Unlike Tinks’ purple bag, the top of this one is ruffled.
It’s easier to get into than the first bag, and the ruffle looks so perky when the bag is closed.
This is the last dab of yarn from my Monkey socks, and I now have almost exactly two yards left. [All but the squeal.] It might be enough for me to re-knit the moth-eaten sock, but I think I will frog both of them and make mitts, instead. I can always knit another pair of Monkeys later.
Yesterday was certainly the liveliest birthday in many a year. I had sour milk for breakfast quickly swapped for (1) another bottle of sour milk and then (2) a bottle of chocolate milk, followed by tornado sirens last night. And I rented “The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio” at Secondborn’s qualified recommendation and sat on the couch and knitted. Parts of the movie were heartwarming, and other parts were uncomfortably reminiscent of some of our own experiences. [The children’s father was not a drinker or a yeller or a hitter, but financial chaos is something we are all well acquainted with.] The mother’s reluctance to speak out against her husband’s choices is true to the time period and made me squirm for my own unwillingness to speak up, thirty-some years later. And we will not even talk about the soup.
Tonight I pickup Fourthborn and Fiancé at work and drop them at home before barreling over to Fort Worth to join the dinner group at the Main Street Arts Festival. I hope that we have better weather tonight than they did last night. [Yes, the prints are shrink-wrapped. But hail doesn’t care if it hits a plate glass window or an art glass objét...]
Much knitterly progress during the movie last night. I joined the tangerine-sized ball of splicings from Tuesday night, about three minutes after turning off the alarm and my CPAP this morning. And I grabbed another full ball of yarn, just in case I knit that up by lunchtime.
Thank you for all the lovely birthday wishes. I will photograph what my talented and creative sister sent me and get that posted soon. She has a talent for surprising me, and always in a good way.
- 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!