Today tastes like . . . chocolate, chiles, coffee, and a brave new world.
I knit. A lot. Much like I breathe, and it seems like for about the same length of time. This is not strictly true--so far as I know, I began breathing as soon as I entered this world, and it took a quarter-century for me to develop an interest in knitting. My husband, no doubt, would argue that I have been making up for lost time since then.
So my friends often wonder if I ever finish anything, since evertime they see me, I'm working on a new project. (I knit a lot for charity, since to do otherwise leaves one living in a house with padded walls. A madwoman's Martha Stewart, as 'twere.) And I live in Arizona, so there are about three days a year to wear a sweater in. One sweater can last a lifetime, if it's sized correctly. Thus, there are no finished projects hanging about to be admired, and somehow, they never notice my socks.
And then, as knitting has gained in popularity/jumped the shark and people are gathering in public to knit, a knitter gets photo ops. The local Stich'n'Bitch crew went to Knit Out Night at a gallery space being opened by a member, because Nat'n'l Knit Out coincided with a local phenomenon, First Friday. On the first Friday of each month, the gritty downtown Phoenix galleries open up at night to garner some foot traffic. Downtown becomes A Destination rather than a place to work/see a ball game and go home from.
So there we were, seated on camp chairs, knitting away while the ever so self-conciously hip paraded through the gallery. I would have been clicking away trying to catch the zoo walking by--and hell, asking if I could take shots of some of the ones trying too hard, because you don't try that hard unless you want the attention. But I had no place for the photos.
And then, at another gathering, there were people clicking away with digital cams, taking shots for the web site, and one gal mentioned that she would take some photos, but didn't want to have to get them to the webmistress, and then play the popularity game to see whose shots made the cut. "Oh, we won't put Pam's up because Pam isn't really one of Us. We keep her around because she always brings the snacks, but well . . . you know, the poor dear doesn't really belong." (Feh. Do we ever really get out of middle school? That's another topic for another day.)
So here is the Lunchbox, and there are the photos, lined up on the drive, and over here somewhere is the software to get stuff from point A (drive C?) to point B (B for blog, of course, just like Sesame Street 2K says).
And here I am in the middle, hoping the string to connect the two isn't an inch too short. Photos coming soon, I hope.