That Slushy Sound Is Just Me Drooling

… over this pattern from Knitting Lingerie Style by Joan McGowan Michael.

This is not a book I gravitated to naturally. I like my girly stuff, but I like it loose and comfortable and simple, so just the phrase “lingerie style” makes me feel kind of itchy. In the picture above, this bed jacket is pretty, but not necessarily a piece I’d want to knit—too close-fitting and gappy, not practical for real warmth. I can easily say, “ooh, aah,” then move along without a fuss. But (you knew there’d be a “but,” didn’t you?) the latest KnitPicks catalogue has a picture of this piece knit up in one of their own yarns. The model wearing it is older, with silver-grey hair (ergo seemingly sensible and not one to go mincing about in uncomfortably clingy skimpies), and the piece is larger in proportion to her body, so that the fronts can overlap easily. Now that version I could imagine knitting and wearing. (Here‘s a link. It’s just a picture of the bed jacket, not the model shot from the catalogue, which I can’t find on-line, but perhaps it will help you get the picture.)

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On a completely different note, I was lucky enough to get to see the eclipse night before last. Melissa reminded me of it, so I set my alarm clock for 2:30 and got up for an hour to watch the moon disappear. I stretched out in the back yard on a lounge chair, gazing heavenward while the cats frolicked around me. Sparky in particular was delighted that I was finally showing the sense to wake up and do something once it was dark out. He chirped and chirped, leaping on and off my lap, and gave me happy little pats with his front paws. Bea was much more discrete, settled down on the grass a few feet away and purring contentedly.

I’ve seen partial eclipses before, but to the best of my memory this is the first time I’ve been able to watch a total eclipse. I thought of earlier times when this eclipse would have been an omen of tragedy to come, and I thought of cultures where villagers might gather to bang on pots in order to scare away the invisible monster devouring the moon.

I often imagine the universe as a sort of dance: planets and galaxies spinning to a pattern and set of rules I can sense, but can’t fully grasp. I looked up Tuesday night and thought to myself “This is happening because we’re all—earth, sun, moon, every bit of matter large and small—looping about at inconceivably fast speeds. I can sit in the dark and feel overwhelmed with the mystery and stillness of this sight, but there’s really nothing still about it.”

I went back to bed to finish up my minimum-requirement-for-choerent-teaching sleep with the occluded moon a dark, brown-red disk in the night sky. The cats remained outside to continue their revelry.