About Me

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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!

Friday, June 15, 2007

The Princess and the Pe[e]

Seven pounds. That's how much I lost in 48 hours last weekend while gaining a whole new appreciation of the phrase “like a racehorse.”

I went to Knit Night on Tuesday just long enough to give G back her Twin Peaks shawl pattern so she could loan it to another Sister of the Wool. The consensus, more kindly delivered than it looks in print, was that I looked exhausted. I was. I'm still on the low end of the learning curve in terms of how much fluid I need to drink to keep my kidneys happy and my wrists and hands unpuckered, without waking every two hours to step into the loo.

One of my attorneys remarked just before I left the office that day, that I looked flushed and possibly feverish, or maybe like I'd just had a Real Good Time. I smiled wanly at her and told her I like my job, but I've never liked it *that* much.

I have yet to pick up a small fan for my desktop at work. So ironic when for the nearly-six years I've been working there, I've had to wear a sweater at my desk in high summer. You can hang meat at my desk. I've managed to get through the change [knock wood, I think I'm there] with nary a hot flash. Frostbite has been a greater risk.

Still, I have basically good health, and all my original parts except tonsils, gall bladder, and wisdom teeth. And for that I'm grateful. Reading Annie Modesitt's blog will give you an appreciation for whatever is going right in your own life and put the rest of it in perspective.

Here's a closeup of part of the button collection and the chicken that my sister made for me.


Middlest found this box for me at a yard sale summer before last.


And I bought this little chickadee at a drugstore/Hallmark shop owned by the father of one of my high school classmates, with my very first big-girl paycheck. [The Gunne Sax dress is long-gone, as is the turquoise and white alabaster chess set from Mexico that I found at what was probably a very discreet head shop run by two guys who always seemed more interested in my boyfriends than in me. But I digress.]

A joke from one of my happily-married friends: The Broken Mower

When our lawn mower broke and wouldn't run, my wife kept hinting to me that I should get it fixed. But, somehow I always had something else to take care of first, the truck, the car, playing golf - always something more important to me.

Finally she thought of a clever way to make her point. When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. I watched silently for a short time and then went into the house.

I was gone only a minute, and when I came out again I handed her a toothbrush. I said, “When you finish cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway.”

The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a limp.

Moral to this story: Marriage is a relationship in which one person is always right, and the other is the husband.
So what have I been doing this week, other than the obvious? Knitting on the Not Blue Sock. Which, I fear, is headed toward the frog pond. Nothing wrong with the yarn. Nothing wrong with the pattern. But as I was completing the heel turn, I realized that this part of the sock is just too *airy*; I need to find some 00 and/or 000 Addi needles. The toe is a nice grist, and somewhere I've loosened up, or maybe the yarn is emulating my ankles and getting imperceptibly smaller.


[A little out of focus, but then it's dark-thirty, and so am I.]
I called my favorite yarn shop yesterday. She doesn't carry Addi's that small but told me of another shop that might and offered to swing by and pick them up if they did, as it's by her house. [See why that's my favorite yarn shop?] But I was tapdancing on the cusp of can't-think-gotta-pee and incapable of making a decision.
Just as the sock that I didn't even touch yesterday is Not Blue, this is Not A Shotglass. Fourthborn and Fiance just came back from Orlando. She won a trip last fall at Wizard World, the comic book convention. LittleBit was talking with her via cell phone, wheedling to know what her souvenir would be. I hollered that she should bring me back a pirate, and that was even before seeing Pirates III.

This, me hearties, is a Pirate Button Holder, posing with more obedience in the emergency preparedness department, and as soon as I decide which buttons to stock it with, it will join the button collecton on the bookcase in the dining room. Or I may just put it in my bedroom by the sewing machine, and then I wouldn't have to explain to any of my church friends why I have a button holder that looks like a relic from my former misspent life.

I had a coupon for $5 off on name-brand first aid stuff, and another for $4 off on a $20 purchase. I spent both of them yesterday while picking up LittleBit's prescription. And while you can't really see it in the photo, on top of the facial tissues is a bundle of nice-quality washcloths that I scored with a 20% off coupon at the place where I got the guest towel last month.

I still have another 20% off coupon for there and one more for the pharmacy, which I'll save until I go back to refill Mr. Mobic.

Last night we went to the scrapbook store and picked up the book for LittleBit's senior scrapbook. She wants to put in her pictures from Girls Camp and the ones she'll take next week at choir camp. I got a miniature license plate from my home state and a sleeve of stickers to give one of the attorneys at work who is moving out of state the end of next week. I'll miss her farewell party because I have a prior commitment.

Last night we also went out for TexMex with Firstborn and Hubby and dragged along one of LittleBit's JustFriends. Nice kid. Then Firstborn and Hubby picked up Fourthborn while the others and I did the scrapbook shopping, and we all met up at Firstborn's house for root beer floats and Jon Stewart and [girls only] a nice soak in the hot tub, stinky boys unwelcome. I poached for a good ten to fifteen minutes and thawed out a knot in my upper back.

*Very* glad I didn't strangle that child when she was fifteen!
I don't know what to do, knitwise. The hoodie is stalled until I get the pieces blocked and sewn together. The pink socks are frogged. The blue sock is frogworthy. I'm not in the mood to haul out the Elann Crop Cardi.
Maybe I'll just throw my trusty copy of The Screwtape Letters into my tote.

1 comment:

Jo at Celtic Memory Yarns said...

Screwtape Letters, YO! Elann Crop Cardi - needs a good day, like a REALLY good day in your life.

(Been there, done that, got the permanent scars... But the cardi does look stunning when finished.)