Things are Looking Up

Snow. My thesis. Laundry. Art. It's a good life.
I want to blog more, but I am tired.
However, last night was the first night of our Knit Night club. We don't have much of a name yet, and three of our members (who do knit) were not knitting last night.
So, in honor of all that, here is a link to our two favorite Knitting Web Sites Ravelry and Knitty. Sorry that Knitty doesn't have a logo I could re-post here.


Also, a new fantastic poem I discovered by Emily Dickinson, about snow, and filled with laundry images. What is not to love about "It ruffles wrists of posts"?

It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain,—
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem,—
The summer’s empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen,—
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.

(Thanks to Bartleby Great Books Online.)

Thesis Prospectus Approved!

With reservations - of course - but still!!

I've heard from my Dean today and as soon as my potential advisor gets back to town, I could be in business. I guess I better get down to business. This blog could get very interesting very soon (she says hopefully and with much trepidation!) Here's the working title: The Sock of God: Evolution of Domestic Imagery in American Poetry in the Second Half of the Twentieth Century. But, which poets???? Here's the Stanford bio for Al Gelpi - who, from the look of this bio, might be just the guy for me!

And here's a photo, just for inspiration - one of my heroes -- Anne Sexton. It's her poem, "Snow", from which I derive my title, "the sock of God."

Oh, and what the heck, here's the poem.

Snow

Snow

Snow, blessed snow,

comes out of the sky

like bleached flies.

The ground is no longer naked.

The ground has on its clothes.

The trees poke out of sheets

and each branch wears the sock of God.

There is hope.

There is hope everywhere.

I bite it.Someone once said:

Don't bite till you know

if it's bread or stone.

What I bite is all bread,

rising, yeasty as a cloud.

There is hope.

There is hope everywhere.

Today God gives milk

and I have the pail.