This arrived last week:
This is the thing with me about Elizabeth Zimmermann. So many people are devoted to her for her engineering genius, but while I did enjoy the mysteries of her baby surprise jacket I love her for her writing. Such a great voice, such a perfect command of the English language and all its grammatical ticks! She could write about sprockets and I'd buy her books.
There were many danishes on my holiday yesterday, but at the much-closer-to-home bakery than the pineapple danish source (we chose raspberry danish, blueberry cream cheese danish, chocolate croissant, sugar-topped brioche) plus a luxurious lunch from the Posh Grocery (turkey and avocado wrap) and No Carol (she kindly allowed me to reschedule till Friday, but I am still seeing her this morning so I will in fact be doing penance for the pastries in about an hour.)
I started the cowl to match Carol's hat:
That's what I call Knitting Without Tears - but I still need a fix for frogging without tears, because I still seem to be doing an awful lot of mournful frogging and reknitting. Is this a reflection of my absentmindedness, or my growing patience in striving for perfection? I must say I'm more conscious of the former than the latter.