Humor me.

I have been sitting on these links for a couple of weeks, waiting until what felt like the right time. As most of you know, I am an enthusiastic (but hopefully not obnoxious) Latter-Day Saint. A Christian, no matter what some of my fellow Christians might believe. A Republican with a social conscience. A single mother for many years. Pro-woman without being anti-man. And I really hoped that Mitt Romney would win the recent election. Not simply because he shares my faith, although I am glad that he does. But because I believe his principles would do more to right our country than the programs of the current administration.

My guy lost. There are lots of opinions out there as to why that happened. Here is a perspective that made sense to me. Particularly the last two paragraphs embedded in the post. [Consider the defamation that Mary, the mother of Christ, and Mary of Magdala have experienced over the past two millenia. There are enough nut jobs protesting the dedication of new temples in this country, making light of things which I (and roughly 14 million other people) hold sacred.] I have heard it expressed that it was more important that Mitt run, than that he win. Makes a lot of sense to me. And while I was initially a little startled at the First Presidency’s congratulating Mr. Obama, it was a gracious thing to do.

I had hoped that Mitt’s election would mean that people in general would give up the stupor of religious bigotry. I remember being shocked to learn that people had worried that electing JFK would effectively turn our government over the the Vatican. Four years ago, I was delighted that we had advanced enough as a society to finally, finally elect a non-Caucasian to our highest office. (Even if I would have preferred a more politically conservative non-Caucasian.)

I am so grateful for parents who raised me to see people as individuals and not as stereotypes. I am thankful to live in Texas, where my children grew up around people of all faiths and colors and cultures. I grew up in Idaho. There was one black student in my high school, and two years later, his younger sister. I watched my kids carefully for signs that they might be developing prejudice. I would have jumped on that like a duck on a June bug.

I will be so thankful when the religious bigots can finally see us clearly. I don’t expect that to happen before the Millennium, but I can hope. I remember an old joke, printed in the Wall Street Journal when the children’s father was earning his MBA at Brigham Young University (I would have been pregnant with Firstborn at that time). As I remember it, one of the Cardinals tells the Pope, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“What’s the good news?”

“The Savior is on the phone.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“He’s calling from Salt Lake City.” Active Latter-Day Saints will know the real reason that’s so funny.

Here’s another link from my friend Kristen, with a Hugh Nibley quote. Hugh Nibley was an amazing man. That second link is well worth your time, even if you only read the first few paragraphs. I have heard that he could read the Dead Sea Scrolls like we read the funnies.

But where is the knitting news? you ask. I am about an inch above the ribbing on the body of Beloved’s sweater, and now I am heading back out to the living room to work on it some more. ♥

Edited to fix a couple of those links. Thank you, Secondborn.

Busy day.

Got the second sleeve done. Got the ribbing cast on for the body of the sweater and am about halfway finished with that. Helped Beloved muck out three shelves in the garage, then schlepped the the majority of the contents out to the curb. Fixed lunch. Fixed dinner. Knitted some more. Sorted through the accumulation of mail, junk- and otherwise, by Beloved’s chair while he cat-napped.

Next up: sort through three more boxes, move the coffee table, move the drop leaf table, move the cabinet/desk which contains Beloved’s DVDs, muck out the hope chest so it can go to Younger Twin’s house, set up the Christmas tree. None of which is likely to happen before bedtime, but prior to Christmas, I most devoutly hope.

Way more productive day than yesterday, for both of us. We make haste slowly around here.

Spent an hour or more doing research so as to answer a collection letter for a bill we do not owe. Nowhere near as fun as date night last night, when we watched “The Blind Side,” which is one of the best movies I have seen in years, even if it is about football.

And now it is 9:30 or thereabouts, and my eyes are getting heavy, and I wonder what my chances are of falling asleep and staying that way until some reasonable hour in the morning? I hear stirring in the living room. Wonder if he is in the mood for a sliver of black bottom banana cream pie?

I know I am.

A Thanksgiving with no family drama?

What kind of holiday was that, anyway? A pretty spectacularly amazing one if you ask me. I lasted almost six hours, surrounded by twice as much family as usual!

Willow and LittleBit had to work, and Middlest was on the East Coast, but Lark came over after going to her mother’s (a/k/a The Egg Donor’s). Said mother is on my short list for having inquired of Lark or Firstborn as to when we would be having our feast, then setting hers for an hour sooner, ensuring that Lark would miss the appetizers and barely make it in time for dessert. (We told Lark to eat her dessert first and then see what appealed to her amongst the leftovers.)

Given that it is easily an hour between Firstborn’s house and Younger Twin’s, I am not overly amused. Granted, Egg Donor may not have known how long a drive it was and may have thought that Lark would have plenty of time to enjoy both dinners, but given the chaos Egg Donor has wreaked over the past twelve years, I look on that with love and suspicion.

The children’s father was there, and he behaved himself. Didn’t call me “Beautiful” this time, not even once. I behaved myself, too. Older Twin’s wife’s tummy has become delightfully rounded, a good thing because the baby is due in a little over two months. She looks even more radiantly beautiful than usual, which is remarkable because she feels yucky most of the time. I am hoping that difficult pregnancy equals thoughtful and obedient child. (I had easy pregnancies and gave birth to the Wild Bunch!)

Tried some new foods as well as the old standards. Squishy made a casserole with quinoa and sweet potatoes that was way better than OK at room temperature, and I would be interested in trying it again fresh out of the oven. (Beloved or Mel? not so much.) And he found a new recipe for pumpkin pie with a little molasses in it, that we agree is nothing short of amazing. Really adds a depth of flavor.

I got to help make our two black bottom banana cream pies. And lick the bowls, because the surplus was far too tasty to wash down the drain.

Beloved and I were home and in bed at 7:00 or so. I was up again around 1:00 and out to the living room for some knitting. For a break, I went into my studio and started sorting the contents of one of my Rubbermaid storage bins. Took two armfuls of stuff out to the trash in the kitchen and gathered an impressive stack destined for the shredder. Also found a package of Christmas ornaments, congratulatory cards and invitations to baby showers around the time of BittyBit’s birth. That all went into the scrapbooking pile.

Back to bed around 4:00, napped for another two or three hours, then more knitting and more sorting. I have about five minutes’ work to finish cleaning out that storage bin, and then I can open what may be the last two cardboard boxes in my studio and see what they hold and if it is worth keeping.

Beloved is napping out in his chair. We are agreed that the project du jour is to clean off a couple of shelves in the garage and get some stuff moved onto them and move a few things to the window in the dining room preparatory to setting up the Christmas tree.

But first, I think I have earned another small sliver of pie. Time, too, for a walk-by smooching if Beloved is awake and reading. He’s just so doggone smoochable.

OK: stuff I’m thankful for.

Which I may or may not post on Thanksgiving per se, contrarian that I am.

My kids, notwithstanding my loathing of Mother’s Day. I love them, and I love being their mother.

Their father, because I couldn’t have gotten them here all by myself, and because not all of their good qualities come from me. The first five years of that marriage were pretty amazing.

My poor, patient first hubby, now again my friend for the past ten years. Blessings upon him and his wife; both of them are dealing with cancer, his slow-growing and hers undetermined the last I heard. Note to self: drop them a line to see how it’s going.

 Not having to put my hand up a turkey’s butt. One promise to myself that I have happily kept ever since I divorced the children’s father.

Knitting. So many mottos. I knit so I will not kill people. Knitting, not stabbing. (I should wear that to the family dinner today). Keep calm, and carry yarn. Don’t you wish your girlfriend could knit like me? (Ditto.)

Chocolate, every way but with peanut butter. Especially dark chocolate.

A quiet house. I can barely hear the hum of the computer’s fan, the clock ticking on the wall in front of me, the click of my fingers on the keys, and no @#$%^&* TV. Beloved is either reading his paper out in the living room, or snoozing in his chair.

Keys brings me to keyboards, as opposed to Underwood manual typewriters, on which I learned to type. Which is why if you were sitting on the bed behind me, you would hear emphatic clicking on the keyboard, and not a gentle tappity-tapping. Sometimes I do miss the lever I had to hit at the end of a line, and the little bell, but not all that much.

Pumpkin pie. Any time of the year. And I am not fussy over whether it is topped with Cool Whip or real whipped cream or spray cream out of a can. Or gloriously naked on the plate. One of my best memories? Thanksgiving at my folks’ house with a three week old Secondborn and a two year old Firstborn, and her going for thirds on the pie as my parents watched in disbelief.

