One of my co-workers held an estate sale for her late mother-in-law’s stuff last weekend. She set aside vintage crochet cotton for me in classic 50’s variegated pastels. Behold.
Five dolla! No, really.
My order from Jimmy Beans arrived yesterday, with two more Namaste circular needle organizers, only one of which I technically need at the moment. (This will change, and soon.) One is red, and one is purple. So now I have four.
And the boxes in which they were shipped are just the right size for wrapping birthday presents.
That’s BittyBubba’s on top. Or maybe Middlest’s.
Also in the big box were the skeins for the new guy’s next chemo cap. Which will have X’s and O’s knitted into it. Because I can. We call that subliminal advertising.
There is something that sounds large, tapping in the kitchen. I’m off to investigate, flyswatter in hand. Cue the scary music.
- 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!