365 Days Handmade

Making life a better place, one day at a time


Day 228/365: 4th Day in Florida, Last Day of The Trip

Hard to believe, but it was just this morning that Sean and I were waking up at the Hilton on Cocoa Beach and going out for breakfast at Bagel World in Cape Canaveral.  Now it’s almost midnight, and we’re back in Ventura on the opposite coast, having just gotten home from LAX.

This afternoon, Aunt Georgia taught me how to knit the fish lips kiss heel.  I wanted to take a photo for the blog and needed some sort of background for the sock.  Then I spotted the antique spinning wheel in front of the fireplace.


Perfect way to display a sock.


At the gate and on the plane, I knit a few more rounds of ribbing for the cuff.  It’s ready to be bound off, but that will have to wait for another day because now it’s time for bed.




Day 227/365: 3rd Day of Florida

Today was another activity-filled day of catching up with family and friends.  I did find some time this afternoon to add a few more inches to my sock.  Tomorrow I hope to get the heel done.


This was the view out the hotel window while I sat comfortably in air-conditioning and knitted.  Believe me, it felt a lot more pleasant indoors than it did outdoors that time of the day.


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Day 225/365: 1st Day of Florida

It’s been a long day of traveling, but we are finally here.  I started knitting a sock at the airport this morning (we were at the gate by 6 AM).  I managed to knit a few inches of the foot during the flight and meant to take a photo, but forgot.  I’ll try to remember to do that tomorrow.  In the meantime, it’s time for bed.


View of the Indian River from the front lawn of Sean’s parents’ house.


Day 10/365: Stitched


The sock model called last night for evening check-in.  He was three hours ahead in Florida.  He said, “What are you doing?”

“Sewing.  I’m taking a break from knitting.  What are you doing?”

“Oh, not much.  We just got home a while ago.  We went out for oysters.”

“Oysters!  Damn it!  I want oysters.”  I could picture them in my mind, a platter of a dozen raw fat oysters on the half shell, served chilled on a bed of ice.  “How were they?”

“Yeah…”  By the tone of his voice, Sean didn’t sound too thrilled about his experience with these oysters.  Sometimes, you just get a bad batch.  Not bad like food-poisoning bad, but just bad like bottom-of-the-barrel, end-of-the-season, so-sad-no-more-good-oysters-until-next-year kind of bad.  He said, “Remember when sometimes we’d get them, and they’d be all small, and kinda stringy and not so good?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Remember when they’d be really good.  Like that really fresh, fat kind of oyster.”

“Yeah…”  I remembered.  I waited to hear him tell me that these most recent oysters weren’t as good as the ones we used to have.  “And… ?”

“Oh, no, that’s all.  These were that really fresh, fat kind.”  Then he started laughing.  “They were really good.”

“Ha, ha,” I said.  “I’m going back to sewing.”