The something in Beloved’s head that is causing his headaches, is not cancer. We are not sure what it is, and won’t be until the local oncologist gets a missing record from MD Anderson for comparison, but at least it’s not a fourth metastasis of his cancer. Woohoos all around!

Sleep. A miracle, every blessed night. I can go to bed wound up tighter than a tick, and when I wake up in the morning, stuff has generally sorted itself out. Although I was having anxiety dreams about some minor paperwork for Primary.

The kindness of strangers. (Scoot over, Blanche DuBois!) While I was waiting for Beloved and the wrecker to show up yesterday, there were several cars that stopped to see if they could help. What a pleasure to tell them that my hubby and a wrecker were on the way, and to thank them and bless them. Also the ones who maybe just thought about stopping to ask, but went on because you never know who’s safe to talk to these days, and I might just be a grandmotherly serial killer.

Beloved. Well, you all have a pretty good idea how I feel about that particular miracle in my life. And I am hearing kitchen noises, so time for me to mosey on out and see if I can help, or lick a bowl, or something.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all. Be safe, be warm, and know that I appreciate your love and friendship and support.

Can we just go to bed now?

This day has been quite the adventure. Beloved got to see, firsthand, what happens in my world when Things Go Wrong With Cars.

I pulled into the parking lot at the 24/7 Post Office to mail a Bernina part to his niece. We have been trying to get that in the mail to her for three or four weeks now. I stepped out of Lorelai. Into a pool of something dark and very, very slick. Ew.

I scuffed my soles as clean as I could, went in and mailed the package, then came out and panicked, just a little, not so much as you would notice. Called Beloved, who was just settling down for a nap. Did our mechanic happen to have a tow truck? He did not know. 1-411 to the rescue, and they put me through. Mechanic did not. So I let them know that somebody would be bringing Lorelai in. Called the tow company I used (more than once) when I was single.

Beloved showed up in our truck, carefully tested the substance beneath Lorelai, and confirmed that it was indeed oil. His best guess, about 5 quarts of it. We settled in to wait for the tow truck. Dude with impressive muscles rolled Lorelai backward out of the parking spot and forward to the ramp of the truck. $155 later, Lorelai was on her way to the garage and we were on our way to my well-woman.

I have my flu shot. They have an impressive harvest of my blood. I got the EKG and the chest X-rays and the assume-the-position. (Made my doctor laugh when I told her that this year I could not say she was boldly going where no man had gone in a very long time. Made her snort, actually.)

Beloved and I came home by way of Taco Cabana, because I was hungry on the suburbs of cranky at that point. He ate a couple of tacos. I inhaled an entire Cabana Bowl. I do not think there was so much as a grain of rice left in that bowl when I put my fork down.

Holiday baking did not ensue tonight. But we have the decks cleared for tomorrow. I am ready to pray, to smooch goodnight, and to call it a long, long day.

But not before telling you that the only thing wrong with Lorelai was two tires that were scary-bad, or would be if I had had enough energy to be scared. I had the misfortune to pull into a parking spot where someone else had a vehicular malfunction. (This would explain the major lack of banging and smoke as I pulled into the parking space.) Beloved had one of his killer headaches, so it did not occur to him to check the dipstick. I was on the cusp of frenzy, being 15 miles east and two hours shy of my well-woman, so it did not occur to me to check the dipstick.

Which is why, my friends, they call it a dipstick.

Over and out.

So, we know I am not Ms. TV, right?

I barely watched it when I was single, preferring to read or knit or listen to audiobooks or watch movies. I naturally enough missed the memo that Tuesdays on Dancing with the Stars are dedicated to talking about dancing, watching flashbacks of dancing, listening to mediocre bands, etc. People get voted off the island. Commercials happen. But no real dancing, to speak of. Who knew?

Beloved knew, actually, and I wish I had known to ask him the right questions. If I had, I would not have spent an hour fidgeting in my chair, messing up the row count on the second sleeve, forgetting to work increases at the proper point, and growing progressively more snarky because people? There. Was. No. Dancing.

The name of the show is not Yammering with the Stars. Unless they changed it while I was not-listening to the commercials. Except for the Target ones with the LDS actor whose face I recognize from a host of mostly forgettable movies made for Mormons by Mormons.

Pirouetting neatly off my soapbox now.

In other news, I had a review of the observations that happened back in August, when it looked like I might be in line to get half of the new attorney’s docket (he has remained with the secretary who was temporarily assigned to him). Both of my coworkers think I am ready to take on another half-docket. I have a suspicion who I might be getting, and between thee and me and the gatepost, the phrase interesting times comes to mind. As in the Chinese curse.

But until I hear from the powers that be that I am in fact getting another half docket, and whose it will be, I am going to enjoy each day as it comes, knowing that I am keeping my attorney happy and doing a good job of transcribing Attorney B’s work, and hoping that I get half of an attorney whose work style is similar to my own and my present attorney’s. The syntax got a little scrambled there, but I have begun this post at 8:30p.m. on Tuesday, because for the moment I do not want to knit (hark! was that a hiccup in the space-time continuum?) or watch Chopped or listen to another Target commercial.

Do you think Beloved would mind if I went into my studio and only came out for meals and canoodling until after Christmas is over?

I have this poster on the wall in the guest bathroom. Maybe I should take my own advice.

And a link from my friend Kristen.

Well, eventually. First the knitting news: I have used up all but maybe a yard of the first ball of yarn on the first sleeve. At this writing it is 18.25” long, with 4.75” to go before the armscye, but I have switched over to the other sleeve. I was just not in the mood to spit-splice at 4:00a.m. Half of the increases are already done on the second sleeve, and I may get those done before bedtime.

There will not be much knitting at lunch today, because we are having our Thanksgiving feast. I did not bake another gooey cake like Saturday’s, opting instead for a single batch of brownies, split in half and baked in two of Beloved’s disposable grilling pans, which add up to approximately 11” x 7”. I drizzled a little caramel sauce over the batter, so these are (more or less) turtle brownies without the nuts. We have enough nuts at work, Ms. Ravelled included.

Beloved had another MRI yesterday, this one of the base of his skull. And more blood work. He will get the results tomorrow. And his new chemo pills will come to the house today. Ten thousand dollars’ worth of carefully calibrated poison, four months of the new protocol, which we hope will beat the cancer in his liver into submission with few or minimal side effects. Our co-payment? $65. My HMO has paid out over half a million dollars on Beloved’s behalf since we married in January. And he is worth every blessed penny, and more.

I came home last night to the best beef stew I have eaten in my life. Better than my mother’s, and that is saying something. I told Beloved that I have never been disappointed in any meal he has served me, but that this was the best one yet. I’m a little sad to be eating traditional holiday food at lunch today, instead of leftovers.

Yeah. That good.

After dinner we went over numbers so I could make an informed election for our health benefits next year. The big question was, how much to increase the medical expense reimbursement feature? Our premiums are going up, but not ridiculously. And our out of pocket this year has been over $200 a month so far. But neither of us felt good about dedicating the maximum reimbursement amount of $2,500 for next year. So we talked it over, and we found a number that doesn’t make us twitch (much), and that’s the number I will plug into the system when I get to work this morning. It’s a delicate balance between the very sensible idea of getting reimbursed for all or most of our out of pocket, and making sure we have enough to live on. And also making sure that, if there is a miraculous cure and no more medical bills, or the golden chariot sweeps down and carries Beloved off in a whirlwind like Elijah, I/we do not have to watch money we could have been living on, go swirling down the drain every two weeks for the rest of the year.

It is so nice not to have to make that decision all by myself. I was somewhat frustrated last year, because I had no idea what our expenses would be once we married, so I just dedicated enough to cover a new pair of glasses for me and said oh well to the rest of it. We blew through that before the end of January, and I have yet to get my glasses (but I did remember to reschedule my appointment, and I will either have new ones by the end of the year, or know that I don’t need them yet).

I promised you Kristen’s link. You’re welcome.

♫A Fleetwood Mac kind of day.♪

[That would be yesterday. And possibly today as well? Our weather was glorious, perfect for grilling outdoors and eating with two dozen friends and might-as-well-be-family. I acquired another brother last night. Told his wife she had a good one, and she agreed. Told her I could call him brother, and not because it is how we address one another at church. They both grinned.]

