A Quiet Evening at Home

And amazingly enough, a good night’s sleep, for which I am thankful this morning. When I went to bed last night, I had approximately half a sock done for Fiancé’s birthday present. [Fourthborn confirmed that yes, he would almost certainly like a pair. He will have to wash them himself, by hand, because she is allergic to wool, and these are not made of superwash yarn.] But no pictures until they are done and in his hands, sorry! And as soon as I turn the heel on this sock, I will have to put it in time-out and cast on for the other, until she can get me either a foot measurement or a sock size.

I just needed an instant-gratification project that wouldn’t argue with me. While I am officially enrolled in the Summer of Socks, I have not knit pair one before this, as I have been fighting athletes foot since shortly before the move, and I didn’t want to befoul a skein of hand-painted sock yarn.

I am thinking that the Chelsea Silk might do very well for the Sunrise Circle Jacket, which needs to be about 15% larger than the largest charted size in order to fit me well, and that if I can find needles which give me a gauge of precisely 16 stitches per four inches, rather than the 18.5 stitches per four inches the pattern specifies, that would do it. I like this yarn at four stitches per inch; it’s not as loosey-goosey as that first sweater, and it’s not cramped and stiff like the two back panels on my first attempt at the crop cardi from KnitSimple.

Maybe, instead of ordering fat yarn for Fur Sure next payday like I had hoped, I will buy enough of the kettle-dyed from KnitPicks to knit up the crop cardi; they certainly have some lovely colors!

Bathtub is full, stomach is empty, and recycling needs to go out. I grabbed the packet of worksheets from that “how to decide what is best for your elderly loved one” class I took; I will give them to Fourthborn tonight. [And maybe she will have those numbers I need, in exchange?] I also need to give LittleBit a deposit slip so she can give me her share of the car insurance premium.

I finally printed up a sheet of return-address labels with the new address. And the directions for the Sunrise Circle Jacket. Dinner was the last salad from Sunday night’s dinner [I had made an extra, in case their son could come with them], and some of the oven-fried sweet potatoes that I don’t remember where I got them, and a whole package of frozen spinach with a nice blob of the wasabi ranch dressing.

My thoughts are skittering around like drops of water on a hot griddle, so I will post this and look up the heel flap from the International Sock of Doom [Sock Wars 2006]. I’m driving in partway today, because tonight is Knit Night. And I need some chick time.

Kristen, thank you for your comment yesterday on grief = lungs; in my case my lungs are especially vulnerable because my parents smoked for 40+ years. When I was so cranky and frustrated with the Near Date Experience because I could not get a word in edgewise [hard to believe, but nevertheless true], I got so angry that I gave myself bronchitis. Our last phone conversation, he was talking and talking, and I was coughing and coughing. Finally I gasped, “Hang on a minute” and put the receiver against my leg until I stopped coughing. Then I told him I would call him back in a couple of days, and that when we spoke again, I hoped that I could do at least half of the talking.

It is not natural for a man to talk as much as a woman. It’s just not right.

[Oh man, I am still angry about that four years later, because typing this set off a coughing jag!] He left me a voicemail the next day, saying that after our previous conversation he saw too many similarities with his ex-wife, and he didn’t think it was a good idea if we dated. I agree. He is a good man, with a good heart, and he needs and deserves to be listened to, which I was [mostly] happy to do. But so do I.

I am going to make myself a nice healthy smoothie, and then I am going to hop in the tub and unclench my chest before the water goes cold, or I perish like Mimi in La Bohème.