This post brought to you by an intense desire to avoid the anxiety associated with rendering a rejected article asunder in order to refashion it with more contextual frou-frou and theoretical foldirol.
This blog isn’t really meant to be a chronicle of my leisure reading and my pedantic, teacherly musings on it. Really. I’m not entirely sure what it is supposed to be about or to whom I’m addressing it. But, unless you want to witness an endless parade of my knitted items and see this devolve into a knitting blog where I ramble on and on about the squishy softness of Koigu yarn, you’ll have to make do with my summer reading. Unless the husband decides to pipe up again.
And, speaking of husbands. I’ve been married to mine for eleven years today. Yes, that means I was scandalously young when I got hitched. The very first day we met, in grad school, he commented that my bike was locked up improperly on the rack outside the classroom building and could get stolen; I thought he had great legs. There are certainly worse foundations for marital bliss!