Love this song, just love it. That banjo is so perfect it nearly makes me weep with joy. (Although in listening carefully to the lyrics, I see that she is singing about a woefully codependent relationship, which mine is most definitely NOT.)



I also like this one, which has been going through my head at odd hours. Much more descriptive of this miraculous love I have with Beloved, just not as catchy a melody.



And this one is so much fun to dance to. I do miss dancing, every once in awhile. But then, I was missing it a lot, even when I was in the singles program, because so much of the music was impossible for me to dance to. (Yay! for that which was not.)



The fish fry went well. The new cake recipe (already modified) got rave reviews from most of our friends, although it was too rich for some and nearly so for me. I think I will make further modifications before taking it to the Thanksgiving luncheon at work on Tuesday (and possibly to the tribal feast on Thursday). Beloved and I overdid our efforts yesterday and were in bed by 8:00p.m. Maybe as early as 7:30?

I was too tired to sleep, so I got back up and worked on the sleeve, which I am happy to report is not only back to where it was when I frogged it Friday night, but nearly two full pattern repeats beyond that. I only have two more increase rounds on this sleeve, and then the mad gallop to the armscye, round and round and round. I think I will stay with this sleeve until I run out of yarn (the first ball) before switching back to the other sleeve. Right now, this sleeve is about half as long as it needs to be before joining it to the body of the sweater.

Went back to bed around 9:00, slept until around 1:00, then up to knit for another hour, and back to bed until 5:00 or so. When I woke up, Beloved was out in his easy chair, dozing a little with the Tom Clancy he is re-reading, lying neatly in his lap.

If I am able to continue knitting at this pace, I may very well cast on for the body of the sweater sometime next weekend. One of our friends asked me last night, how long it would take to knit this sweater. I have no idea; I’ve never made one for such a tall dude before. I didn’t tell my friend that I am making this one up as I go.

I made breakfast for us this morning as well, a variation on Eggs McMommy. Two whole-grain toaster waffles. Two eggs in my favorite skillet, to make a flat, crepe-ish omelette, lots of grated cheese on the flip side, folded in half then cut in half and stacked, points aimed north and south in between the toasty waffles. I wish I had been able to find ones that were maple-flavored like the ones at Jack in the Box, but whole-grain is better for us.

And now it is a little after 7:00, and I think I am properly refueled for church (would not do to fall asleep in the back of the Primary room during Sharing Time), and Beloved is out of the shower and eating his breakfast. Must be time for me to rinse and fluff.

Not your average Emily Gilmore.

But that’s who I was impersonating this morning, over at the Bitties’ school. They are, essentially, attending Chilton Academy, but I was greatly impressed with both the campus and the staff who addressed us. Beloved and I pooped out a little early, and I drove over to West Side Cafe, where I had eaten twice when I lived in Fort Worth, and which I learned about from Trainman. We basically ate ourselves stupid, and it was wonderful.

From there we headed east on Camp Bowie to MadTosh, which opened in April, three months after I moved to Garland, and where the Yarn Harlot lectured/taught a couple of months ago. The shop is lovely. I knew it was within a few blocks of where I used to live, and I wondered if it had gone into the old paint store next door to the yarn shop which closed (and which is now a gourmet bathroom fixtures shop). I was right! All kinds of luscious yarns, primarily Madeleine Tosh, but also Blue Sky Alpaca, Spud & Chloe, with a nice representation of Addi and Lantern Moon needles, and the far wall devoted to quilting fabric.

The people are as nice as the shop. I will be back. So that makes two terrific yarn shops in Fort Worth that I know of (I don’t know if Cabbage Rose is still open; they are primarily a quilting shop that carries/carried yarn.

I’m still crazy about Jennings Street Yarn. Linda is a love. Her shop is a minuscule gem, and she has her yarns arranged by color, not brand, for the most part. It’s like Charming Charlie for knitters!

Which brings me to the work in progress. I was feeling so good about the second sleeve, which had just reached the same length as the first, or so I thought. When I put them side by side, I noticed that the ribbing was about half an inch shorter on this sleeve. I counted the rows: 30 on one, 27 on the other. Sigh.

Frogged back to almost the end of the ribbing, and I will frog or tink it back the rest of the way, tomorrow. But as Beloved tactfully pointed out, better to find out now than once I’d reached the armscye. If I apply myself, I can recoup my lost work before bedtime tomorrow. That would be after sleeping off the fish fry which is our scheduled high priests’ social tomorrow afternoon.

“Brave.” And a CARE package. ♥

I got the second cuff done before work yesterday and took it along. I tried (for half a round) to work both sleeves on one long needle using Magic Loop and quickly separated them, the better to retain my sanity.

I’ll wait until you stop snickering.

I have now worked about three inches of pattern above the ribbing and am almost ready to switch back to the first sleeve. I figure that I’ll work a couple of inches on one, then the other, until I reach the armscyes.

The eagle screamed yesterday. (We got his Social Security disability check.) I paid a bunch of bills. After dinner, I nipped out and picked up a copy of Brave. [We loved it.] Also three pairs of brown cotton socks, a copy of The Blind Side (for only $10!), and a package of gel pens, as ours have a distressing habit of drying up or evaporating entirely.

Yesterday was reasonably productive at work, complicated only slightly by the monthly support staff meeting, where I actually learned several things that are or will be useful. One of which is that the upper limit for a medical expense reimbursement account has been dropped to $2,500 for 2013, down from $4,000. Now, I have never allocated $4,000 for medical expenses. I think I maxxed it at $900 back when I had two kids at home, because I would rather not get reimbursed for some of my medical expenses than lose unspent money at the end of the year.

Beloved was marginally awake when I came over to the computer this morning. I asked if he were sufficiently awake for me to ask him a financial question. He thought he was. I asked what he thought we should allocate for MER for next year. He gave me a bleary grin and said we need to discuss it when I get home from work tonight.

This is one of those practical applications of faith-and-works that gets really complicated for me. Last year I had to make the decision about the time we got engaged, and I had no idea what our medical expenses would be this year. So I allocated $400, which would cover my dental visits and a new pair of glasses, over and above my vision plan. We blew through that within a month after we married.

On the one hand, we have had more than $2,500 out of pocket this year, what with the trips to Houston and our co-payments for one thing and another. So it seems like a fairly safe bet to go for the maximum. On the other hand, that will erase approximately $100 from my take-home each payday, which will make monthly budgeting more scary for me. It seems easier emotionally to just deal with the co-payments as they pop up, but it’s far more sensible to reduce our medical outlay by our effective tax rate (which at this point is unknown, as we have yet to file a joint return). I need to crunch some numbers there to guesstimate what our effective tax rate might be. We keep meaning to talk to Beloved’s tax person, and other stuff keeps coming up.

There is so much minutiae to deal with. Getting the last of his mother’s stuff out of the dining room so we can eat in there again. Getting me a closet of my own. Wrangling all the stuff in the middle bedroom so it can become an office, and our bedroom can become a retreat, exclusively. Learning my new calling, which has detail upon detail upon detail, and I probably should be studying an hour a night for the next couple of months, until I feel I have some idea what-all is or should be going on with that stewardship. Taking over more of the housework, as Beloved’s energy flags. (And we all know how much I adore housework.)

But, ta-DAAA! Yesterday there was a CARE package from one of my girlfriends, a bag of Raspberry M&M’s she priority-mailed me. And much appreciated. It is such a quintessentially feminine thing to spend more on mailing a package than the contents are worth (at least in terms of retail), but as they say in the commercials: priceless!

Thank you, ma’am. They are going to work with me today. I’ll leave your delightful card here for Beloved to enjoy. Because I’m thoughtful like that.

There was other good news yesterday. Secondborn and her tribe thought they were having company for Thanksgiving dinner, making them unavailable for the joint-tribal feast that Younger Twin and his wife are hosting. The expected company will not be coming, so Bittiest and M the Marauder will get to join forces, while Beloved and I will be relatively close to home for when he gets tired and I have gotten overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. I don’t do crowds well. When we’ve gathered at Firstborn’s or Secondborn’s, there are anywhere from a dozen to two dozen people, and my limit is somewhere between two and three hours before I have to go home and take a nap.

I figure there will be two dozen people at minimum, a week from today, and likely a dozen more. [Middlest will not be able to join us this year, bummer.] It will be interesting to sit as an observer on my own shoulder and see how long it takes for my inner eeeeek to go off!

