Thursday was one of those comic-opera days, the kind where you know that major blessings must be right around the corner because of the minor annoyances that drop one by one like a broken strand of pearls. Please don’t think that I fail to appreciate the irony of having tripped on the curb as I entered the YMCA for my workout. How can it be that we fall in slow motion and think in complete sentences as we plummet? I distinctly remember thinking, “NO! I don’t want to fall down!” My shoe, the curb, and the universe had other ideas.
While I landed squarely on my bum knee, and my water bottle went one way and my reading material for the recumbent bike went another, I somehow managed to hang onto my planner and to avoid breaking my nose or anything other than my dignity. My knee is a little sanded, but no real harm done.
This was followed by some of my post-workout water going down the wrong pipe on the drive to work, resulting in coughs, hacks, snorts, and the loss of any remaining aplomb. Thankfully, I did not cough so hard that I needed to go home and change my clothes.
And then there is the matter of the cable needle that has vanished into the Bermuda Triangle between the bath tub, the bed, and the sink. I was knitting as I ran the tub. When I stopped to turn off the water, I tucked my cable needle into my waistband. When I got back to my bed to finish the row, the cable needle had dematerialized. I checked the tub. I checked the commode. I checked the sink. I checked the bathroom floor. I checked my bed. I checked the path between the bathroom door and the bed. I carefully shook out my clothing. That needle is gone, well and truly gone, like any illusion that I am in charge of my own life.
I had hoped to avoid any stiffness on Friday morning by a leisurely but thorough workout at the Natatorium on Thursday night, but when I got there the pool was empty because of lightning. There is some sort of rule that they can’t have anybody in the water until half an hour after the last flash of lightning. The pumps are outside, and if they were to be struck by lightning, well… I am thankful that they don’t want any poached patrons, though I wish I had known about this rule before I drove twelve miles there, and twelve miles home, swim-less. Still, I had to grin at least a little on the drive home. One less obstacle between me and whatever heavenly surprise is lurking out there.
It was raining cats and dogs and little fishes on Friday night. Dinner was Panda Express. My kid got home safely from her date. I let that lovely rainstorm sing me to sleep.
Pictures from lunch with the tribe, post-yoga on Saturday:
BittyBit is a real Texan; she sure loves her queso. That blur is her hand double-dipping.
BittyBit mugs with Aunt Firstborn. Secondborn was studying for next week's exams.
Lark not-mugs for the camera. I scanned the entire blog to see if I'd ever come up with screen names for her and her big sister. I hadn't. So, she's Lark, because she sings as beautifully as my girls and her father. And her older sister is now officially Willow, because she's tall and graceful and alas! not a singer. I've just recently started scratching my head over what to call BittyBit's brother when he gets here.
We will spare you the mug shots of LittleBit and me. She was clowning for the camera, and I looked like somebody had used *me* as a yoga mat!
Knitting content? How about these? Made from Schaeffer's Lola; I bought it for the greens and was amazed at how equally purple these socks are. There is some serious spiralling going on, and I rather like it. These were cuff-down, and I wish I'd made the tops longer. I was afraid of running out of yarn before I got to the toes, and I didn't want to do a short-row heel because the heel flap fits my foot so much better. I also used the more gradual gusset that I should have used on my pumpkin Gloss socks, and I really like it.
While I landed squarely on my bum knee, and my water bottle went one way and my reading material for the recumbent bike went another, I somehow managed to hang onto my planner and to avoid breaking my nose or anything other than my dignity. My knee is a little sanded, but no real harm done.
This was followed by some of my post-workout water going down the wrong pipe on the drive to work, resulting in coughs, hacks, snorts, and the loss of any remaining aplomb. Thankfully, I did not cough so hard that I needed to go home and change my clothes.
And then there is the matter of the cable needle that has vanished into the Bermuda Triangle between the bath tub, the bed, and the sink. I was knitting as I ran the tub. When I stopped to turn off the water, I tucked my cable needle into my waistband. When I got back to my bed to finish the row, the cable needle had dematerialized. I checked the tub. I checked the commode. I checked the sink. I checked the bathroom floor. I checked my bed. I checked the path between the bathroom door and the bed. I carefully shook out my clothing. That needle is gone, well and truly gone, like any illusion that I am in charge of my own life.
I had hoped to avoid any stiffness on Friday morning by a leisurely but thorough workout at the Natatorium on Thursday night, but when I got there the pool was empty because of lightning. There is some sort of rule that they can’t have anybody in the water until half an hour after the last flash of lightning. The pumps are outside, and if they were to be struck by lightning, well… I am thankful that they don’t want any poached patrons, though I wish I had known about this rule before I drove twelve miles there, and twelve miles home, swim-less. Still, I had to grin at least a little on the drive home. One less obstacle between me and whatever heavenly surprise is lurking out there.
It was raining cats and dogs and little fishes on Friday night. Dinner was Panda Express. My kid got home safely from her date. I let that lovely rainstorm sing me to sleep.
Pictures from lunch with the tribe, post-yoga on Saturday:
BittyBit is a real Texan; she sure loves her queso. That blur is her hand double-dipping.
BittyBit mugs with Aunt Firstborn. Secondborn was studying for next week's exams.
Lark not-mugs for the camera. I scanned the entire blog to see if I'd ever come up with screen names for her and her big sister. I hadn't. So, she's Lark, because she sings as beautifully as my girls and her father. And her older sister is now officially Willow, because she's tall and graceful and alas! not a singer. I've just recently started scratching my head over what to call BittyBit's brother when he gets here.
We will spare you the mug shots of LittleBit and me. She was clowning for the camera, and I looked like somebody had used *me* as a yoga mat!
Knitting content? How about these? Made from Schaeffer's Lola; I bought it for the greens and was amazed at how equally purple these socks are. There is some serious spiralling going on, and I rather like it. These were cuff-down, and I wish I'd made the tops longer. I was afraid of running out of yarn before I got to the toes, and I didn't want to do a short-row heel because the heel flap fits my foot so much better. I also used the more gradual gusset that I should have used on my pumpkin Gloss socks, and I really like it.
Or this? Did I ever show you the wisteria mitts that I made LittleBit from the leftover heel-and-toe yarn for the socks I finished in my second round of Sock Wars?
Here's a detail. The yarn is Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmerino.
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