The first sleeve on Faith’s sweater is nearly to the armscye. I am undecided whether I want to knit it in five pieces and sew them together, or to do what I usually do: finish all the bits up to the armscye, join them into a five-armed creature, and do the raglan shaping and the V-neck shaping all at one go. I am seeing this sweater as more of a tunic, to be worn over a black turtleneck or bodysuit, with leggings. Except that I would have to take her hooves off in order to put pants on her, unless I design them to lace up the sides.
My kids who got me into this hobby are now easing into problem-solving mode as they read, and they will have all sorts of good ideas for me. My kids who think we are all a wee bit strange for playing with dolls, will no doubt be confirmed in their opinions.
For the past several weeks, I have been going to my friend’s yarn shop in Duncanville after work on Friday nights. It’s a different bunch of talented women from my Tuesday night Knit Night friends. And it’s truly my idea of happy hour, a place to unwind from the joys, triumphs and challenges of worklife, a delightful alternative to rush-hour traffic. I stay for an hour, sometimes two, then I gather up my stuff and head home.
My friend Leslye sent me the greatest joke via email: the redneck fire alarm = a thingie of JiffyPop nailed above the doorway to each room. I could do that, now that I live in a quiet neighborhood. When I lived at La Casa Cucaracha or the penultimate apartment, that alarm going off would only wake me up all confused, thinking that the neighbors were fighting.
Still blasting Gershwin on my drives to and fro. George, Ira, and Brian will be accompanying me to the dance tonight, where Brother Sushi will be the DJ. So I will not lack for clever, trustworthy male companionship.
Speaking of which, the new guy asked me to bring my small cooler. And to be prepared to take home a slice of his new version of the German Chocolate Cheesecake. If his experiment is successful, he will bring me a blue gel brick to keep it cool. Which, of course, would necessitate my returning it to him as I did the storage containers a couple of weeks ago, which, according to his son, would seem to be part of the plan.
Remember the MIA fabric store from last weekend? I called their number a couple of days ago, and it was forwarded to a different store a little farther north, in one of the ritzier suburbs. They carry upscale, specialty fabrics. She asked what I was looking for, and I told her I wanted blouse-weight silk. I could hear the warmth in her voice. Yes, they have that. So I will head up there between next month’s ward temple trip and that night’s dance in Richardson, and I will see if I can score fabric to make ballgowns for Blessing and Celeste, and party dresses for Faith and Chutzpah.
I am going to stretch my legs out and knit for awhile, then get ready for my eye appointment, which will be followed by a funeral, some errands, and the dance.
I have a whole closet full of nothing to wear, and I need to pick up more hose.
- 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!