About Me

My photo
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!

Saturday, June 28, 2008

“Please hold for a very important call.”

Nope. If it’s that important, get a human being to call the office. I don’t hold for computers, unless I have made the call and am navigating the lower echelons of Voicemail Hades. When I get a call that begins with a computerized voice saying, “Please hold for a very important call,” I just hang up.

Thoughts on Noro, from partway up the second front of my kimono jacket. The colors are lovely; the yarn could be softer [but maybe it’s too tightly spun to pill – feedback, anybody?], and if you are the matchy-matchy sort, you will lose your ever-loving mind!



See? The bottom of the first front starts with a rich dark brown. [A little incredibly washed out in this photo.] The bottom of the second front starts with the ochre that forms the shoulder of the first front, because I am nothing if not frugal. I am hoping to have enough Noro left after knitting the sweater proper, that I can finish it off with an I-cord border all the way around. It will either tie together all the disparate color zones, or it will send me screaming back to some nice semi-solid or monochromatic yarn.

[Would that be considered “hair of the sheep that bit me”?]

I love how when you talk with some people, the topics just flow effortlessly from one subject to another, and neither party dominates the conversation. I had a visit like that on the train recently. We talked about the weather, organic gardening, nutrition and fitness, farmers markets, etc. He tipped me off to a couple of places I want to check out, including one where I can buy eggs laid by free-range chickens. Happy chickens lay better-tasting eggs.

I don’t think I ever want to raise chickens again; I am too squeamish to wring their necks. All our chickens died of old age and got buried deep beneath the compost pile. And then there is the matter of homicidal roosters that wanted to eat my children, and all that lovely chicken poop. I would like to have a dependable source for yard eggs. Now that it’s just me at home, and I won’t go through more than a dozen or two eggs a month, that should be eminently affordable.

“Thank you, from the bottom of my eyelids.” That’s what I told one of my friends from work, after she brought me a Coke with the change that I handed her. [Yes, I do realize that “change must come from within”; sometimes it is aided and abetted by something chilled and drinkable, from without.] I must not have gotten the protein/carb ratio correct at lunch. Because all of a sudden there I was, waking up at the scanner. Repeatedly. And it’s not that boring a job, particularly when you discover that you’re trying to save something to the wrong file because the secretary coded it wrong, and by some miracle, you noticed. And have now just saved the day, at least for said legal secretary.

I really should have grabbed a couple of hard-boiled eggs on my way out the door that morning. Eventually, I would like to achieve a proper balance of nutrients, hydration, rest, and exercise. I had no issues whatsoever when I was at home on vacation. My ankles behaved themselves, I was working like crazy and drinking lots of water, and I barely needed a nap in spite of how hot it was outside.

Now that I’m back at work? I just want to curl up under my desk and take a nap after lunch. So, some tweaking is in order. I’m still getting used to the good-for-me peanut butter. It’s grittier than the creamy hydrogenated generic PB that I have bought all my life. But as I recall, freshly-ground nutmeg took some getting used to, as well. And I used to gag when I tried to eat broccoli, and now I tolerate it fairly well. So, there’s hope.

Yesterday morning I got to the park-and-ride early enough to park under the freeway and to catch the train that gives me almost an hour of knitting time in the break room before work. How cool! When I came back home, my car was pleasantly warm instead of doing its impression of a four-cylinder sauna.

One of the nicest surprises about the duplex is the lovely breeze that blows almost every night as I step out of my car in the driveway. I don’t know if the trees make the breeze or if they just like to dance in it, but it looks pretty and sounds so restful.

In the news-from-the-tribe department, Firstborn and/or her hubby are teaching Fourthborn and Fiancé to drive. This is such a good thing! It will open up as many opportunities for them as moving to Fort Worth has done for me. I love it when my kids are willing to help one another.

2 comments:

Bonnie said...

That rooster was mean! All dad ever said was "You are bigger than the rooster, there is nothing to be scared of". That was just a technicality though, I couldn't have been more than a few inches taller than him - he was huge! And he wanted to kill Firstborn and I. I'm so glad you don't have roosters now.

Jenni said...

One of my only memories of Grandma B. is when she came to visit right before she died. She didn't laugh at me for being scared of the roosters that tried to attack my legs and feet when I had to go feed the chickens. That little tiny woman taught me to carry a big stick and yell and wave it at them like a crazy person to get THEM scared of ME. I liked that.