Written on Friday in between phone calls and emailed to myself at home but not posted until tonight because I'm offline at home. Posting from Firstborn's.
There is a billboard as I drive under the notorious Triple Underpass on my way to the office. It is indigo-verging-on-periwinkle with white lettering. And it says “Sleep with Fibonacci”; it’s an advertisement for Hotel Indigo. [I wonder if Signora Fibonacci would object; possibly not, as he is apparently available for $109 to $189 per night for a single room in downtown BigD, which would certainly keep all the little Fibonacci children well supplied with fettuccini alfredo.]
This morning I had time to check out their website. http://www.hotelindigo.com
Click on their “Fibonacci and Phi” tab for an interesting discourse on one application of the legacy of my secret love, Signor Fibonacci. And then click here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fibonacci
for a brief biography of the dear man himself.
It is entirely Jacqueline Fee’s fault that I am enamored of the man. In her Sweater Workshop, she introduced me to Fibonacci stripes. I have the first edition, which I purchased in 1984 shortly after it was published. I used it as the basis for several sweater commissions in the mid-80’s. And it’s the foundation of my Rust Fibonacci Sweater ~ the first FO of 2006 and the wellspring of my renewed passion for knitting.
I am in a fey mood this morning. On Friday we unlock the big recycling bins and decant our personal recycling containers into them. Some weeks it’s the only Zen moment I have, where I symbolically de-clutter my work area with the visual equivalent of a deep, cleansing breath. My coworker sent out the following reminder: “The Recycling bins are open.” I responded, “Can I put my ex-husband in there and ask for a new one?” And she replied, “You can try, but I do not think it will work, but if it does let me know and we can make a fortune.”
Oh, absolutely, just in this office alone. And I could thumb my nose at my small-but-growing 401K, because I would never have to worry about eating cat food or sleeping in the garret at one of the kids’.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!