About Me

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Five 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, July 10, 2009

Back to the salt mines.

Yesterday was better in every department. Firstborn was moving around more freely, with minimal pain. She spent most of the day on the couch and let me fetch and carry for her. Her appetite was good ~ so was mine ☺ ~ we snacked on healthy stuff, drank plenty of water, and watched movies.

It was so good to see her best friend from middle school, when we lived in Fredericksburg. They are passing through on their way to a new post in Alabama, and Ping’s hubby can help Firstborn deal with the VA to tweak the children’s father’s benefits now that he is in the nursing home, because he has been dealing with the VA for his own father. [Ping is what LittleBit called her as a toddler, back when Firstborn was YaYa.] I like their girls very much, and their little boy is just precious; he’s about BittyBit’s age. I sat at the table with him while he finished his sandwich before they all went to the zoo, and I sang about the old woman who swallowed a fly.

He was wearing a shirt with a green alien head on it. When he put it on, I wise-cracked that it looked like a couple of guys I had dated. So during lunch he looks up at me and says, “Tell me about those two aliens you dated.”

Between the warbling and the metaphors, I have probably scarred him for life.

Minimal progress on Firstborn’s sock. I switched to my 00 circ for the try-on, and my gauge is subtly more airy. I think I will frog it half an inch and put it back on the DP’s. I love the color shifts, and the yarn is relatively cool to work with in this heat. There is none of that nasty plastic feel that I sometimes pick up with nylon-infused sock yarns. It’s not splitty, and it makes a nice, even fabric. But I think that when the Madeleine Tosh comes in at the new shop, I will be all ToWHO?sies. I discovered yesterday while putting the project on my Ravelry projects page that I have been misspelling the name of this yarn. It’s not Tofootsies; it’s TOFUtsies.

The meeting last night went well, and I don’t know what to think; she didn’t seem like somebody who needed to be told to put on her big-girl panties and deal with her situation. She seemed to be coping perfectly well, and I was so tired that I may have missed something important. It will be good to counsel with the bishop about this.

How tired was I? Enough that when I came home last night, I fell asleep watching Shaun the Sheep. So I did the unthinkable; I went to bed and slept for six and a half hours.

Tonight would ordinarily be the night that I have dinner with Brother Sushi, but he has an alumni organization activity, so we have rescheduled for next Friday. I think I will just come home and put in a movie and have a bowl of cereal and go to bed early. I can already tell that this is likely to be a Cherry Coke kind of day. And I have a wedding to attend tomorrow morning at 10:00.

Or maybe I can have dinner with Trainman before he goes on vacation.

Leslye, sorry I missed you last night. I was the best candidate to go to the library and get some books for the children’s father. I was able to drop them off in his room while he had stepped out, so I didn’t actually have to talk with him. Four big thick novels, girls, and they’re due back on the 30th. Not one of them a romance as he requested: two historical novels about the founding fathers, one I had never heard of by Charlotte Bronte, and something by James Patterson.

Maybe one of you girls can explain to him why I will never, ever, knowingly pick up a romance novel for him. [I gave them up long ago, for myself.] I would really rather not be in this part of the loop at all, but maybe it is building character and I just don’t know it. You might want to tell him that if he mentions the word romance again in my presence, I am likely to empty both metaphorical barrels into him and then beat him with the metaphorical gun-stock. Which might send his 102-year-old roommate into cardiac arrest.

As Mammy Yokum used to say, “I has spoken.”


Tan said...

Just checking in to say hi :)

Jenni said...

I don't care what book you got for him since I didn't have to be the one at the library!

Bonnie said...