Je Ne Sais Quoi

What is it about the French? When I was about 11 or 12 my uncle had a French girlfriend, Fabian. She would arrive from New York for a weekend visit with just the shoes on her feet and an overnight bag the size of my wallet, but out of it she would pull the makings of a stylish ensemble for every possible situation. She was a fashion "MacGyver"! And I would study her like a science project making mental notes to myself when she arrived at the breakfast table each morning. Nothing fussy. Understated, but undeniably fashion forward, yet never trendy. I wanted to be Fabian when I grew up.

Alas, I was doomed. I grew up in the age of Madonna's Like A Virgin phase. Big hair, parachute pants, linebacker shoulder pads and stirrup pants. Plus, besides Fabian, my other fashion icon was Barbie. I didn't stand a chance. To this day I start out at my closet door with the best of intentions and end up in whatever's clean and comfy (T-shirt & Jeans, T-shirt & Jeans, T-shirt & jeans.) Or the other extreme. I don't know which is worse.

Even with my knitting I always plan on opting for a yarn that's as high quality as my budget allows, in a shade that compliments the stitch pattern and design, but then I actually see the yarn display and ooooohhh that hot pink really catches my eye and wouldn't it look great with some purple metalic lurex at the edge and maybe some rhinestone buttons or beading? Yes, perfect!

So today as I was killing time waiting for the 110th load of laundry to finish in the dryer which is now making an exhausted squeaking noise and I decided to go see how Francoise's vacation went over at Knitwise. She posted pictures of her newest cast on, the Valenciennes cardigan, which is exquisite and naturally from a French pattern. From her site I linked to Le Blog de Caro, which I had never visited before and decided to check out her gallery of finished projects. All of a sudden I was 12 years old again, sitting at the breakfast table with Fabian, feeling utterly inferior in my neon plastic bracelets with an oversized lace bow in my permed hair. Caro's work was all clean lines, rich, but muted hues and delicate edging. *sigh*

So now I want to be Caro when I grow up.
For now I've installed a Babel Fish translator on my sidebar. We can just click on the French flag to translate this page and make believe I'm French. My description of scabies is Much more romantic that way, trust me.