How to sign eeeeek: form the E hand and move it sideways through space long enough to make your point, then pop your hand into a K. A little bit of deaf humor to brighten your Thursday.

BTW, Robi, no need to beat yourself up for making me sniffly with that dedicated-to-me post of yours. Those were good tears. Yes, my inner 17 year old is still alive and well. She’s the one who wants to run screaming from Primary each week. And my Tina Turner legs are still in here, somewhere.

On that note, time for me to proud-Mary myself into the shower and doot-doot-doot-doot until I’m ready to hit the road.

One cuff done.

Thirty rounds, as it turned out, equal four inches in length, at least in K2P2 ribbing. I have done the first increases and parked the stitches on DP’s the size I will use for the rest of the sleeves and the body, and now I am soldiering away on the ribbing for the second cuff.

The Milestone Anniversary celebration went well. I did as little as possible on it yesterday (including skipping out on the cleanup; oh well) because I have tons to do before Friday. Two reports to transcribe today and a new case to open, and I have not even looked at my attorney’s calendar for the rest of the week, or Attorney B’s.

We are waiting to hear from Beloved’s oncologist that the new chemo pills have arrived. Which makes Thursday eight weeks without chemo.

However, last night we both had enough zip to attend Empty Nesters at a chain restaurant we both like, and we both pretty much cleared our plates. Beloved’s appetite has been good the past couple of days, which is encouraging.

May I just say that Ensure does not make a bad, quick meal? I snagged a bottle and a chunk of pepper jack to eat in the car on the way to church on Sunday, and I had no problem staying awake and alert for the duration. Breakfast yesterday was again in the car, on the way to work: a tuna sandwich and another bottle of Ensure. And I lasted until lunch, without the munchies. (Lunch was the last of the mac and cheese I made for dinner on Sunday. I tried one of the fancier incarnations, where you make a roux and then stir in the squeeze cheese and bacon bits.)

It’s 6:00a.m. and I realized this morning that I have a new relative with a birthday tomorrow, whose birthday made it onto my Google calendar but not onto the spreadsheet, so I need to hit Wally World on my way to work and find a wonderfully snarky gonna-be-belated birthday card for him. I have remedied the error on my spreadsheet so this won’t happen again next year.

No idea what I want for breakfast today, or to take for lunch. Beloved said there would be tacos tonight. Can’t wait!

Casting on.

I played with swatches last night after dinner, after grabbing Volume 1 of my Barbara Walker stitch dictionaries. Started with a size 5 needle and worked two or three patterns, including my favorite broken rib, then switched to a size 4 needle for a few rows of double moss stitch. Since Beloved wants a cardigan and I won’t have the efficiency of knitting in the round (not in the mood to steek the opening, thank-you-very-much), I want a knit/purl pattern that is relatively mindless but not entirely so. After clearing my head in the shower this morning, I am thinking of alternating double moss stitch with the odd bit of broken rib, maybe randomly and maybe not.

I have both sleeves cast on, and seven rounds of K2P2 ribbing worked on one sleeve, while the other sleeve sits in timeout because I cast on with size 4 needles and worked the first two rounds, then geared down to size 3 and only have the one set. My plan with the sleeves is to get the ribbing worked, then slip both cuffs onto a long circ and work them simultaneously, which would ensure that they match perfectly.

Once the sleeves are up to the armscyes, I’ll slip them onto a holding needle and work the body to that point. I am planning a K2 “seam” along the inside of each sleeve and matching ones where side seams would go if this sweater were knitted in pieces and sewn together. I think I will like how the various increases and decreases take shape a lot better if they snuggle up to a thin column of plain knitting, rather than disrupting the pattern. When I do the raglan decreases, I think there will be another “seam” between the decreases. Although it just occurred to me that it might be fun to work a mock cable over two stitches, marching up the inside of the sleeve and the sides of the sweater and most definitely at the raglan decreases. An inch or two of pattern above the sleeve ribbing will tell me if I am inspired or just plain nuts.

Meanwhile, I need to tank Lorelai before heading into work. We are having our Milestone Anniversary party this afternoon, (three individuals who have worked 5 years, 10 years, or 15 years, and four who have worked 20 years; a total of 110 years of collective brilliance, and some of my favorite people) and this will be my last hurrah for the festivities committee.

This is another week in which I will need to cram five days’ worth of work into four. And one in which I would really much rather sit in my chair in the living room and knit away on Beloved’s sweater. I am loving the color, and the yarn is every bit as nice to work with as I remembered.

A very Bitty meltdown

Several weeks ago, I was at Secondborn’s as they were wrangling the kids at bedtime. I sat downstairs during family scripture study and prayers. My legs were just not up to making the climb that day (they have a very tall house: soaring first floor, and the family room and kids’ rooms above that).

In the middle of murmur, murmur, murmur, there was suddenly an indignant wail from the Bittiest. And his father said calmly and sternly, “Do you think it’s a good idea to throw things?”

“Yes!” More wailing.

“Do. You. Think. It’s. A. Good. Idea. To. Throw. Things?”

“Yes!” Bittiest wailed even louder. “Wanna throw!” At which point I hid my face in my knitting to stifle helpless laughter. Boy, can I relate.

I would like to throw cancer down the stairs and then kick it until it stops moving. I am grateful, in retrospect, for all of the crummy experiences I have had in 60 years of living, which have made me strong enough to be useful to Beloved as he struggles with this. But it is so hard to watch him struggle and to hear him moan or cry out in his sleep. (He keeps a pretty tight lid on things when he’s awake, because that’s how our generation was raised.)

He’s lost mass in his shoulders, chest, and back. The sweater which fit him just loosely enough when we married in January, now hangs on his upper body. And he loves that sweater; he has had it for years, and it still looks great. Good news is, he is married to a knitter. And I found the yarn for his next sweater at one of the two closest LYS’s yesterday. Plymouth Galway, 100% wool in a worsted weight. I’ve worked with it before, I think for some of the missionary hats I made while living in Fort Worth. It’s a sturdy, workhorse yarn that’s a pleasure to knit and not scratchy when worn. I was hoping for a chunkier yarn, because hey, Beloved is a big dude. And I would like to give him this for Christmas, or sooner. I emailed Alison (and the Yarn Harlot), because both of them are married to Seriously Tall Dudes. How much extra to calculate, to allow for the extra altitude?

If Beloved were of average height, I would just take his circumference in inches, divide it in half, and that would be how many ounces of yarn I needed in a medium weight. Eight ounces less for a fine-gauge yarn, and eight more for bulky. (I learned this years ago from Jacqueline Fee’s The Sweater Workshop.) That gives me a basic number, and then I guesstimated that if I just bought a whole package of ten balls, I should have enough. If I have leftovers, I can take them back. And if I need more, they have ten more in the same dye lot in the back of the shop.

Am I evil because I just wish the Primary sacrament meeting program (this morning) and Sharing Time (I’m in charge of the lesson) were over and done with, so I can come home and swatch? This is the sacrament meeting that most folks look forward to all year, and it’s never been my favorite, although my kids always did their part and I was proud of them. And I come home in tears after exposure to large numbers of children. Happened after pack meeting on Wednesday. Happened again after the rehearsal on Friday night.

My patriarchal blessing says that I will spend the majority of my time with the youth in the Church. I’ve been a member for 37 years, and except for a few brief stints as a Primary teacher, that hasn’t happened. I thought I had dodged a bullet. Apparently not. It doesn’t help that our Primary president, when she bore her testimony, said that she was happy for the calling because that’s where the Savior would go if He were to visit our ward. I am trying to be like Jesus. Apparently I’m not trying hard enough, because that just makes me feel guilty, and hardly anything does.

Yes, I am laughing at myself. It looks like I will live to be very, very old, which was certainly part of my plan, if I am to spend the majority of my time serving with the youth. I guess I should just be thankful that I am not the Young Women’s president, because I like camping even less than I like being surrounded by hordes of sugar-infused short people, half of whom are seriously estrogen-deficient.

Ahhh, much better.

Early to bed, ridiculously early to rise, an hour or so of knitting, and back to bed. I made an omelette with pepper jack cheese and split it with Beloved. He is snoozing in his chair. I just finished creating a handout of sorts, to go in the bottom of the treat basket tomorrow. Making handouts and visual aids is my favorite part of teaching.

