Every year, I drag myself kicking and screaming into the holiday season especially since we've been living in subtropical climates for the past four years. It's hard to even hibernate when it's 80 degrees outside much less get all cheery and bright. One of the ways that I pre-empt this annual malaise is to be my very own 'Secret Santa.' My Secret Santa just knew that I wouldn't be able to resist a sale on A.L. de Sauveterre's Estelle cashmere at Loop. A couple of these are destined to be gifts which makes me a bit of a double agent in the Santa department, if you can follow my logic.
Orion and Hill of Tara
My secret Santa got a little out of hand by ordering a Woolee Winder for my spinning wheel last week. In order to appease my Puritan outrage at such excess (yeah, I've got Vermont roots), I agreed to line a bunch of felted bags made by Pretty Purl over on Ravelry. She brought over 19 and I set to work matching bags with various fabrics. And then she brought over 9 more. I don't know who's more OCD--her or me. But, it's quick work and keeps me from stalking our UPS guy.
I was digging through my sweater chest the other day and found this mouldering at the bottom: Death Poncho 2000! This little gem was something I whipped up after we moved to Paris in 2000. I was soooo ahead of the curve. The fug curve, that is. First, it's chenille. Never to be repeated. Second, it weighs a ton. Third, I looked like a reject from "The Prisoner" the couple of times I wore it. People stared and I'm sure I heard some sniggering, but my French is spotty at best. I thought about converting it into a throw pillow, but now it graces the dogbed.
OK, so we've got skeletons on the tree. What's Christmas without a little touch of Halloween?