For Whom the Bell Tolls

Once again, it's September 11 and six long years have gone by. Fighting a cold, buried in work, I didn't forget.

How could I, when every morning I walk along the waterfront in Hoboken, that gaping hole still a silent testament to the lost souls. Every morning, I remember. Every day outside my building, I see the monument to the steel workers who responded, the base made of the twisted Twin Tower steel. And the glass memorial to the ICAP employees who perished that day.

Today was a gray, rainy, humid day in the New York metro area. A far cry from that incredibly glorious September day, when our lives changed in a split second. It was fittingly mournful, the weather.

A beloved friend reminded me tonight that I had pushed it out of my mind temporarily. He was there that day, just a guy who ran to help. And saw the horrors. The dead will not be forgotten. But it is the living who we need to soothe. I still cry for the widows, the children, the parents, the friends, who lost someone. I cried for them that day too, little knowing that in a few short months, I would understand loss far better than I could have ever imagined.

My friend, who stood that day in the ruins of humanity, struggling to help where he could, feels the pain of this day far more than I could. I wish I could take his pain away. But perhaps we all need to keep the pain alive.

Wretched in Roanoke

Sorry for no post yesterday. Didn't get here until after 9 last night. Let's just put it this way--I saw far more of Roanoke trying to find this godforsaken motel than I ever intended. And this morning, I'm working from my room until I go train at 1 p.m. Then it's back on the road to NJ.

I may have caught a fleeting glimpse of Dolores at a truck stop on I81, though.

More this weekend. It's been a very interesting trip, nonetheless. A curious trip back into my past, totally unplanned.

Best Quote I Heard All Day

I was a peripheral visionary. I could see the future, but only way off to the side. --Steven Wright

That's how I view whatever is to come--way off to the side, as I stump my way through life, working, knitting, and trying to find some fun where I can.

Whenever I feel a little down, I read some of Steven Wright's quotes. Puts it all into perspective.

Falling UP

I must say, after a good Spring issue, and then a fugly Summer one, the new Fall Knitter's is pretty pleasing. Designs by Deborah Newton, Norah Gaughan, Kathy Zimmermann, Penny Ollman, Celeste Pinheiro, all attractive. Carol Wessinger's dress done in Lavold's Silky Wool is a design that could be worn by almost any body shape. Not that I'd knit a dress. In fact, most of the designs are very doable, classic numbers.

With the exception of some bizarre knitted runners created by the "Knitter's Design Team."

The Design Team doesn't qualify for a wildcard spot in the playoffs, that's for sure. Give it up, team. Go do something else.

Does this connote an upward trend in Knitter's quality? Let's hope so because there really is nowhere for them to go but up. And frankly, they need to ditch the awful, endlessly boring articles and replace them with what they once had: tech articles of value. Honestly, I wasn't particularly interested in reading page after page about the new kids on the block in the knitting industry, mostly because it just went on and on and on.

And I've never been a Perry Klass fan, either. On and on and on.

Hot Legs

Well, not as hot as Joe's. But I managed to spend some time on these socks over the long weekend.

You know how fucking hard it is to take a picture of your own foot? Where the hell was Liz when I needed her?

Summer Reading
I usually leave it to Carol to do book reviews of all types but I read constantly, when I'm not knitting or working or doing something illicit.

My picks for this summer: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, and Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Keckly: The Remarkable Story of the Friendship Between a First Lady and a Slave by Jennifer Fleischner. All highly recommended. (No, I did not read Harry Potter and the Cylindrical Golden Orgasm or whatever the fuck it's called.)

The latter book is of especial interest to me, since I have always found Mary Lincoln to be a fascinating person. A harridan? Perhaps. More likely manic-depressive, which has some interest for me. This is a completely absorbing book. I'm about 50 pages into it and hooked. Totally.

On the Road
Thursday and Friday, as I mentioned in a previous post, I will be on the road for work, training in Roanoke and possibly York, PA, if I can get the manager to schedule some time for me on Thursday afternoon.

This trip doesn't mean I won't be posting. Got the laptop, wi-fi at the place I'm staying, so there will be an Open Mic Thursday. And I'm looking forward to lying on the comfy bed, knitting, watching TV, and the thoughts of the fabulous, rare and handy, free Continental breakfast that awaits me in the morning. Mmmm boy, nothing like plastic-wrapped muffins.