Sigh.

Really?
That pretty much sums it up.
I can't say it was an indulgence, the price was very reasonable all things considered.  185 yards hand spun, hand dyed wool.  Color by my definition, amazing.  Deep, tonal shades of plum.  More Aran, than the worsted it's purported to be, bonus it'll knit up faster.  What I didn't count on, was the smell.  Vinegar, I'm sure used to set the dye.  Vinegar that I know will come out with the first blocking, but vinegar nevertheless.  A nice quick knit, just trying to plug away so I can plunge it all head long into a nice long soak, until I see it.  Two cables down it stares at me, twisting grotesquely to the left where it should be flowing gracefully to the right.  Really?  If I rip it out, I may never pick it up again.  If I keep going will it just stare unrelenting at me?  I can't gift it, because I know it's there.  Mocking me.  Am I foolish enough to believe this will be the last mistake?  Not really.  Procrastinating the inevitable.  I really should start vests for the boys.  I think the rain stopped, garden won't plant itself! Suck it up girl.  Infinitely more beauty found in doing it the hard way.

Unconditional.

She couldn't wait and admittedly neither could I.
Patience is not my virtue, Elaina is the recipient of yet another classic mom trait.
It's still her Easter dress but now it's also her Spring Picture Day Dress and possibly her "hey, it's sunny and I'm feeling oh so pretty today" dress.
Barring any massive growth spurts that would find us seeking medical attention, it should carry her through the Fall.
She'll be twirling in the leaves while wool and cashmere keep her toasty warm.

My girl.


Sugar and spice and everything nice along with a heaping dose of calculated good will and enough wile to put the Roadrunner on edge.
I love her beyond words, I guess that's what unconditional love is.  Unexplainable.
She can wear it as often as her whims lead.
Completely clothed in prayers.
I love you girl.

Eighty.

"The next time you turn 40 you'll be 80"

Words of wisdom spoken by my sister on a recent trip to Portland.

Four years ago, when I left the wine industry for small town living, we joked I was retiring at 36.  

Vowing to raise our three kids without the lights of police helicopters waking them from blissful slumber ever again.  Growing our own food, making from scratch what would normally find it's way into my cart, a new life emerged. 

Slower.  

Appreciative.

"What'd you do today?"

"Honestly?  I don't know."

Nice.

Simple meandering cables, soft lines. Grab a good book and snuggle in, uber soft merino and yes, camel.  Making our own clothes was certainly not my intention when we ventured here.   Being that I can only sew with the one brown bobbin my mom loaded on my sewing machine four years ago, I'm pretty sure it's not in my future either.  

But the extras.  

The special.  

That, I can do.  

Two inches of black angora extend sleeves of a green acrylic hoodie adorned with race car buttons.  Elijah not ready to give up on it.

Cashmere graces what will be an Easter dress for the girl. 

I will give her only my best.  

What's the next 40 hold?  

For one, finally listening to the call to start a knitting group at our church.
"I'm not 80!!!"
"They'll think I'm insane"
If I drop enough hints, surely someone else will...
My arguments and excuses falling on deaf ears, He persists, I yield.   

80 is starting to look pretty good.