That's not a bag!

(This may be a duplicate of an earlier post from where you're sitting. My mobile Blogger function changed format, and I published this from work a couple of days ago. But I just figured out how to publish the Comma Chameleon post from my phone.)

That's a car payment! Behold my anniversary gift from the corporation. It would appear that I have gone over to the dark side (into the world of designer bags). I could have gone with the Tiffany earrings, but I am more about semiprecious stones and wearable art.

I needed a new tote bag. I have been pondering that for several months while carrying one that closes with velcro and snags my knitting, my scarves, and my patience. There were two bags in the catalogue: this one and a black Coach handbag that was nowhere near large enough to haul around my life. So I sighed and rolled my eyes and chose this one.

I will concede that it is attractive. And appears to be sturdy. But I shall have to winnow out some of the things I carry. Because I doubt that those runway model straps can wrangle a 10-15-20 pound bag for the next five to ten years. Not when I wore out my Franklin Covey (Kenneth Cole) bag in something like five. And it was built like a Sherman tank.

But with thoughtful editing of its contents, this might last until my 20th anniversary with the corporation, and then they can give me another, or something like.

I wish I had thought to include the lunch bag I was given for my birthday. Black and white and sassy all over.

Knitting progresses. I am halfway through the current miniature sock. This is either eight or nine in the series. Finish-itis is starting to kick in. I skipped Knit Night in favor of a quiet evening at home. There will be another one of those tonight.

I also finished HP6 last night and started HP7. Dumbledore's death hit me a lot harder this time, even though I knew it was coming. On the other hand, I realized how much Ginny Weasley there is in me. That is not a bad thing.

I spent 40 blissful minutes with Olive. Make that 37 blissful and 3 spent learning to play C#. I think that may be easier to learn than the high E that nearly drove me mad. And then I fired up the banjo (still unnamed) and realized it had gone out of tune overnight, and I was just that much too tired to fiddle with it. So I put it away. I will try again tonight.

Maybe I like piano and recorder and harmonica and voice so much because the tuning is simple, infrequent, or unnecessary? Maybe that's why I liked zill work as much as I did belly dancing lessons? Maybe that's behind the vague desire to learn to drum?

Maybe I just want to be a lazy musician? Something to chew on while curating the contents of my ridiculously expensive knitting bag.