Mossy Cottage Knits

Bra-den Your Horizons!

Note: I'm on vacation next week. Will post again as soon as possible!

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IswearIswearIswear I don't go looking for art that has to do on some level with bosoms or bosom accoutrements, but when you're on the hunt for Kooky Krafts, ya' just run into this kind of stuff.

For something completely different and perhaps not so terribly kooky (and which fer sher has nothing to do with bosoms), here is some truly whimsical jewelry made from computer chips. Don't miss the necklace made from crocheted wire .

Knitting Knews
The Sisyphus Scarf continues to shrink. I've decided to blame this phenomenon on the proximity of Mars. After all, it's just a liiiiiitle too coincidental that the closer Mars gets to Earth, the shorter the scarf gets.

Dye Garden Dyegest
In K's next door neighbor's yard grows a tall, majestic birch tree which, according to K, is the pride of the neighborhood. In quite unneighborly fashion, I have been lusting after the bark of that tree ever since we started the natural dyeing project. (I must get this lusting from my late paper-engineer father who, much to the family's collective chagrin, spent our entire visit to the Muir Woods calculating how much paper he could manufacture from one redwood.) However, the birch tree steadfastly refuses to drop broken limbs on the ground and K equally steadfastly refuses to succumb to my frequent, wheedling suggestions that it needs severe pruning.

Two weekends ago I chanced upon a rather substantial branch lying on the ground. Trying not to sound too eager (and, in fact, whistling nonchalantly at first to cleverly throw her off the scent), I asked K, "Um, where did this come from?" When she said, "I cut it from the birch tree," I whooped with delight, snatched up the branch, and scuttled off, very much like a cockroach when you turn on the lights, I'm sure, to stash it somewhere safe. While she was in San Jose (the same weekend of the obscene knitting-and-cable-TV marathon), I carefully pared the bark off the branch. (That is, after I rescued it from Frankie who insisted that she, too, had been waiting for That Exact Stick.) Behold, my hard-fought, hard-won prize nestled on the Ancient and Holy Platter of Processed Papyrus. (Isn't this where someone tells me, à la walnut fiasco, that I have the wrong part of the birch tree?)

The sad thing is, now that I have it, I don't know what to do with it.

Posted by Ryan at August 29, 2003 08:39 AM