the highest point in Corfu - Mount Pantokrator.

Lemon trees near our apartment.
A few others which to me were eye candy.

Herete!

xx Laura

Yodeling with Merle and Wylie

Last weekend I sat on a grassy hill and listened to Wylie and the Wild West at Merlefest. Black locust petals rained in white waves at the wind's whim. It was their early arrival, a triumph for the year's honey harvest. Wylie yodeled and moved his long legs in a smooth cowboy way across the stage like it was his own Montana porch. I was knitting my second set of baby booties: red, white and blue ones, with musically enamored attention.

My friend, Tony, leaned over to ask, "Do have dreams about knitting?"

I smiled, aware of his subtle way of calling me obsessed, and answered, "No, I don't think I have."

Two mornings later, I awoke with vivid images of a sweater. One I'd made in my dream. A cream color with a sheen, a loose lacy pattern. I didn't remember how I did it: the arm holes, the neckline. These are things I don't know how to do. I should've taken notes from my dream self. She has much more vision. All I remember is the way it felt, how perfect it fit. I will thank Tony for nudging my dreams in the right direction.

But about the booties: upon the successful completion of one, I stayed in stride and casted on again for the start of another. The bamboo needles were no longer straight lines. They had contorted to the weight of the yarn, and I thought I had gotten used to their slight bendability when one quick purl snapped the needle in two. It felt as if my Popsicle had fallen off the stick on a late August afternoon. Who knew the needle would break?

Tony saw my look of shallow devastation and said, "You have a Swiss army knife in your bag. Just sharpen it and make do with a shorter one."

I knew he was right. I could make do with what I had. But I decided to put the knitting away and give my attention to Wylie and the great big sun, who was coming through the trees, and the wind, who threw confetti on the big sea of us who came there to leave the unfinished alone and give yodeling a go.

Yoda-lay-heeeeee-hoooo!


xx Corrie Lynn



ps. Here's Wylie in true form. Check him out: http://wyliewebsite.com/.