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!

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

“You have a feather in your hair.” *snort*

This is what one of my attorneys said as a bunch of us lined up for a photo op behind the table of goodies we are sending to two soldiers the office has adopted.

I may have had the feather in my hair, but he is the one who was tickled. What can I say? Cheap pillow that really needs to be retired. I rarely grab the mirror and check out my head in back, otherwise I might have seen it. No guarantees. Sometimes I think my eyes wake up long after my stomach and related organs do.

I’ve gotten Firstborn’s sock re-knitted to the point where it was when I hollered, “Aughh!” and frogged it back to a nubbin. I’ve redone the increases, made my peace with M1L and M1R and have to concede that they make for a sturdier-looking toe. But I think I will always prefer my simple lacy YO increases, even if they are incompatible with all the KTBL [knit through back loop] on this sock.

Yarnissima is a sock-designing genius, and while I’m still not crazy about the feel of the yarn [and can’t imagine a good reason to buy more of it] these socks will nevertheless be enjoyable to make because of the deceptive simplicity of her design. Not to mention how fond I am of the eventual recipient. I think they will feel good on Firstborn’s feet, and I think I will garner all sorts of good-mommy karma if I stop whining and just shut up and knit.

[Yes, BittyBit, I know we don’t say ‘shut up’. I’m saying it to myself, and as far as I know, you can’t read. (Yet.)]

While I am in snarky-mode, I’ll share a change I made to my profile on the Churchboy Dating Service:

One parting shot: My weight fluctuates. If you’re not interested in getting to know me when I’m plump, I’m not interested in getting to know you when I’m skinny. (The bishop didn’t ask me my dress size when he called me to leadership in my ward.)

Wouldn’t it be a hoot if I went to one of the local doll meets and found a guy who is age-appropriate, godly, competent, and harbors a secret longing to know more about the Church and to use his pickup truck to help people move, every Saturday? And likes to build doll furniture?

Frankly, I think my chances are better of that happening, than of meeting Brother Right at one of the dances. A fireside, maybe; guys who go to those tend to have a greater grasp on implementing church doctrine in their personal lives. But almost certainly not at one of the dances. The odds, as I’ve said before, are not good. And the goods are odd.

Trainman and DecoratorDude and I put our pointy little heads together on the train and are planning an outing to the Italian restaurant in Watauga later this month. Brother Sushi can make it; we’re waiting to hear back from LadyZen. Trainman and I plastered her driver’s-side window with sticky notes when we got to the station tonight. She was still burning the midnight debits.

Must. Go. Knit.

2 comments:

Tan said...

Is it the Tofutsies you don't like? I hate Tofutsies.

Jenni said...

I think your chances of meeting a "normal" guy who is age appropriate and doesn't still live with his mom in her basement and drink too much Dr Pepper are slim to none. Just saying.