I would give you a visual, but it’s a Word document with a photo background, and I don’t know if Beloved has Paint on his computer. When I try to copy/paste, all it wants to pick up is the verbiage, which would look meh without the background. You’ll just have to trust me when I say it is scathingly brilliant, and retina-searingly bright. The Primary president will print it off, as my color printer is still in a box. Somewhere in the bowels of the middle bedroom.

At breakfast, I asked Beloved what his agenda is for the day: eating strawberry shortcake and clearing boxes out of the hallway. Mine includes getting a manicure and preparing Sharing Time for tomorrow. There is an elders quorum social this evening, but thankfully Beloved is a high priest, so we are not obligated to go. We have an HP social next Saturday, and maybe next Saturday I will be in the mood (and he will have the energy) to socialize.

For now, he’s come back to bed, so I guess it’s a couple of quick games for me (with the sound off) and then get cleaned up and go get my nails done. I have made most of the calculations necessary to order yarn for his sweater. Just need to go check a couple of things on Ravelry. It’s been awhile since I knitted a sweater for a man, and none of them were as tall as Beloved.

So tired. So weepy.

Went, like a good little Do-Bee, to the Primary activity tonight. Stayed through the music practice. Took my place as dispenser-of-canned-whipped-cream and made a bunch of short people very happy. (Sundaes as a reward for singing VERY LOUDLY and mostly on-key.) Around the time the sugar hit their collective bloodstream and they started racing around the gym, I handed the can of whipped cream over to the Primary secretary and took myself home.

Beloved did not sleep well last night. He vocalized a lot, fragments of sentences, much tossing and turning. Around 4:30 I gave up and went out into the living room. I have been dragging all day. I told Heavenly Father that it was only because I love Him and the Savior even more than I love Beloved, that I was fulfilling my responsibilities tonight. Every cell in my body was and is screaming for sleep. As soon as I got buckled into Lorelai, my eyes started leaking. Not big fat tears of self-pity. Just. Bone. Weariness.

I asked Beloved, when I kissed him goodbye this morning, if he had had nightmares. No, he just hurt all over.

Damn.

Attorney B took us (his regular secretary, his new paralegal, and me) out to lunch at a nearby restaurant today, just because. I had a most excellent chicken club sandwich with smoked bacon, chipotle mayonnaise (yum!), and a cookie that needed its own Zip Code for dessert. Business was light during lunch, so our waitress told us to help ourselves to the desserts in the buffet line, as otherwise they would just get thrown out. Oye. So dinner tonight, eaten between work and coming home to grab an ice cream scoop that never left my pocket at church (double oye), was the other half of my sandwich and another cookie.

Beloved dashed out during the day and bought shortcakes. It is a measure of his lack of energy that he did not make them. He also mooshed up some strawberries and raspberries, and in theory we would have dessert together when I got home from church. But he just wants to crash, and so do I.

I am hoping that he can sleep in at least one-hour increments. Lately it’s been more like 15-20 minute bites. And I am hoping that I can get at least six hours of sleep, no matter how many chunks it takes to get there. I just asked him if there is any reason to set the alarm for tomorrow. He confirmed that there is not.

Is that Hope lurking just out of my field of vision? I think that a good night’s sleep and a good, simple breakfast would go a long way toward fixing Ms. Ravelled. And woe be unto anyone who calls us before noon tomorrow morning!

Just a note.

Yesterday was kind of a bummer. I wore black to work, just to make fun of myself a little: black slacks, black socks, black clogs, black dressy T-shirt, white-with-black-dots barrettes. Regretted that I had polished off all the Tootsie Roll miniatures that went to work with me on Tuesday, because I could have used the chocolate.

My guy lost. The incumbent, however, is not the Anti-Christ, and I will pray for our leadership and rejoice in the fact that for Presidents, at least, there are term limits.

What would I like to see in the White House? Conservative. Female. LDS. Business acumen. A nice blend of feisty and gracious.

Sheri L. Dew in 2016! (The article is brief and well worth your time.)

Have a follow-up appointment with my allergist this morning. Ironically, I woke up with a stuffy head, and I know from experience that I should not take Zyrtec during waking hours. Maybe I should just stuff half a Tootsie Roll miniature (there are still a few here at home) in each nostril and hope for the best?

Anise ≠ not-a-nephew.

I grew up pronouncing it to rhyme with Alice: short A, short I, accent on the first syllable. On the food shows, they say aNIECE. Wikipedia says I am right. I really ought to check my hardcover dictionary to be sure, but it’s been a long day and Idawanna.

We are back from Houston and MD Anderson and bloodwork and more bloodwork, and a consultation with their oncologist, who talked by phone with our local oncologist, and they concur on the next course of therapy for Beloved, which involves his taking a pill every day, at home, for 21 days, and then not, for 7 days. I snickered, “Honey, you’re going on The Pill!”

We have pumpkin pie fudge in the fridge, and leftover dinner from the restaurant we like so much that’s on the way to and from Houston (lunch for each of us tomorrow, huzzah).

We also had our first fight yesterday. It lasted all of 20 seconds, if that, and we were snickering about it within the hour. He has posted on Facebook, including the difficulty of trying to schedule makeup sex, which is something I’ve never had but I’ve heard is great. The children’s father and I never fought. My first marriage was pretty much all one long fight, so I don’t think our love life counts. I am missing out on one of life's allegedly wonderful experiences, simply because Beloved and I are two middle-aged people who drove 500+ miles in less than 24 hours, and what we are really hoping for, individually and collectively, is a good night’s sleep.

Night, y’all. Oh good grief, he’s snoring already!

He’s home. ♥ And we’re gone again.

They released him from the hospital on Friday afternoon. I was up to my ears in alligators, so one of our friends fetched him and brought him home. Friday was payday. I picked up something for dinner -- don’t remember what -- oh yeah, finger lickin’ chicken for him, and tenders for me, and he ate maybe half of his and went to bed. I basically inhaled mine. I am not a big fan of fried chicken, and I definitely no longer like meat on the bone. Any kind of meat on any kind of bone. But the tenders smelled fantastic (hunger and exhaustion being the best spice) and I didn’t have to clean up the kitchen.

Yesterday we dropped Lorelai off for an oil change and lube, ran by Jack in the Box to try one of their new waffle breakfast sandwiches (amazingly good) and then to an Eagle court of honor for one of our young friends. I have been to two Eagle courts of honor since marrying Beloved. It’s a big deal: only 2% of Scouts, worldwide, ever have the gumption to make Eagle. Beloved had multiple scoutmasters growing up (military family) so never quite made it, but all three of the boys made Eagle. One of the things I love, is that the moms get a pin to wear in recognition of all they do to rear a son who is worthy to be an Eagle Scout. After the presentation to the parents (dads get a pin, too, and I’m not belittling that), then the Scout gets to recognize people who have mentored him. Beloved was honored on both of these occasions.

Yesterday he was the first honoree mentioned, after his parents. Instant tears for Ms. Ravelled. My feelings are very much on the surface after the week we have had (the happy ones every bit as much as the ones I am trying to wrangle into submission), and I suspect I will sit and weep in relief all through sacrament meeting today. If that doesn’t put me there, the music for the Primary program (our penultimate practice is today) will.

I have been working on the ruana this week, when I have had time to knit. It is coming along beautifully. Yesterday around 2:00am when I was up and about, I reorganized the yarns into color families in their gallon Ziploc bags. Why that didn’t occur to me before, I can’t say, but among other things it shows me where I have holes in the colors I am using. I definitely need more of a particular shade of green, and one of the fancy specialty yarns my sister gave me, has either gone missing or I used it up and don’t remember. Either is distinctly possible.

Beloved’s right leg is looking and feeling significantly better than when he went into the hospital. He has a new, improved anticoagulant and is taking the diuretic religiously, and he’s almost where we want him to be.

You should have seen us at Costco yesterday. Mel and Squishy pulled up just as we got home from the court of honor, and they stayed while Beloved catnapped. Then the four of us trooped up to Costco. I had the riding cart for 90% of our shopping, and Beloved took it on the home stretch. We both got exercise, neither of us wore ourselves out, and the kids were our happy, exuberant minions.

“Minion! Fetch me a sample of that, if you please!”

“Yes ma’am!” Much hilarity ensued.

This is the part where I get ready for church and figure out what small project to take for church knitting, because the ruana is getting huge, and discreet is the last adjective I would choose to describe it.

Thank you for your prayers, positive thoughts, et al. We feel them. ♥ Heading back to MD Anderson after church today. (And I haven’t mislaid my cell phone in two days!)

It’s been a little crazy here.

