I had my "to boldly go where no man has gone" (in five-plus years) ultrasound this morning. The procedure was less uncomfortable than I remembered, perhaps because I had girded myself for it to be fairly awful, and it wasn't. Can't remember if it was the same tech as last time ~ it was the same facility ~ but she was very gentle while being very thorough. I asked her if she saw any space invaders in there, and she cracked up. "Nobody's ever asked me that one before!"
Came home, heated up hamburger patties for Middlest and me, knitted while mine settled, then slept for something like five hours. Weird dreams, and I'll spare you the details, but there was lots of singing, a little dancing, and me telling some guy I've never met "No, because then I'd have to tell my bishop."
Not, "That's morally wrong, and I won't do it." Just the implication that I had better things to do with my time than spend it repenting of that particular sin. My subconscious is a funny, funny place.
In knitting news, I am playing yarn chicken. I have one last band of lace to knit, then fourteen rows of stockinette, a row of eyelets that will form the upper picot edging, and eight more rows of stockinette. My ball of yarn has dwindled to just smaller than fist-sized.
Something tells me that the top edging will end up significantly more shallow than the bottom edging.
I'm trying to wind down for bedtime, remembering that overnight we spring forward, and notwithstanding that nap, I will be an hour short on sleep.
- Five 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!