I’m knitting the Embossed Leaves Socks by Mona Schmidt from the Winter 2005 issue of Interweave Knits, using Art Yarns Supermerino in the romantically named SM115 colorway. (It deserves to be dubbed “Rubaiyat” or anything other than an alphanumeric code.)

I do love knitting with the Supermerino; at a light-worsted weight, the 100 percent merino wool is buttery-soft and pliable—almost the antithesis of the cold steel of the knitting needles. The pattern’s no slouch either. Watching the little leaves reveal themselves with every row continues to amaze me.

The first sock of Nancy Bush’s Fancy Silk Socks was finally bound off last week, but I’ll have to block it before I take any pictures. You know how lace tends to be—it’s one big, blobby mass until the alchemy of water, air, and wool works its magic. Until then, it’ll be my ugly little orphan duckling, with a bow-necked swan bursting to get out.

Comrade Chekhov, why aren’t you plowing the fields? No borscht for you.

Have you met Fred, undercover kitten and Brooklyn’s favorite son? My Chekhov is a native Queens boy and kitty defender of the proletariat. (Okay, not really, but I’d like to think so.) Anyway, he demands lubbins.

My kitchen, which is so tiny it seems like an architect’s idea of a joke, or an ironic afterthought, has a wall of tea just above the doll-size stove. There is no room for my two teapots, however, which would otherwise multiply like oversexed bunnies if it wasn’t for the scant square-footage. I love teapots almost as much as the leaves steeping within—such a simple equation of form and function working in concert to brew the perfect cup of tea. And it’s their simplicity that draws me. (I veer away from painted ladies with garish florals, overwrought pastels, or those that try too hard at being “whimsical”.) I like my teapots classic, streamlined, and absolutely mindful of their singular purpose. You can always be sure of an ordinary teapot. It will not transmogrify into something else or lay a golden egg when you’re not looking. (I cannot vouch for coasters, though, those sneaky bastards.)

Is anyone still knitting socks that aren’t Jaywalkers? I just finished the cuff of Nancy Bush’s Fancy Silk Sock (part one of two!) with gorgeous, gorgeous Fleece Artist Merino in “Mahogany”. If you don’t have her delectable Knitting Vintage Socks: New Twists on Classic Patterns (it’s well-worth the sticker price, folks), the pattern can also be found reprinted here, uh, hopefully with permission.

Does anyone dig furnishing and kitchenware catalogs as much as I do? I fish them out of our mail piles with glee, and devour them slowly like I do a good book. (Then, much to the consternation of my much-beleaguered husband, I repeat the browsing process while tugging at his sleeve, going “Lookit! Lookit!”) I plan to get a thick binder, rip out pages from my catalog collection (eeks!) and then organize those disembodied parts into different sections of our dream home. I’ve already managed to pull said husband into watching various home-improvement and decorating shows on cable television with me, insisting that we are amassing knowledge we can put to use when we buy our first house. (My hunch that his cheapskatedness would overcome his disdain for interior decorating proved correct.)

A non-sequiter: I watched snatches of Merlin on the Sci-Fi Channel this afternoon. What’s up with their portrayal of Nimue? The Nimue (also “Vivien”) of legend was what my husband calls a skankoid¹ who seduced Merlin into imparting all his magical knowledge to her and then used it against him to seal him in a cave for all eternity. None of this mushy/kissy rubbish.

¹He has also taught me words like “ASS-plode,” as in “I just ate something that didn’t agree with me and I’m about to ASS-plode.” I’m so glad we’re still discovering new things about each other after all these years.