After the last trick or treater on Wednesday, we went to the ER. Not to get our candy X-rayed, but to get Beloved’s leg checked out. Same wonderful triage nurse as in June, same wonderful doctor, who said to us after reading the sonogram, that it was a very good thing we had brought Beloved in. You know that calm tone of voice that parents use when something has gone wrong and they don’t want the kids to panic?

That tone of voice.

Beloved’s right leg had multiple blood clots, notwithstanding the Lovenox he has been taking for a year for the ones in his lungs. He went via ambulance to the main facility after the twins quietly gave him a lovely and loving priesthood blessing.

I got home around 2:00am yesterday, emailed my attorney and office manager that I didn’t know when I would be in, emailed the family, and slept until 9:00 or so, when we got a call from MD Anderson. I was sufficiently awake to recognize the area code and the prefix, and to tell the caller that Beloved was in the hospital, but insufficiently awake to clarify that the hospital was not MD Anderson.

Oops.

I sent more emails, made a few calls, and went to visit Beloved in the hospital. They are taking very good care of him. I like his nurses. His local oncologist had come and gone by the time I got there.

Wednesday night I left my cell phone in Lorelai’s trunk. Last night I left it in Beloved’s hospital room when I went out to see why it was taking so long to get him some pain meds. That wonderful nurse had gotten separated from her cell phone (must be an epidemic of some sort), and she took care of it right away.

I came home, sent an update out to the siblings and kids, and crashed. Thought I had set the alarm to go off at 5:15, but woke naturally a little after 6:00.

And now I am headed back to the hospital, with a meatloaf sandwich for Beloved and a KnitPicks catalogue for him to peruse for yarn colors, and then on to the office, where we have a mandatory diversity and inclusion activity at 10:00 and Attorney B has something that he needs for a hearing (or something) no later than 9:15.

My inner snark is just screaming to come out. There are two or three people at the office who don’t know how close they came, yesterday, to having their heads handed to them. I am in the process of disentangling myself from a committee that I didn’t want to be on in the first place. So far, the Tact Fairy is still very much in charge, but she definitely has more plates spinning than any sane fairy wants to manage. (Remind me to tell you of my inner dialogue regarding the office Thanksgiving celebration.)

Please keep those prayers and positive thoughts coming!

Not feeling the love.

Worry not: Beloved is in no danger; neither is the cat. I am just not feeling affectionate about Color Affection, and the worm in the apple of my knitting Eden is the yarn I built this project around: one short skein of old-school Jitterbug in a color that knits up into mud no matter how many or how few the stitches I put on my needles. It looked pretty good with the pale pink, until I added the zinger of a deep cherry third color, and now we are back to glorified mudpile. Cygnet to swan(ish) to oh my heck, Ugly Duckling.

Oye. I am sorely tempted to frog back to where the pale pink ended, and put the project in time out until I find a medium color that works. Maybe the brighter red, maybe not. I am also sorely tempted to rewind the small skein and list it as for sale or trade on Ravelry. I think I might haul out my ruana and work on it awhile, as a palate/palette cleanser. The ruana is just that much too large to go back to work with me, if I remember correctly. Progress on it ended a few hours before I said I do. Since then, other long-term projects have caught my fancy, not to mention the Sisyphean effort to finally get our stuff merged in a way that makes sense.

Work was good. I fixed a simple but tasty dinner. Beloved is about ready to come in here and crash. The dishwasher is running. While I am pleased with my desk at work, I want to have at least a taste of that level of success before I call it a day. I am tired. Half an hour of happy knitting would change tired into relaxed.

Ms. Tola? you hanging in there in Joisey?

♫Thank you, Alison!♪

She had a wonderful post on memory, with links to Rick(y) Nelson singing Garden Party. And then his sons, who were either too young or too old for my girls to fall in love with, singing it as that trio, below. I don’t know which Nelson is which, but the dark-haired one in the middle is the spitting image of his dad, on whom I had a deep and abiding little-girl crush.



This video had me all misty eyed.

Much progress on the shawlette yesterday, and this morning before breakfast. I have nearly completed the last stripe sequence in the second section, and most likely while I am at church today will add in the third color.

My guys made tremendous progress in the dining room yesterday. I spent the better part of an hour shredding documents. A good chunk of the stuff they unpacked is going home with Trucker, and we found spiral notebooks that the Beloved grandkids can use. Five or six boxes of non-family-specific genealogical research information (old manuals) are out on the curb for pickup on Tuesday. I have a backup paper slicer (for scrapbooking) and a spare blade, which I put into my original slicer. I had just not quite managed to get to the craft store to buy more blades.

Anybody besides me remember the old Gillette commercials where they sang, “How are you fixed for blades?”

I’ve had a bowl of cereal and need to fix myself some toast and grab a chunk of cheese for additional protein. We have rehearsals this morning for the Primary program that will happen in two weeks. Gotta gird my loins.

Beloved is still very tired but continues to gain ground, we think, after the transfusion last Wednesday. One of our friends at church, who was at the preparedness activity yesterday, told me to tell Beloved that he probably got Democrat blood. I roared. Then on the way home I came up with the perfect riposte: no, it has to be Republican blood, because [most] liberals are only interested in giving away other people’s assets! And it will be Tom’s turn to roar.

I love math! (80% of my kids are shuddering.)

When I got home from work last night, I looked at the amount of variegated yarn left; it began as 100g or 320 yards. The new skeins are 150g or 400 yards, just that much more plump than the preceding generation of Jitterbug. I fired up a spreadsheet while dinner cooked, and I played with numbers. When I had something that looked plausible -- how much I have used vs. what proportion would be necessary for the short rows that will soon be my pleasure to knit -- I weighed the dwindling ball. I needed to have used no more than 45%. I had used 55%.

So when I went to bed last night, I had decided there would be tinking, and I was pretty sure that I knew just how much would be necessary, which would turn Color Affection into more of a scarf than a shawlette, unless I chose to put a wider solid red border on it.

But after sleeping on it, I have decided to finish out this middle section with the variegated yarn; I think I will have just enough and maybe enough to start the third section as written. And then I will decide if I want to do the rest of the third section alternating the pale pink solid with the dark red solid, or just the dark red solid. It’s not a decision I need to make right away.

I’m home from our ward disaster preparedness activity. Which, thankfully, was not a disaster. The premise was that North Texas had had a 500-year ice storm, power was out, houses were damaged, etc. I woke up this morning, realized that I needed to be at church in an hour and a half because I had a part to play as a member of the Primary presidency (!), muttered a few childbirth words because we need to get a new inside fridge today, and there are pomegranates to slay, but I went and did my duty and even managed to have fun, especially when we were sitting in the gym, eating cold sandwiches and bags of potato chips and bottles of water, and a piece of fruit, and I got to talk with grown-ups.

(I spent my stint of service reading stories to small kids, using a flashlight, because I am not a crawl around on the floor kind of grandmother. I am a sit quietly in a chair and read books to you sort of grandma. I discovered some new favorite books that need to end up at the Bitties’ house, and rediscovered some old favorites from when my kids were little.)

More work is about to ensue. OlderTwin helped us haul off the spare boat trailer for scrap and has found us a new fridge which we can get on Monday, huzzah! So Trucker and Beloved and I are going to tackle the boxes in the dining room, and I am ridiculously hopeful that by the time Trucker leaves on Monday night, we will be able to use the dining room as a dining room, and on to the next project. Which, please Heaven, will be my closet?

An *interesting* experience.

Work went well. Life? a little more difficult. I got distinctly teary-eyed during my morning-commute prayer. (What? you don’t pray when you’re driving to work? Then you obviously don’t live and drive in North Texas!)

The teary-eyed bit is not a new thing. It has happened frequently over the years, and it doesn’t necessarily signify sadness. It happened when I was serving as Relief Society president in my old ward. It happened when one or another of the kids was plowing through a major struggle. And sometimes it happens because of a breathtakingly beautiful sunrise.

After cycling in and out of depression for eight years while married to the childrens father, I keep a very close watch on my mental health dipstick. I will not claim that all is [root] beer and skittles in the Ravelled household; Monday’s bad news is a lot to process. But really, for the moment, I am OK. And Beloved is perking right up after yesterday’s transfusion. His color is good, and his twinkle is back, and his voice sounds way more like him than recently.

