Making Halloween

It is a blustery, wet day in New York City. If it were slightly cleaner, if the buildings looked older and the streets were still cobblestone, if we had a resident fog that took up arms in the early mornings and drifted by mid-day, one might mistake us for London. But alas, we are just New York City. Time does not stand still long enough that we could be mistaken for London. And our dreariness is without the English charm.
They are calling for a winter storm tomorrow night into Friday. Gusts of wind reaching 75 mph. That's 120 kilometers per hour, if you're in London. Either way, it sounds like I'm going to have quite the walk to the subway.
I was thinking, as I walked to the subway this morning, about the weather and how it might be trying to suit the mood of whatever project I'm working on. That is a hyperbolic statement.

But these little bowls feel so much like Autumn, that I find it hard to imagine this rainy, windy day did not belong to October. At least, these days seem to pine for October, pooling puddles and splashing streets painting out a love note for those Fall days. It's funny, how rain in the Spring, Summer, Winter and Fall can all feel so different; it's difficult to be amnesiac about your place in the calendar, although I like to try.

These little bowls are my contribution to a new Halloween crafting book coming out soon. The wonderful Alicia Kachmar, Craftress Extraordinare, is responsible for my involvement. While I have been dabbling in knitting for just over a year, Alicia seems to have been born with crafting in her blood, churning out all kinds of delicious edibles and warm fuzzies. Tactile and tasty enjoyments abound on her website.

Frankenbowl was my first contribution. While he was well-received, I think he might also be less recognizable than our dear Count, who was commissioned after Frankie was presented. Regardless of who was picked for feature in the book, they are still the best of friends.
The Count is currently drying on my table after a good hearty felting from The Doo. I've just started a round of harsh antibiotics, which means I can hand felt for about 15 minutes before I grow dizzy and tired and have to rest. Thank goodness for The Doo, who is willing to remove socks and pants and sit in the bath tub, in his underwear, rubbing and agitating The Count until he becomes the hairy monster he was always meant to be. I wish I had a picture of that hot action. That is devotion. Getting down on your hands and knees to propose marriage? Pshaw. Getting down on your hands and knees to felt wool? I'll take that any day.

I will have to post another picture of The Count, as I left him wrapped in tight, white ribbon in order to hold him to the shape of the bowl. Now he looks like the Mummy.

see?