Weekend of endless ends.

Pear and Ginger Cake. From Fresh.

Some old friends M + T, who live in LA now and I get to see, oh, about once every two years were in town for about three and a half hours on Friday afternoon.

So I baked a cake.

Which is unusual for me- Goat's usually the baker par excellence in this household.

I quickly wrote out a shopping list, glad that Beurre Boscs are in season, and even though I ended up with out eight times as much almond meal as I needed, we only had half the amount of baking powder. Bugger. Had to improvise. This and the fact that we're still learning to drive our 'new' oven means I was a tad concerned it was going to turn out to be a Pear and Ginger Pudding. Which wouldn't be so bad I guess.

Not only that but as I was folding the batter (Goat also taught me how to do that, apparently I used to be a basin-basher), I also started fretting about how I was going to break it to T that I really didn't want to see his latest film as it's full of shouting bare-chested men. Gerk.

"Oh look, maybe it just won't come up" I reassured myself as I slid the cake in to the oven with fingers crossed.

I wonder if Martha Stewart had this much stress to deal with.
No wonder she turned to insider trading.

So anyhow...
Quick trip to the AGNSW today. Straight past the Archibald (the Lucien Freud look seems to be de rigeur these days), and up the stairs to the Howard Arkley.
for a retina-stimulating interplay of solids and obsessive patterning.

No knitting this weekend, merely the weaving in of about thirty six ends (I wasn't actually counting, but it actually felt like a hundred and thirty six.
Don't get me wrong, I started out all excited by my new ends-weaving tutorial in the Spring Knitscene. It's all about the diagonal. I'm amazed. Well, amazed for about the first four. After that it loses its appeal somewhat. After about twenty it's strictly for the birds.
I actually wove in the last one this afternoon. That means Ultra Raglan is finished except for a quick block of the neck, and that my life suddenly has no meaning.

The UR as a mass of knitted yarn, unworn, sitting on a chair certainly does seem to have magnetic qualities. T + M both grabbed and fondled it,oohing and ahhing, asking what kind of yarn it was, debating its precise shade ("Thai Sunset" was one suggestion...personally I'm sticking with Red Oxide), and dropping real subtle hints for future gifting. As in "I'm a 44 Long".

I blame it on all the sugar from the cake.
Which, by the way, was delicious. Even if I do say so myself.