About Me

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Five 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!

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Cats, Dogs & Little Fishes

The monsoons that graced North Texas this summer seem to have abated. [We have been having rain, rain and more rain. I may have mentioned this.] One night when I was less than a mile from home, the sky opened up as if some heavenly Hand had grabbed a zipper pull and hollered “Just kidding about the no-more-arks!” I sat in the car for at least fifteen minutes, waiting for a break. Stepped out into four inches of running water. My shoes took two days to dry.

This is a picture of sunshine, in case anybody reading this in North Texas has forgotten what that looks like. It's not the one I *want* to take, but it will do.

This is the view, looking up through the skylight at 5:15pm last Thursday.

As I walk toward the ladies’ room every weekday afternoon, I remind myself that I want a snapshot of the golden warmth that streams down from this skylight above the atrium and onto the hardwood floors. At 3:45 or so, there are a series of bright squares smiling up at me along the balcony.

I want to lie down on my back, my face drinking the light, and stay there until it is time to go home. This is impractical; I would be trampled by attorneys powered on cappuccino, paralegals dashing to the courts to file one last pleading, and a myriad of couriers anxious to complete their routes.

And the ringing of my switchboard, twenty feet away behind the glass doors, might disturb my slumbers.

The Monkey socks are done; I was minded to wear them to work yesterday with my bright red T-shirt, and they fit like a champ, but I took my second dose of diuretic rather late Sunday night, and my ankles were correspondingly swollen, so I could either fit hand-knit socks into the shoes, or feet into the shoes, but not both.

Here are two different takes. The dark ones are at the regular setting. The light ones are at the novice photographer setting. The real colors, as I've mentioned before, are somewhere between.

Speaking of somewhere between, I literally stumbled over this ball of Schaeffer's Anne, leftover from making all those teensy earrings in February and March. Notice anything?

Of the original 560 yards, I probably have 475 to 500 left. I attempted to measure via ballwinder but forgot that mine has a smaller capacity than the commercial jobbie at the LYS. I lost track around 225 yards when the light, fluffy ball I was winding started snagging on the eye of the tensioning thingie. So I have lovingly and loopily finished winding the ball by hand, and it's huge; I can just palm it.

I'm thinking Swallowtail Shawl, if I can lay hands on that issue of IK.

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