Fresh Paint
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Evening Report
The sweater, "Sonnet", is knit, but not yet put together. Tomorrow must get 5 little buttons, too. Beginning to feel the twitch already, the not knowing what to knit next. With my latest obsession about cold feet, I should do socks.

The last socks I knit were many, many years ago, out of a wonderful gray French wool, for my father, who also had cold feet. He didn't want to "ruin" them by actually wearing them, until we indicated we were offended, so he wore them over a pair of thin cotton socks, not wanting to get the "good" socks dirty. They came back to me after he died, and I've been treating them like "good" socks too. I should dig them out.

I know that sock-knitting has become a frenzied obsession on the "interknit", so I should be able to find some good patterns. If not, I have some old ones from about 1960, and some even older from my sweater books, the ones with pictures of college girls sitting on beds eating apples and playing 45s and wearing bermuda shorts and knee-his.

Note for tomorrow: left my notebook in car, but did a little beach drawing. Only interesting thing was how shadows from trees projected onto sand, and the color change from near pure lemon ochre (of sand) to blueish violet (of shadows from trees), then moving off to a humid gray/blue sky with flat-bottomed clouds decorated with pink from the setting sun (I was there around 7:30 pm).

But since I'm in my nightgown and still dripping from a shower, won't go out and get it.

So to bed, and onward to tomorrow and a new day of political follies and art nuttiness.

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