Flakery.

We had a visit last week from an old friend who had never seen the Pacific Northwest, so of course we showed him the sights, which is an excellent excuse to see them again, ourselves.

We witnessed the beauty of our lovely state:

Photo credit on this one goes to The Lady.

We witnessed the pooches trying to save their favorite person from what they believed was certain death:


We witnessed a grown man being pushed around a Seattle city block in a pink Powerwheels Jeep, by another man (also full grown) singing Prince's "Kiss". He's learning the lyrics in this shot:

Which I hope you will take as sufficient evidence that no one involved was remotely sober, including the photographer. Said photographer, however, managed to fall into bed afterwards and knit a full repeat on the Baudelaires, which should itself be taken as sufficient evidence that this pattern is way easier than it looks. Possibly the highest beauty-to-difficulty ratio yet, narrowly beating out the Child's First Socks.

Back in Portland, however, I have evidence only of the fact that I am a terrific flake:

Endpaper, missing only a thumb, Baudelaire, waiting patiently to be bound off, aaaand... Rusted Root, cast on yesterday. I wonder if the ladies of the liberation front will allow me into their ranks with only 99% of a sock?