So, it was raining yesterday. And my $3.24 umbrella turned out to be worth about what I paid for it. I pushed the button. It went up ~ sortof ~ and refused to open completely. Thankfully, I have a hood on my raincoat. But that meant once I got to the office, my first trip was to the loo with my pick and my hairspray to attempt to resurrect my spikes.
Wish I could show you the knitting that got done on the train into Dallas. And during my breaks and lunch hour. And on the train coming home. Not so much on the train going home, though I did remember to give Trainman a copy of my recipe for egg and lemon soup.
We talked about food [of course] and shopping, and shoes, and why a Coach (or other expensive) bag that will last for 20+ years might be a justifiable investment, if one is not the sort of woman who must have a new bag each season. [His ex-wife has had one well-made bag for at least 20 years.] I remain unconvinced. I think of how many books that would buy, or how much yarn. Or, less selfishly, how many people that would feed or immunize or buy sewing machines for, so they would not need to rent their bodies in order to eat.
He and I are agreed on one point: you buy the best that you can afford, you do not pay retail for it, and you do not go into debt for it.
Here are two columns that spoke to me on Meridian. This is last week’s column, and reader responses are in this week’s column. It’s a topic that I have thought much about, over the years: sometimes from the viewpoint of my own interactions with men, and sometimes when I wondered if the girls would find husbands who would cherish them and not be intimidated by them.
You know how I have raved over the passionfruit lemonade at the coffee shop. Well, I decided to see if I could come up with something like unto it. So I picked up a box of Raspberry Red Zinger herbal tea and a 12-oz container of generic frozen pink lemonade. I brewed up half a gallon of herb tea, using eight teabags, and stirred in a couple of “goodys”* of pomegranate molasses, the thawed lemonade, and 4.3 cans of water. A better-than-OK substitute, particularly with lots of ice. I think I can get a closer approximation with some tweaking of the recipe. And I will get 2.5 *gallons* of this jollop for roughly the price of two “talls” at the coffee shop.
[*A “goody” was Dad’s scientific word for the quantity of liquid which comes out of a bottle with each big bubble of air. Listen next time: doesn’t it sound like “goody, goody, goody”? In this case it was something between 2 tbsp and a quarter-cup.]
I finished Lark’s birthday present about half an hour ago. I’ll deliver it tonight, when I take Middlest home after Knit Night. Pictures tomorrow!
When I was chatting with Trainman last night, I remarked that I do not like blue. He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, I do appreciate the irony of telling you that, when I am wearing jeans and a denim jacket and the turquoise earrings which I inherited from my mother, and am knitting a project with many shades of blue in it, and everything you have seen me knit since you’ve known me, has been some shade of turquoise or teal. Denim doesn’t count. Neither do teal and turquoise. Not blue. Not in my world.”
He seemed unconvinced.
- 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!