Friday, May 30, 2008

Random Friday

1. New job + longer commute + longer hours = less blog posting

2. I spent at least ten minutes today laughing because of toilet paper.

Every morning at my new office, when I go into the loos, there is a new giant roll of toilet paper in the dispenser thingy. You know, the ones that look like a tire? That's a lot of toilet paper. Although there are quite a few women at my office, there's no way that we can go through two of those things a day, so... what do they do with the not-all-the-way-used-up rolls? Build houses with them? Give them away as toilet paper hand-me-downs? "Here, have this. It's perfectly good, it's just... not good enough for us"?

And what does it say about me that this thought kept me occupied for at least ten minutes.

3. I have been knitting things.

These beautiful socks (The Firestarter, by Yarnissima), which I love, adore and wish that it wasn't going into the sticky months because they have alpaca content and my feet get hot very quickly. I also finished them almost a month ago now, and have managed to not wear them before I took a picture. This is Progress.



And this is the lovely Rusted Root, which I'm knitting out of the Rowan Calmer I was originally going to knit Fifi out of (the pattern just didn't appeal in the end). I am totally not getting gauge, but have been trying it on throughout. This has meant some small modifications to the pattern that probably wouldn't have been necessary had I swatched and was actually getting gauge, but it really doesn't bother me at all. I'm so very excited about finishing this one!


4. Poetry Friday

When You are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

--William Butler Yeats

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