Family Home Evening Project
First I had to snip off the dead elastic and polish the silver zills. They were remarkably clean, even after ten years, because I had kept them in their bag.
It was easy to thread fresh elastic through these slots. Then I took a size 1 crochet hook and pulled elastic through the single holes in the brass zills.
The little silver semicircles are earrings that I made when we lived in the Hill Country. I took a silversmithing class and learned just enough to know that it was too hard on my hands, even in my early 40’s. I figured I might as well polish them while I had the silver paste out and the sponge damp. I tried to get a good close-up, but I don’t know enough about light and angles to get one without a lot of glare.
What I’m Reading, not-Reading, and/or Listening to These Days
I bought The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy on Middlest’s birthday last year and set it aside until I’d finished Eat, Pray, Love. Started. Put it aside again. Tossed it into the tote weeks ago, in case I ran out of patience while swatching for Adamas. I got farther into it than the first time, but it’s back on the bookshelf for now.
Reading Lolita in Tehran is also stalled and lying on my bedside table.
I am listening to Anne Perry’s Shoulder the Sky. [In googling the link for it, I learned that it is the second book in a trilogy; figures: I started with the second book in C.S. Lewis’ Perelandra series, too, back when I was a kid.] The man who reads it has a lovely voice. She is probably my third-favorite living writer; Orson Scott Card is first, followed by Robert B. Parker and then Anne Perry.
I succumbed to [deliciously benign] temptation on Saturday and signed up for a library card. There is a Robert B. Parker book waiting on the floor behind the sofa table. It was on the chair which serves as a landing strip when I come home, but my bag was top-heavy and tumped over, taking everything else on the chair with it.
I figure it can’t fall any farther, right?
Waxing Rhapsodic, in Lieu of the Floors
I have bragged about how warm and loving my new ward is. Let me give you an example. Last week in Relief Society, the sister who was conducting asked that anyone who was going to be alone for Thanksgiving please get in touch with her after the meeting, likewise anybody who had room at the inn. At Relief Society this Sunday, it appeared that everybody had been matched up so that the only people in our ward who will be alone on Thanksgiving are those who want to be.
Wait: it gets better. As I was driving to choir practice, my cell phone rang. It was a friend who happens to be the High Priest Group Leader in our ward. He and his wife were heading over to a mutual friend’s house for a quiet game of Scrabble. Would I like to join them? I explained that I was nearly to the stake center, and that my Sundays are booked up until the performance on the 14th. And after I hung up, I spent a couple of verging-on-tears moments thanking Heaven for these good people who are now part of my life.
There may not be one specific brother to love me and watch over me, but I feel no lack of cherishing in my life. This, in good measure, is what Christianity is all about. I corralled my home teacher in the hall after church. He has a crazy work schedule and frequently has to work on Sundays, but he and his son will be coming to home teach me on Wednesday night, as the youth activities have been canceled because so many folks are leaving town for Thanksgiving.
Still [Messy] Life with Sock
I did tidy the table after I was done working on the zills. Promise!
When I snapped this picture, I had about 40 rounds left before the ribbing. Which means that I had better take the red sock with me and my bag of knitting tools, in case I finish this at lunch. It also means that I can use the long, lovely upcoming weekend to whip out 2BDH’s birthday scarf.
Let the Feasting Begin!
We are having our Thanksgiving lunch today, catered by the Black-Eyed Pea. And of course, everybody is bringing a side dish or dessert. What am I bringing? Banana pecan muffins from one of Diane Mott Davidson’s mysteries.
- 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!