In the mini-park across from the office, two pigeons bathed in the grimey water that trickles down the wall. Some call it a fountain.

An uncharacteristically warm day, for birds and humans alike.

Dinner of a bachelor: canned lentil soup, frozen grilled asparagus and roasted seaweed. Not that exciting tonight. But after three very social evenings, a simple, if culinarily uninspired, evening at home was welcome.

Janie and I sat on the couch as I knit. It’s rare to enjoy a weeknight multiple-hour block of needle time. Elizabeth Gilbert hung out with us, reading Eat, Pray, Love. Funny how the book is different two years after my soul-searching sabbatical and so many changes in my life. We didn’t make it out of Italy, but there’s always tomorrow night.

C comes home from Portland on Saturday. The house feels empty without him, but there have been a few perks to shaking up the routine and being forced to be self- (and dog-) sufficient. The TV hasn’t been turned on once. I’ve seen old friends. I choose what to do next.

Like tonight.

The highlight of my Monday: a box awaiting my return home. It’s like a ballet slipper, only horrifying.

We are already into tomorrow and I need to go to bed so I can grab breakfast with my friend and former roomie, Seanie. I’ll keep this brief.

Enjoyed an afternoon at A Verb For Keeping Warm with the visiting Angela, and other sock campers: Leslie, Celia, Marisol. Lunched with Kristine and got to chat with Adrienne and Mike. I miss being social, an especially fiberly so.

The night ended with two batches of salted caramels. One’s already been wrapped in parchment paper, the other’s sitting in the fridge overnight and will be cut tomorrow. If you see me, I may just have some to share. I can’t eat them all!

(I’m off to bed, so please forgive the lack of linking. Not patient enough to code.)

Thursday, August 6, 2009. The first day of classes at Sock Summit. The fear and excitement and magic of the unknown.

I can honestly say that event changed my life. I had no idea what those next few days would mean to me. I am beyond grateful to have been a part of the entire experience.

Who knew that 365 days later I’d be here. Thinking about the future. About being bigger than I believe myself to be in my day to day. Again. About taking on an even bigger adventure? Or two.

Thank you, Tina and Steph.

I woke up this morning with a stiff, aching thumb. I’m sure it’s from last night’s knitting—a casualty of 2.0mm needles and yarn intended to be on slightly bigger needles. (what can I say? I like a dense gauge in my socks.)

It’s not like I’ve been overdoing it, rather underdoing it, so that an evening’s work has me off my game. I’m just not hitting the wool as often as I used to. As I’m “getting back into shape,” I expect there may be a few mornings of exhausted digits.

Why so little needle action? It hasn’t been a drought (although there have been days at a time where it’s just work, dinner and bed). More like intense bursts.

There’s not too much I can share at this time, but once they are released into the wide world, i.e. published, I’ll be popping them up here. Instead of regular, casual knitting, it’s been purpose-driven completion. Great stuff, if I say so myself.

I look forward to some meandering, non-deadline, non-thinking knit time later this summer. That’s still a garment or two away. Until then, it’s time to test my thumb. I don’t want to take a night off, especially as there’s a matching partner that hasn’t even been begun.

The life of a tortured artist? Nope, just a very grateful-to-be-creating guy with a funky finger.

Granted, it’s only been three practices and a Sunday afternoon working on skills independently at Berkeley (pictured), but my return to the pool feels like a return to myself. I’m not recommitting to joining the synchro team forever and ever, but I know it’s good for me. Or better than what I’ve been doing.

There’s something about that first dive in#&151;the deafening rush of water and air as you break the surface followed by the dulled silence underneath. Supported, life doesn’t feel so heavy. My mind isn’t thinking about the upcoming workout or the preceding workday’s stress. It’s a transition between then into the now. (Sometimes made even more “now” if the water’s super chilly!)

I’m not in the same shape I used to be in. I’m not able to do the same moves. I’m learning the beginners’ routines and just trying to have fun.

This was just packed this morning in Port Ludlow, WA. It’s now sitting downstairs in the kitchen as I lay me down to sleep with my little doggie. I’ve got to unpack & repack it tomorrow morning to get my butt across the country and into the one just north.

Toronto, here I come! Rumor has it I’ll be hanging at Lettuce Knits tomorrow night. Another rumor has it that me and my office girlfriend / colleague will be traveling to Niagara Falls as part of this work trip! It’ll be just like Superman 2. I only hope that I’ll be a healthier version of myself.

I got to wear Brian’s Sunday Socks, from his 14-socks-at-once-on-one-giant-circular-needle quest (now finished):

I think, when push comes to shove, that this is probably my favorite sock. I love all of them, but because of the sentiment attached to this sock, it holds a special place in my heart. The yarn is Zitron’s Trekking Maxima and is actually the most conservative of all the color ways used in this project. The stitch pattern, however, is what makes this sock so special. I decided to make this sock in memory of my father, who was a minister. The pattern is based on one of his favorite scripture verses. “I am the Vine, you are the Branches”. I don’t think I’ve ever made so many bobbles!

what better place to wear ‘em but at sock camp? Go check out his photos and stories of all 7 pairs.

Alas, my iPhone ate a post about pausing and being still in the middle of a crazed life. Hence, this pale imitation of a rewrite. As the Sock Campers were scavengering around, Debbi shared a bottle of Chardonnay with me. It was just us and our knitting looking over the beautiful Ludlow Bay.

How often do we stop our daily grind to enjoy what’s around us and be still – even amongst chaos? It wouldn’t hurt, but nor would delicious bottles of wine!