i got back into this album for the first time in years because of how headlock blew upacross the internet and it really reminded me why i adore imogen heap. i could listen to her music for hours and hours (+ her performances with the mimu gloves are to die for).
gophers under the front porch!
MAY 13went to the grocery and bookstores! made brownies everyone liked.
MAY 12j and i played termina for a while (finally saved samarie in-game)! made some really good pasta.
MAY 11went on a long walk with papa and saw a lottt of rabbits including one who kept running away from us a few steps forward but never to the side into the brush. papa kept talking about how good rabbits taste whenever he saw one.
MAY 10went walking by the river down by the hall. saw a dead squirrel and jumped in the air and then clapped my hands over my eyes and mama laughed at me. h taught me how to skip stones! when he wasn't looking i skipped one and it bounced a crazy amount of times. m told me she saw. saw a bunch of snails too. we went to the park with the fish we last went to when we were kids. a really nice time.
i've wanted to knit my own sweaters for ever and ever and ever. i started learning how to knit two or so years ago, and i finally felt ready to tackle it! it's not that complicated, it just takes a lot of time.
i found this pattern by starcrossedknits off pinterest a few months ago and decided to set my sights on it because i looove the unicorn tapestry and open cardigans and thought it would be fun and it is! i got about 1/8th through the back colourwork before unravelling it because i wasn't really sure how to manage floats at first and didn't want to finish the whole sweater with 10 rows of ugly floats in the background. i'm going to restart it tomorrow (may 13) and i'll upload pictures of what i have then too :-).
"For many years Cavedagna has followed books as they are made, bit by bit, he sees books be born and die every day, and yet the true books for him remain others, those of the time when for him they were like messages from other worlds. And so it is with authors: he deals with them every day, he knows their fixations, indecisions, susceptibilities, egocentricities, and yet the true authors remain those who for him were only a name on a jacket, a word that was part of the title, authors who had the same reality as their characters, as the places mentioned in the books, who existed and didn’t exist at the same time, like those characters and those countries. The author was an invisible point from which the books came, a void traveled by ghosts, an underground tunnel that put other worlds in communication with the chicken coop of his boyhood...."
