About Me

My photo
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!

Thursday, August 21, 2008

If you can drown a snail in a saucer of beer

Will putting out a saucer of near-beer only give it a near-death experience? I went out to the car last night to get the last chocolate chip cookie. [Still in its Ziploc bag; I’m a lot more relaxed about desserts these days, now that I’m not sharing them with a houseful of urchins offspring blessings. That mincemeat pie lasted over a week and a half, because I felt no compulsion to get “my share” of it. And this cookie has been in the car a couple of days.]

I saw a big fat sassy snail on the porch, and another climbing up the steps. I remembered the O’Doul’s on the shelf in my kitchen. So I grabbed a saucer and my house keys [to open the can; I paid good money for these nails]. And I poured a quarter of the can all over my hand and a bit more into the saucer, and got a whole lot of it on the porch. Whatever will the neighbors think?

This is what I saw this morning. Somewhere in the shrubbery there is a snail with a headache, singing the Whiffenpoof Song. So, after a good night’s sleep, I brought in the big guns. The saucer for one of my pots, and a full can of O’Doul’s.

On to happier topics. Behold: a flower.

I saw this little guy when I rolled the trash bin out to the curb Tuesday morning. So I took a picture. I couldn’t figure out how to take a good one; this will have to do. [Ansel Adams’ ghost is rolling his eyes.] I’ve never seen anything like this before. It sprang up almost literally overnight.

When I backed up the car, I spied several just like him between the tree and the driveway. And as I pulled forward on the street, I saw even more of them in front of the other half of the duplex. Enchanting! If there are any of them left on Saturday, I will pick one and take it to the nursery and ask “what is this?”

I would like to protect them from the lawnmower and move them someplace safe, once they have stopped blooming. And I want to learn about them. They are probably some sort of noxious weed that is plotting to take over the yard and come in through the dryer vent and strangle me in my sleep. But until I know that for sure, I think they’re purdy. And I hope they stick around.

When I rolled the bins back to the side of the house after Knit Night, I noticed that the flowers were opening up. I think they might be some kind of lily. Whether they are Momicidal, remains to be seen.

Second sock is cast on. First sock was done, down to the three needle bind-off at the toe, and then I tried it on the non-athletic foot, over a sock. Just enough longer than my own foot to be a good fit for Fiancé. Unfortunately, I had botched the cast-on and it was way too tight, even for his much slimmer ankles. So it is frogged, and I have begun to reknit it. I will probably not use a three needle bind-off when I finish these socks for real; I think that the fatness of the yarn will make it too bulky for comfort.

And comfort is what handknitted socks are all about. Thankfully, it was only four days’ work, and I love this yarn, so it just means more happy knitting time. And his birthday isn’t until the end of the month.


Jenni said...

Excuse my ignorance but what is the deal with near beer and saucers and snails? I guess it is better than salt on slugs, but...

Bonnie said...

Don't mock the dangerousness of the dryer vent. When Firstborn and I were children and we didn't have a chimney, I wondered how jolly old St. Nick would get into the house. Firstborn (trying to be helpful, I'm sure) told me that he would come in through the dryer vent. That really freaked me out, and since our house had been burglerized recently, I was doubly terrified of random freaks getting in the house. There has never been a kid so relieved to have that myth busted as I was when I had the talk about the true meaning of Christmas with you. At five years old. :)

All Things Bright and Beautiful... said...

Lyn - I swear there is never a dull moment on your blog - drunk snails!