The last two days I have taken my lunch at 2:00 rather than the usual 1:00 or thereabouts. I have just gotten into a flow and waited for a natural break. Made for much shorter afternoons, let me tell you! Yesterday the only other co-worker in the break room when I finally broke for lunch, was there with her copy of That Book. (She is the latest of a bunch of my co-workers to be reading Fifty Shades of Ick. And cheerfully acknowledges that it is smut. Just in case I was in any doubt.) I sat at her table, because the one where I usually sit was greasy from other people’s lunches, and I was not in the mood to wipe it down so that I could knit unscathed.

As I sat on the other end of her table, I got progressively more cranky and verklempt. It was really weird. I didn’t say anything to her, I was not thinking condemnatory thoughts about her, but I could feel myself feeling more and more sad and frustrated about Beloved’s health issues and the prognosis. Ten minutes after she finished her lunch and went back to her desk, I felt like me again.

As I pondered it on the drive home, what I came up with is this: reading the kind of stuff she was reading, does not attract angelic attention, but the opposite. I think if I had had eyes to see, there was all sorts of dark stuff swirling around her end of the table. And, because the Adversary and his minions do not have a veil of forgetfulness over them, as we mortals do, they know exactly what Beloved and I are facing, where our vulnerabilities are, and are eager to play upon them. I think some of that dark stuff swirled over to my end of the table.

I love her dearly, and I will be finding someplace else to sit at lunch today. Maybe down in the atrium amongst the trees, with sunlight trickling down from the skylights through the leaves. I played the Primary music tape (for our Primary program next month) one and a half times on the drive home, and sang along, and when I got home I only needed a bear hug from Beloved to finish putting my day aright.

 The knitting is going well. I am about halfway through the first set of stripes. Jury is out on whether there will be enough of the contrast yarn to make it through to the end. I might end up frogging back and turning this into a large-ish scarf rather than a shawlette. We shall see.

Friday. We are encouraged to wear pink, and our tennis shoes and jeans, today. The latter I can manage. I did not get out to Wally World yesterday to pick up a new pair of jeans, but if I scoot I can do that and maybe score a non-boring pink shirt to go with, inexpensively. No idea what I want for breakfast, except a whole lot of something, but I have leftover smothered steak and mashed potatoes to take for lunch. And tonight we are having salmon and steamed carrots; anything else is just the cherry on top of the sundae as far as I am concerned.

Yarn search? Successful!

I walked into the shop after work last night, asked for the nice lady who had helped me over the phone the night before, and she led me right to the perfect shade of Bing cherry that will complete my shawlette. In the meantime, I have worked four repeats of the stripe pattern with yarn #2, and it is turning out exactly as I had hoped.

Beloved’s transfusion went well yesterday. They gave him two units, plus a massive dose of diuretic to get that right leg to drain. He didn’t sleep well last night (much getting-up to deal with the natural results). His back aches, but he is currently snoozing on the bed behind me. This is his prime sleeping time. He can usually get a solid 2-3 hours, this time of day.

His brother got here safely last night and accompanied me to the grocery store, and treated us (ok, treated me) to the last three pints of Chocolate Therapy in north Texas. I know. I’ve looked. They will spend the next few days finishing up the pomegranate harvest. I told his brother that we were going to work him like a Hebrew slave while he’s here.

I found out where my favorite button store has moved to. They had a stack of business cards at the yarn shop, and they are about a block north of them, which means they are minutes away from me. This bodes well for if-and-when my sewing mojo returns.

I had another good, productive day at work yesterday. When I left the office, I had set up the most important task I will need to accomplish today, and I should get that knocked out in no time. Part of me wishes I could stay home and work around the house with the boys, but work and knitting are the only two parts of my life where I feel like I know what I am doing right now, which is a nice segue into my new calling at church.

I’m in the Primary presidency. Monday’s news crowded that out of my consciousness for awhile. Jesus wants me for the Sunbeams. And the nursery, and the kids who are older than the Sunbeams but not yet baptized, and the Cub Scouts. Feel free to chortle: I know virtually nothing about little boys. Apparently, Heaven thinks it’s time for that to change. And I am grateful to no longer need to prepare a weekly lesson.

Time for me to enter the new yarn on Ravelry, grab my bags, and scoot out the door a little early. Lorelai wants a nice drink, and the jeans I bought after Beloved proposed last year, are getting to be just that much too comfy to wear to work. If I leave now I can swing by Wally World and get a new pair and still have time for knitting before work.

Better.

Beloved has an appointment today for an infusion. What makes that different from a transfusion, I don’t know, and I don’t have time to consult the Google and Thummim. But we are thankful.

OlderTwin and wife, and Mel and Squishy, came over last night to help us lobotomize pomegranates. Notwithstanding the floor covering they laid out, the carpet looks like a battlefield. Am I upset? No, because sooner or later that carpet is going bye-bye, and in the meantime it will remind me of the love and laughter in our living room last night.

I cooked dinner. For six people. And still remembered how. Granted, Beloved had the tomato sauce simmering when I got home with the rest of the meal. But I wrangled the spaghetti (two pounds of it) and the garlic bread, and we have meals through the end of the week if we like, and just enough garlic bread for me to take with one portion for lunch today, woohoo!

The contrast color of the Jitterbug looks fantastic against the semi-solid pale dusty pink. And the yarn shop which is near the temple, has Jitterbug in stock in what sounded, over the phone, like promising colors. I am heading there after work today.

This is the part where I pick out which shirt to wear, and what accessories, and get the heck out of Dodge. Hoping for another productive day at work. My desk wasn’t too bad when I got there yesterday.

Beloved’s youngest brother will be here tonight and stay for a couple of days. Really looking forward to that. He’s good people, and the house will rock with laughter, and we’ll all be the better for it.

If no news = good news, then...

News = bad news. In this case, mostly true. We’ll start with the trivial bits first.

Yesterday morning, when I was sitting on the bed in Houston, ready to add in the second color, I reread the instructions. Which is when I discovered that I had had it wrong from the set-up row. Thankfully, Jitterbug frogs well. I took it back to the slipknot and started over. I am happy to report that while it looked pretty amazing, done wrong, it looks incredibly better, done right. I have one row left before adding the second color. I figured that would give me adequate stuck-at-lights knitting for the morning commute.

The other news is more significant. First, I will praise the good people at MD Anderson for their thoroughness as well as their jaw-dropping kindness. [While we were waiting to meet with the oncologist, a nice young man walked around with a basket of healthy snacks: graham crackers and pretzels, etc.; they certainly didn’t do that when Beloved was treating at Parkland.] When we were there two weeks ago, we mentioned Beloved’s headaches as well as his mobility issue from stepping off the curb wrong and pulling a muscle in his gluteus maximus while crawling around harvesting the leeks and beets from the garden. Expensively-educated eyebrows started flapping. So they scheduled CT’s and MRI’s for this visit. That’s what happened when YoungerTwin took him down last week.

We got the results back yesterday. They compared the new CT scans with the ones taken in August. Lungs are basically okay at this time - there are some cancer (sub centimeter nodules) cells; in his liver, one of the tumors has increased from 5.6cm (about 2”) to 6.6cm (about 2.5”). So those scans pretty much tell us what we already knew. The lungs are holding their own, and the liver is revolting, which is something at which liver excels, on principle.

The MRI of his brain raises concerns; the tech and the doctor reviewing this MRI recommend an additional scan (skull base MRI) to check some soft tissue abnormalities that will need to be investigated. My unprofessional guess? More tumors.

The MRI of his spine showed some natural degeneration due to getting older. However there is metastasis into the spine. So the pain he has been having in his lower back above the right buttock may also be due to the metastasized cancer, in addition to the muscle pull.

They can give him injections to strengthen the bone; however, a possible side effect could be necrosis of the jaw tissue. Basically, that which would strengthen his spine and hip (critical in case of a fall) has a distinct possibility of killing his jawbone. So we have a hard decision to make in that area.

His hemoglobin should be 14 or so. It was 10.7 in August and has dropped to 8 as of last week; Beloved’s metaphor: 8 cylinder engine running on 4 cylinders with some bad spark plugs. MD Anderson will be coordinating with our local oncologist to set Beloved up for a blood transfusion, which we hope will get him back up to speed.

As far as the swelling in his right leg swelling, it is evidently a deep vein thrombosis (blood clot) and possibly a partial blockage in the femoral artery but this will be addressed in the near future.

There is some good news: several of the liver enzyme levels which had been rising (not good) have dropped a little (very good), meaning that the liver is doing what it can to fight the cancer.

