A month ago, I posted on 12.12.12. Nothing much, but just a little scribble to mark the unique date and rouse the dusty bloggish beast. But that started a little avalanche of daily posts. 31 since then.

I don’t pretend that it’s even worthy of being called writing. Heck, there’s not really much content, so it isn’t as if I’m writing for a reader (besides my mom, Hi!). Just a daily practice. There’s no streak I’m seeking or NaNoBloMo that I’m trying to win. It’s simple proof to myself that I can no longer say I never post. A reminder to myself that I’m not a failure.

Much like knitting or making bread or running, a lot of smaller tasks pile up to make a whole that’s better than before. Something is better than nothing. Little by little, I’m getting there.

I don’t really have much to say. Better yet, I don’t want to say much. I’m typing on my phone and it’s a bit tedious to correct typos. I don’t think the same way using my thumbs, as opposed to proper typing.

Sure, I could get off the couch and walk across the room to a keyboard and compose my thoughts. Or myself. But I’m tired. It’s bed time and it’s been a long day. And I’m full of delicious Ethiopian food, and there aren’t any kind of deep thoughts coming out tonight.

Heck, I don’t even have a picture. So I can’t prove I was at Aday’s bday with Cookie A among other friends (her name for the rhyming scheme). We skipped the dancing part of the evening and had ice cream on the way to drop Sonya home.

So that’s Friday night in the big gay city. Sleep tight.

Yesterday: no run in the morning = grumpy day.

Today: run up and down the same hill 4 times, plus a longer climb for good measure = chipper day

Lesson learned: skipping the scamper may result in the day going downhill (not in the good way). Life’s ups and downs can be best faced with more practice ups and downs.

(And I thought I hated hill training.)

I skipped my run this morning to stay in bed with these too.*

Wouldn’t you?

There’s always tomorrow.

*My human bed, not the pictured dog bed above.

It has begun.

LoWo will be making us a sandwich once a month for the entire year. I bring the bread.

January was goat cheese, microgreens, wavy cukes and red onions soaked in red wine vinegar (per Martha). Served on sesame country loaf (per Tartine).

There’s talk of monthly sandwich intentions to carry us from sando to sando. These aren’t meant to be big resolutions, just a little something to carry for the next four weeks or so.

What’s mine? You’re looking at it. (Or reading it.)

For some background, see my first sandwich reeducation post.

There’s an article about Una Pizza Napoletana in today’s SF Gate. It’s about the best pizza place in the city. This is the one that inspired me in its simplicity to finally make the leap into trying to bake my own.

Although he’s talking about dough, cheese and sauce, I respect this quote from pizzaiolo Anthony Mangieri:

“It’s the same with anything. Trying to be dedicated and sticking with it. This is what you do; this is what you should be doing.”

Discipline, diligence, dharma.

I can’t get enough of Ottolenghi’s mushroom ragout and egg from Plenty (recipe online here). This is the third time I’ve made it and it won’t be the last. I kind of want to put it on any- and everything. Thanks, Stephanie for singing its praises.

As far as Sundays go, today was stellar. Last night’s frustrations with a 200+ stitch tubular cast-on were tamed and progress made on a waistband for a new project. Of course there was bread and cheese and the aforementioned dinner (which was preceded by a potato leek soup). There was a puppy playdate in the hallway. My longest scamper since the marathon happened, a great eight miles. Although I didn’t do the office work I had planned to over the weekend, I’m ready enough for Monday.

Here’s hoping for a week of getting up early to work out, leaving the day job at a reasonable hour, trying more tasty treats, inches upon inches of knitting and well-rested nights.

But it’s difficult when you cast on 230+ stitches because the long-tail is too short for the last 10 stitches. Did I mention it was tubular? And it’s twisted? And it’s 2:30am? So I’ll have to rip it out and try again tomorrow.

Above my phone there’s’s a piece of art by Lisa Congdon. It’s an old photograph of two girls, and she’s drawn and painted neon lopapeysa-esque designs across the yokes and waists of their dresses. The image is safely sewn into a clear plastic envelope with florescent pink thread.

It makes me smile every time I look at it.

The photo is adorable. The haircuts on the girls are quirky and dated. The image makes me think of past trips to Iceland and how I want to go there again, if only by knitting with lopi and a making what would become a fourth lopapeysa. The materials balance concepts of tradition, modernity, playfulness, protection, memory. As an object, it inspires me to make more things with my own hands.

A token for 2013.

Due to a torn tire and flat way back in early November, I busted out ye olde folding bike and rode it to and from work for the past two months. Even though the full-sized unfoldable bike’s tire was replaced within a week, my tangerine dream was a refreshing, upright way to commute in the rolling equivalent of a waddle. I simply toodled along to the office, not going too fast, not stressing, not concerning myself with looking anything other than dorky and taking the time it takes for the little wheels to cover the mile or so.

Having people over to the apartment during the holidays meant pretending to have some semblance of a kept house. So the toodle bike went back down to storage where it remains today. For the past two days I’ve been on my big boy bike. It feels more powerful, efficient and, if you can imagine, concise. The gearing is a bit tougher, but it would leave the toodle bike in the dust during a race.

While I was on my folding bike, I enjoyed the slow transition between my home life and office. Back in the saddle of a speedier steed, I can appreciate the more abrupt transition and thrill of getting out and away from the work day in a few swift pedal strokes. Both bikes make me smile, but for different reasons. I’m fortunate enough to have choices for what I ride to work. Neither one is superior. I’ll miss you, little Toodles, but I’m glad you’ll be there when I need to slow down.

Now if only I’d learn how to ride that unicycle….