So I have been knitting again—and accomplished something—2- 2.5 (almost) inches more added to my indigo blue denim socks. I have the bluish finger tip to prove it! --Indigo is never color fast—the dye will rub off onto needles and your fingers as you work. In my case, it's also not even. But its OK, since I like the slight irregularities of the color—small patches are almost white, other are much darker—the knit socks have a worn (stone washed) look to them- already.
They are pretty plain looking now—and will remain so until I start adding some contrasting 'top stitching' –the patch pocket, will come last—but just getting some rounds added is some progress.
I've been writing too—stuff that will show up in a week or so on my web page. It's still being edited, formated, and completed.
As a child, I thought that would be my life's ambitions—not just to write, but to be a to be a famous writer. I had now idea what I would write about, but what ever it was, it was going to make me rich! Certainly there would be books of poetry (and while I do occasionally write a poem, but there isn't enough for a booklet, let alone a book!) and fiction, and learned tomes.
I envisioned my self in a high mountain aerie—in splendid isolations—I think, I could live alone in a mountain area—though I have never done it. But my high rise apartment is something of an aerie—and the NYC skyline is different, but as majestic as a mountain range.
At that point in my life, I had never seen real mountains—even as a child I knew the mountains I saw (from Bear Mountain, to other unnamed peaks in the Appalachian chain) were not quite up to par with the rockies.
As an adult, having traveled cross country, I am still, a dozen years later, in slight awe in the memories of west. There is so much I love about NYC, I really don't think I would want to live anywhere else—but it would be wonderful to be able to spend time in Wyoming—in real mountains—on a regular basis.
I think about 'monetizing' this blog—and would in a heart beat if I thought it would provide me with a mountain hide away in Jasper! Childish dreams aside, I am quite happy just to look over my left shoulder as I sit here, and catch sight of distant glimmering lights, that wash out all but the brightest stars in the sky, and write, not to be rich and famous, but to my hearts content.