I’ve finished my Jaywalker socks, but have been procrastinating on blocking them into shape. Yarnstorm’s horror story about washing her superwash Cherry Tree Hill socks also has me worried about any potential color-bleeding, especially since this is my first experience with the yarn.
We haven’t seen the sun for days, smothered as it has been by a thick, wooly blanket of gray. New York City in the movies never rains unless it’s to bring two would-be lovers together. Where is my swell of violins? The crashing cymbals and singing uteruses? The picturesque drizzle over a horse-drawn carriage ride around Central Park as Harry Connick Jr. croons his left ventricle out? Monochromatic weather always leaves me sullen and pensive.
I turned to my husband last night, cocking my head to the side and frowning, “Do you think you know my secret, inner soul?”
“Yes, I love your tea-drinking, manic-depressive, Gothic, Elizabethan soul.”
And this is why I married the man. He doesn’t think I’m a loon.
I’ve been following discussions about fair trade, especially regarding Starbucks and its less-than-truthful claims. According to its policy, you can walk into any of their stores and ask for a cup of fair-trade coffee, and have the baristas brew it for you if it isn’t already percolating. GreenLaGirl has been putting Starbucks stores to the test, with varying results. Here’s another less-than-visible Starbucks policy that may sour your macchiato.
I’m not as militant as my very socially conscious (and involved) sister, Adelin, but this why I prefer to caffeinate from my local tea shop. Transfair USA, which provides the fair-trade certification, has a list of fair-trade coffee retailers.
