...in the time it took me to log on, said clever title had vanished like piddle in the sand, as EZ would have said. It has been a long, mostly lovely, and amazingly productive day, beginning around 5:00a.m. I got up, knitted for an hour or so, polished off the last of the tortellini alfredo and a handful of gingersnaps, then went back to my knitting. Every so often I would get up and go into my studio and putter. After Beloved was up and about, I started hanging pictures and stuff on the walls in there. In the course of the day I turned my work table 90 degrees; it just fits between two bookcases and against the window. I emptied one of my big Rubbermaid storage tubs. I even got out the vacuum and took a swipe at some newly-freed-up carpet, then hit a bit of the dining room (which is still, alas, mostly carpeted with storage boxes) and the living room and hall before deciding that enough was enough. I brought in the clean laundry. I have done 18 or maybe 24 rounds on the sweater, and there are maybe 350 stitches left. I just finished transferring the stitches onto my HiyaHiya 120cm needle, as the 100cm KnitPicks Harmony is almost too long to work the stitches in the round without messing up my gauge, and too short to use Magic Loop.
And in between, there was General Conference, and before that a stealth run up to the yarn store in Farmersville, or at least that was the plan. I wanted to pick up two more of the Harmony needles, one 60cm long and one 80cm long. As I approached Farmersville, I saw a banner on the welcome sign that said they were having a heritage festival. Today. I wondered if I would find any parking. Turns out, parking was the least of my problems: a very polite policeman directed me onto a side street toward a parking lot. I turned, but I kept on going. I had calculated my window of opportunity very carefully. I had just enough time to walk in the store, grab my needles, pay for them, get back into Lorelai, and scoot for home so I would be on time for the opening exercises of General Conference. I had neither the time nor the energy to park my car, walk however many blocks remained into downtown, and dodge the parade.
So, I got back onto the highway, and pretty soon I realized I was on the wrong highway, headed east toward Greenville instead of south toward Garland. I confirmed this using the GPS on my phone. (I had to upgrade my Google Maps feature first.) So I whipped a U-ey [is there an official way to spell that?] and barreled on back home, composing a letter to the city fathers and the Chamber of Commerce as I went.
Conference was amazing. You may have heard that they have lowered the age requirements for the young full-time missionaries: 18 for the young men, and 20 for the young women. As the camera panned the crowd in the Conference Center, I saw a boy about 15 whose face just lit up like Christmas at the news.
The talks were uniformly wonderful and inspiring and for the most part not guilt-inducing. And I realized that the amazing sister who is a counselor in the Primary General Presidency is also a daughter of President Monson. She has his face, his mannerisms, his phrasing. And she was wearing a gorgeous red jacket with a big purple corsage and bright red lipstick and decidedly red hair, so vibrant and lovely and the kind of role model I wish I had seen more of, back in the 1980s and 90s. (Do you remember when we thought Chieko Okasaki was a little exotic? And now we have had at least two single sisters in the General RS Presidency.)
I am tired, and Beloved is momentarily awake and watching college football, and tomorrow is going to be another long day, one that ends in Houston after a five or more hour drive. One of his sons and his fishing buddy gave him a blessing after the Priesthood session of Conference tonight. Beloved stayed home: he was in too much pain, and thankfully he is not the kind to suffer in silence, so I get to do little things to make life easier.
I know I am loved, and I know I am wanted, and while I wish he were not fighting for his life, I have not been needed in a very long time, and it is lovely to be needed in ways that I can do something about.
Yawning. Stretching. Over and out.
- 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!