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Eleven years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Retired, and mostly enjoying it. Still knitting. [Zen]tangling.again after a brief hiatus.

Thursday, September 14, 2017

In which Fourthborn gets to eat real food.

We celebrated the "all clear but don't be stupid" with lobster bisque and Caesar salads at Lucile's this afternoon. Hit two yarn shops on the way home, and then I crashed.

It is entirely possible that the combination of lobster bisque and Caesar salad has psychedelic properties, because I woke up from a four and a half hour nap and spectacularly colorful dream-turning-into-movie with a screaming bladder. I have since eaten all but one bite of a PBJ washed down with milk. The bite I didn't eat, leaped from my fingers, ricocheted off my thigh, and hit the floor. At which point I intoned Let the sandwich hit the floor. And Fourthborn cracked up.

I cast on yet another baby sock while we waited for her appointment, and by the time our lunch arrived the cuff was 25% done.

That's all I've got for you today. I'm going to wash the PBJ off my fingers and go back to blind-hemming Justice's blouse.

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