The Ravelled Sleave

“Kinnear him”, says Tola. The problem is that I am only intermittently successful at photographing things I am aiming at, head-on. [That profile of the truck, several months ago, was purely and simply a fluke.] Plus, I think the flash might tip him off.

I say we wait until Middlest is home from VA. We put her on the train to BigD, she meets me at work just before quitting time, we walk to the station together, she sits across the aisle, and she gets both a decent photograph of him, and a “have you seen this man?” sketch. The child is multiartual.

She stays on the train when Trainman and I walk off and go our separate ways. She rides back to the ITC, I drive over and pick her up. We publish. The girls say, “You think he’s cute?” and all my same generation girlfriends offer to arm-wrestle me for a spot on the train.

For those of you who have no idea what kinnearing is.

My vacation day was approved. Today is my Friday, nanny-nanny-boo-boo. I went out last night and bought a pint of ice cream, a small container of red pepper hummus, and a box of generic Ziploc bags to transport these.



I am driving in, because these smell even better than they look, and I have no wish to be divested of these piggies before the farewell breakfast at 9:00.

I put almost thirty rows on Adamas yesterday. Lots and lots of knitting time. We had a support staff meeting that ran long. I knitted before it began, and I knitted some more after the paralegals were excused. It was a good meeting, and the only thing that kept me awake for the latter part was my knitting. And then, of course, I knitted at lunch and on the train.

That book I loaned one of my attorneys? He brought it back yesterday. I sent it home with Trainman. Another good conversation, this time with knitting because I’ve worked enough repeats that I can look at it and tell what to do next.



He asked what “the pink things” are. I explained the purpose of stitch markers. He thought that was pretty cool. I asked if he knew where there was a Little Caesar’s. He did not. But as I turned onto the highway from the park and ride, the first thing I saw was a billboard telling me to turn right at the next exit if I wanted pizza. So I did.

And as I flew over the train station with a car full of happy pizza smells, I hollered in the general vicinity of the train, “Hey, Trainman! I got pizza!”

Nice, nice man. Somebody help me figure out how to roll his odometer forward about ten years? [P.S. Middlest, Honey? I saw him first. Age before beauty, and all that.]