Yes Pink. And migrating favorites, too

I have been wanting to try some pink for a long time. Tonight, with nothing better to do, and more time than I want on my hands I'm color meddling. If you really hate pink, you can say so, if you do it nicely. B, I know you hate it. But bear with me. I have to get this out of my system. I'm starting a pink pair of Jane's hedgerow socks in the morning. You can find them here

They will be very beautiful, even in variegated trekkingXXl in color 05. I just couldn't bare to wait any longer to start them.

I'm slowly migrating favorite blogs into groups, this so I can add thousands more. Well, more anyway. Food/Fiber Blogging is creating a huge and beautiful community that is a joy to navigate. I lurk a lot, too. I haven't had so much fun since my cousins came to California.

Ah well, I'll just tell you the story.. A bedtime story.

Once upon a time, when my Ohio cousins came to visit one year, we were all, to our parents consternation, teenagers. We ran around in a little pack by day, and at night we took to stealing peaches, apricots, and plums from our orchards, in the moonlight. We could take them back to my little study hut to eat. My study hut was very comfortable, with a rug on the floor and big picture windows. Dad liked to build things and made us all a place of our own, because he tore down big houses in Pasadena and brought home some very beautiful woods and rescued fixtures. My Psycho, gun totting daddy would also get totally freaked if he thought someone was trespassing on his "property".

One night, after he saw something moving stealthily in the shadows of the gum trees, he was certain that it was the Fresquez kids coming after HIS toolboxes or vehicles. It really was my cousins and I who were out foraging. When we saw him coming around the corner of the house with a gun, we slipped back through the moonlight and away. He soon had turned his attentions to the other part of the woods which were a good distance the other way from where we were, on the other side of the little river.

Dad was tracking something towards the back properties of the houses where the family of forty odd people lived, or so we thought. We all called these people Dad's Nemesis. We suppressed our giggling and tiptoed into the tiny house, closing the door silently. When he came by, after circling his whole property to see if the culprits had escaped down the river banks, we pretended that he'd woken us, and we'd heard nothing at all. When we were sure he was back inside the house - which was pretty far from where we were, we all sat down to our feast, and we told stories; my cousins told me stories of Ohio raids at Grandpa's farm, or the joy of getting into the silos- very dangerous to do, and sliding down the grain piles. I told them of living with a Psychotic Daddy who never slept without his gun. Kids may still entertain one another this way.