One of my favorite aromas...

...pasta simmering in the pot. Not as fragrant as basmati rice, perhaps, but comforting nonetheless.

I came home and ate a portion of carrot sticks while waiting for the water to boil. The idea was that I would have some salad, and perhaps I will for breakfast, just because I can. But I ended up having a smaller second helping, and then a wee cup of thirds: mac and cheese with pimiento stirred in.

Major progress on The Sock That Fits [also known as The Sock Made from the Yarn That Was Giving Me Fits]. I really should have been tidying the living room; home teachers are coming tonight, and knitting stuff is everywhere, not to mention doll stuff and stuff to make doll stuff.

I stopped at JoAnn’s after work and scored two half-yard pieces of quarter-inch gingham, another packet of teensy buttons, and a spool of silk thread in a turquoise/teal one or two shades darker than what I had. The gingham will be pinched, basted, and carefully marked once I take it off the doll, to make a pattern sloper that I will then trace onto quarter-inch graph paper, preparatory to adding seam allowances, grainlines, and the like. [All you muggles who aren’t sure which end of the needle to thread, just nod and smile.]

The idea is to find my own niche in the doll world, using my talents to create jewelry or clothing or something (or maybe several somethings) that doll collectors will clamor to buy, that will not take long to make, that will be fun to do, that I won’t get tired of in three weeks or so, and that is unlikely to give me repetitive stress injury.

Nice visit with Trainman on the ride home. He was tired, maybe as tired as I was on Monday. I was less so. Mostly, I listened while he talked, and I knitted and knitted and knitted. That man is better company, tired, than most men I’ve met are, awake. I’m so glad that he and Brother Sushi enjoy one another’s company, and that there’s none of the jockeying for primacy I noticed when the late Brother Stilts helped me move, six years ago, and my ex-boyfriend was also helping. [Eighth grade, with wrinkles. When I want drama, I prefer Jane Austen.]

You have no idea how difficult it was to put the leftover mac and cheese into the fridge, rather than having another bowl.

No idea.



But here it is a brand new day, and I have carefully poured two packets of doll buttons into a wee French canning jar that one of my friends gave me. I am almost done clearing off the couch and tidying the coffee table for when the home teachers come tonight. I swear, there must be an Unhousekeeping Fairy who comes in after I leave for work and messes everything up, just to give me character-building opportunities. I certainly can’t blame it on the kids anymore!