In the Very Last Box

The original title for this post was “@#$%, and you may quote me”. I fired off a crankygram to the YMCA from Secondborn’s computer on Thursday night. They were supposed to stop debiting my account effective the middle of May. And they hit me again on Tuesday, which caused me $105.00 in NSF charges. I was livid! [And more than a little bit panicked.] I left the CEO and the Finance person my cell phone number and a request that somebody call me on Friday.

While I was stuck at home Friday morning, waiting for the Phone Dude, I got a call from a very nice and most apologetic young woman at the Y. She assured me that they would promptly refund my fee, and if I could show them proof that their debit caused my bounce fees [which I could], they would refund those as well.

I dashed over to Secondborn’s after the Phone Dude left, printed off my proofs, and drove back to Arlington. Ordinarily they only cut checks one day a week, but they expedited mine, and it is deposited safely in my account.

Whew!

It is lovely doing business with people who acknowledge their errors and repair them graciously. I am much relieved.

Referring you back to the title of this post, in the very last box, underneath four Rubbermaid storage bins, in the far corner of my studio.



My very best, most favorite knitting books.



Including the one I was looking for, so I could try the Noro in the border that was the reason for buying said book in the first place.

How did I celebrate? Like this.



The bathroom is all unpacked; the shower curtain and liner are waiting in the bottom of the tub. I will go back into that closet when I can get to the box that holds my shelf organizers, and then the contents will be tidy, instead of merely stowed.

Now this? This may look like an ordinary, mild-mannered empty quart yogurt tub, ready for its swan dive into the recycling bin.



Looks can be deceiving.



This is will be my first contribution to the compost pile, once I can get to the garden center to pick up something that says “This is a bona fide compost pile, not some random container that I forgot to throw away.”

And this? Utterly enchants me. I’m not sure that I can capture it with my camera, but the sidewalk flares out to match the width of the steps.



I tried from both ends of the sidewalk.



Veering off on another tangent. Can anything be better than a latte cup full of sliced banana, with a reasonable portion of blueberry almond granola as garnish? Unless, perhaps, the last of the strawberries while waiting for the butter to soften. I bought some millet bread at my last foray into Central Market, and I absotively, posilutely love it. It’s full of whole-grain goodness but doesn’t taste like something that is good for you. I adore sneaky food like that. Particularly with the thinnest schmear of real butter.

It is going to be hard to go back to work next Monday. I have really enjoyed my vacation, even if I have spent the bulk of it working my tail off. I’ve also read the June “Ensign” [the church’s magazine for chronological grownups] and the July “Real Simple” and am halfway through the photo-biography of MFK Fisher that I bought in Santa Fe ten years ago. And then, of course, I finished the Flared Lace Smoke Ring; I showed you proof of that yesterday. So in spite of the heat and the bone-weariness, I wound up a cake of goodness from this, the Gloss Lace in Mermaid [50% wool, 50% silk] to cast on Mim’s Juno Regina.



Two lace projects in succession. What am I thinking?

Friday in the kitchen I turned this



and this



into this



and this.



I am getting antsy to fire up the stove and actually *cook* something. Maybe I should go sit and knit until the urge passes...