Yarnz. [No, you don’t have to be 50 to play.] Addictive.
I am almost back to the point where I stopped and frogged the Flared Lace Smoke Ring. Last night I moved half a bajillion boxes and curled up on the couch with my knitting and Sense and Sensibility. Why would anybody be content with Hugh Grant when they could have Alan Rickman? Those eyes. That voice.
Today I’m packing and getting the oil changed on Lorelai and packing and catching up the laundry and packing and going to see the new Indiana Jones movie with BestFriend and packing and knitting and packing.
The laundromat opened 20 minutes ago. [Guess I’d better get packing!]
This would be the day for you to stock up on boxes of tissues, seeing as it is not-the-Sabbath. I have a link that I want to share tomorrow, and it made me seriously weepy [in a good way] when I read it yesterday.
Talked with my friend who owns the duplex, and the fix-it stuff will be underway next week. I am going to wait until after I move in, to repaint the rooms. I want to live in it awhile and see what the light does, and how the house feels, and then I'll just scootch things to one side or another and work around them. I can move everything but the bed, all by myself. And my room will probably be the last to be painted.
One week until LittleBit graduates. Two weeks until the move. Seminary graduation, which we thought we had missed last Sunday night, but it was only the choir rehearsal, is tomorrow night.
- 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!