I'm still frustrated at not being able to find my great-grandparents' marriage in Germany in 1854. I looked at my great-uncle's date of birth and worked out that she was about five months pregnant when they arrived here. That is one voyage I would not have wanted to make. But I'm glad that she did.
My poor little beak is so sore. I'm not sure what is blooming right now. The trees seem to be done. But the pollen count is high, and I rotated my antihistamine on Friday, and I'm not sure that it's working. I checked. It's grasses. 23ppm. No trees, and too early for ragweed, thank goodness. It's supposed to get worse as the week goes on. This is one of those days when my resurrected body cannot show up a moment too soon.
I've picked up the stitches at the bottom of my sweater. Spent so much time linking records that I have zero interest in adding beads to the cuff of the second sleeve. I think I will just mosey into my room, listen to my scriptures on my phone, and work a couple of rows on the body. I'd like to be asleep as close to 10:00 as I can manage, since the dead people kept me up late last night, and I have Knit Night tomorrow.
Friday was my 19th anniversary with the company. Boggles. The. Mind.
- Six 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!