About Me

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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!

Friday, February 06, 2009

“I see you’ve been to the liquor store.”

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words.



Here is my Claudia Silk Lace, all tidy and corralled in its yarn bra. One of my attorneys says that every bottle in the liquor store is shipped in a net like this, which means that I could ask my bibulous friends to save the yarn bras for me, and we would be blessing the landfill, not to mention my pocketbook.

One more thing to like about the Trainman...

As you can see, there has been some progress on the Clapotis en Soie. This is not going to be the knitting equivalent of Speed Dating. This is going to be a leisurely, old-fashioned courtship: lots of time spent sitting on the porch while the neighbors keep an eye on things.

I am thinking [wishing, hoping] that the cashmere tweed yarn will arrive in the mail today. I have been prepared for it since Wednesday morning; the pattern and needles are rattling around in my knitting bag.

Had an immensely productive day at work yesterday. First tape transcribed before I relieved switchboard for her morning break. Second tape mostly transcribed before lunch. I started entering a minor settlement, and the legal secretary brought me a third tape, which was mainly cut-and-paste; I finished it in less than half an hour and got back to work on the minor settlement.

When I got home last night, the jollop in the crockpot was absolutely, positively done. I dished up a bowl of vegetables and portioned the rest of them into three storage containers while the meat cooled. Then I sliced up the meat and divided it four ways and divided the broth likewise. One slice of boule, cut in half and toasted, then very lightly buttered, and that was dinner. I think the next time I cook a pork tenderloin, I will brown it lightly in my cast-iron skillet and toss it into the crockpot from the beginning. The sharp yeastiness of the near beer had been humbled by the time I got home from work. A couple of the carrots had gone from “caramelized” to “nearly scorched” after a night and a day in the crockpot, but on the whole it was a yummy way to end the day.

There is a dance tonight. Not sure at this point if I will go, or if I will just come home and putter and knit.

Time to go look in the fridge and see which of the many choices which are available to me, I want to take for lunch, and which to have for breakfast.

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