Bit by bit

The rain this morning was perfect for running. Not too hard, just a teensy mist that softened every edge, the heads of the daffodils hanging heavy with water despite the lightness of the rain. They reminded me strongly of when I worked as a gardener's elf in Virginia, at a very posh horse farm. I learned to deadhead and mulch, and that I really didn't care much about growing non-edibles, but I did love to arrange cut flowers. That was as close to the posh as I ever got.

As I was making my way through my pitifully short gradually increasing length run, I was thinking about how like knitting it is. I'm nowhere near where I'd like to be, running-wise, but I'm slowly getting back to where I was before I started getting sick (over and over and over) last October. And I run on faith, that if I keep putting one foot in front of the other, I'll get to the point where running will feel effortless again.

Knitting might not ever be what I'd consider "effortless;" my brain just doesn't work that way, but if I keep stacking up stitches, then objects will keep getting finished. Not just the snowflake sweater, but things like this little bonbon, made up while Eric and I were reading out loud to each other last night. [Currently, my book is much funnier than his book.] I was asked for socks by the smallest-footed person in the house, so sock(s) I made.

Scratchy natural wool, unhappily dyed with Koolaid many years ago for trim for my now-eight year old nephew's toddler sweater. Caterina doesn't seem to mind the scratchy, as she's running around with just one on her foot right now. Better hurry for the second one.