Another positive note is that he has gained five lbs since two weeks ago. This is very good news. I keep telling him he can have some of mine.

Remember the brouhaha with UT Southwestern a few weeks ago? They did not want to play with our HMO. The drug in their clinical trial has been approved by the FDA, and it is an oral medication, which means it could be administered locally, presumably by our wonderful, local oncologist.

As far as the Phase 1 that we thought we were in? The doctor at MD Anderson has another patient who qualifies, who has seniority on the list. Unless that patient declines to participate, Beloved will not get into the study after all. On the one hand, much of what we learned yesterday (except for taking the second blood sample) could have been taken care of over the phone; on the other hand, news like we got is best delivered in person, so it was worth the time, expense, and physical stress of making the trip.

I will close with Beloved’s words to our children: “Cancer is leading in the scoring at this point - but I never learned how to quit and am too old to learn how now - so the battle is not over. Prospects in the 2nd half look good.” As for me, I am strangely calm and peaceful. (Or maybe just calmly strange.) But I have the unmistakeable sense that everything will work out perfectly and elegantly, so I intend to enjoy each day as it comes. Thank you for your prayers and positive thoughts. Please keep them coming.

Beloved is moulting.

He was right: his hair is definitely getting thinner all over; I find it ironic that he should be losing his hair a month after his last chemo and not during chemo. We go back for consultation tomorrow to find out what his treatment schedule will be on the investigational drug.

He and YoungerTwin (I do need to find better names for the twins, and for their wives) had a good, safe trip. I drove YT home after they got back to our house yesterday afternoon, and we had a good talk.

Beloved has showered and is getting dressed. He just emitted a new noise. It was alarming. I asked if he was OK. He said he was. I said I knew most of his noises, but that was a new one.

“I always test-drive my new noises on Sunday.”

*Snort*.

Today I will get sustained and set apart for my new calling. I may not be able to tell you what it is for a couple of days, because I don’t know if Beloved’s laptop is working, and I don’t know how much zip I will have after a lightning trip to Houston and back, particularly if I do most or all of the driving.

Yesterday, tired as he was, he picked a flat and a bucket of pomegranates, and we got most of them seeded and juiced last night. The rest will have to wait until tomorrow night, because after church we are coming home, taking a quick nap (neither of us slept well last night), and then getting the heck out of Dodge.

The new knitting is coming along nicely. I will probably get into the second color while we are at MD Anderson tomorrow. I wonder if that yarn shop will be open tomorrow? I would like to pick up the third color sooner, rather than later, and it would be an excellent souvenir of the trip.

I did a little buying to go with my shopping on Friday. (Not sure if I blogged that.) Three new/replacement dressy T-shirts, another pair of leggings, and some accessories. A very modest expenditure. And I saved Beloved $37.17 on the clothing alone. [1BDH said I should make sure to point that out to Beloved.]

I need to grab my handouts for what I hope will be my last Primary lesson to teach, ever, but what I suspect will not. I will genuinely miss having these kids in class; I will not miss having to prepare a lesson every week.

Conundrum conquered?

I put a bunch of yarns together at lunchtime, trying to figure out which project and what I was going for in terms of color. I very nearly went with Noro Kureyon Sock for the first section of Color Affection, with the Jitterbug as the second color, and a bamboo blend from Oldfield Creek: Panda. The yarns all begged to play together, but there would have been very little change in value from the one to the next. It would either have been brilliant, or an utter muddle, and while Jitterbug frogs well, Kureyon does not, plus even after it has been washed it will never be as soft as Jitterbug.

I decided to swing by The Shabby Sheep on my way home from work. I nearly had heart failure when I saw that the little yellow house was closed up. No worries: they have moved to the slightly larger house next door. And they had a (new, improved, i.e. larger) skein of Jitterbug in a pale dusty pink that is just half a tick lighter than the lightest pink in the skein I had. So it will become my jumping-off point, as soon as I wind up the ball and frog the sock toe from the other skein, and I will get in a modicum of knitting before calling it a day.

I will hit the other local yarn stores to see if they have the third color I am holding in my mind. A darkish grey would be gorgeous, but safe. I am thinking more along the lines of cranberry to plum, and Jimmy Beans has a color that looks likely, but I want to hold a skein in my hand, with the work in progress, and not try to guesstimate a match over the internet.

And that, my friends, is all you are getting out of me tonight. My eyes are growing heavier by the minute, and my hands are itching to knit.

Irn Bru? P.U.!

One more thing to cross off my bucket list, that I don’t remember putting on there.

Several years ago, before I became Beloved’s beloved, his ward had a missionary from Scotland (because even the most hard-shell traditional Christians just might listen to an elder with a brogue), and when Beloved and his eldest traveled to Scotland, they tried something called Irn Bru, which is something of a national treasure Across the Pond. It’s pronounced iron brew.

Squishy found some locally at an anglophile store in or around Dallas. He and Mel brought us a couple of bottles last night. I brought one to work this morning, leaving the other for Beloved’s enjoyment. We had the monthly staff meeting this morning, and sometimes those run long, and sometimes they run long after a night in which sleep has run short.

I have no idea how the quantity of caffeine in Irn Bru stacks up against that in my guilty pleasure, Cherry Coke, but I suspect it is geometrically diabolically greater. I also suspect I will have zero difficulty remaining awake on the drive home. [Edited to add: I was correct.] Or after dinner. [Haven’t had it yet but am still quite lively.] Or, possibly, after I pull the covers over my head tonight. [Oh dear!]

Irn Bru is suspiciously orange. It would make orange Jello feel inadequate. It might even be brighter than day-glow poster board! I nursed a cup all afternoon, and there was still about three-fourths of a cup left in my glass when I was ready to head home. I unrepentantly poured it down the drain. I brought the mostly-full bottle home with me and stuffed it into the outside fridge, because our inside fridge is singing Mimi’s death aria from La Bohème and is awaiting a visit from the appliance repairman on Saturday afternoon, which I suspect is a fiendish plot to keep me from buying yarn for the next project.

My Classic Lines Cardigan is done. All stitched up. I have yet to steam it, but I tried it on, that wonderfully scary moment when you find out if your gauge swatch (assuming you made one, which I did) was wildly off or if your yarn is a pathological liar that has been waiting patiently two and a half months to erupt into hysterical laughter.

It fits. Now for the temperature outside to slide consistently downward so I can wear it.

I’ve printed off one possibility for my next project: Color Affection, which is not the rectangle I thought it was, but a long and lovely crescent written for either fingering or laceweight yarn. My other option is something from Knit, Swirl.

I spent an hour or so this morning, poring through my copy of the latter while trying not to drool on the pages. There are several versions of it which use both laceweight and a heavier yarn. I may have finally found the right project for my turquoise/brown/etc. handpainted silk birthday yarn from several years back. I have started and frogged two or three projects. Right now the yarn is sulking in my studio.

If I go with Color Affection, I will take my one skein of Jitterbug in pink/grey/lavender(ish) that refuses to become a pair of socks, and see if I can score two greys to mix with it and make it happy to be out of the skein. I would hate to think that this skein is one of those that is never going to be pretty, all knitted-up. It called my name so sweetly, back in 2009 or 2010.

Six flags over excusez-moi?

Beloved was scooping some of the cooked chicken out of the container from the fridge. He asked in a kind but genuinely puzzled tone, “What’s this green stuff on top of the chicken?”

“The leeks. I didn’t want them to go to waste.”

“I’ve never had leeks in fajitas.”

“Think of it as the French influence. You know, six flags over fajitas.” Some of you may not know that six flags  have flown over the Lone Star State. One of them was the French tricolor, but for some reason we are known for barbecue and not beignets. ♫Oh, beignets can you seeeee?♪ Nope!

Pretty decent day at work. I ran by the grocery store on my way home, to pick up supplies for handmade cards for the five people at work who are regularly, or intermittently, my bosses. The cards are done, and I made them using things most people find delicious, but which I would rather not eat, so I’m not feeling the least bit tempted to taste-test.

At this writing, I am nearly done binding off the first band on the sweater front. Beloved has Dancing with the Stars on, and I’m heading out there in just a minute, to finish the band and stitch it down and pick up stitches for the second band. Or maybe just to go flirt with the man who keeps me in fajitas. Although I’m not sure that canoodling was what the songwriter had in mind when s/he wrote: This is the night we’ve waited for, oh what a treat we have in store, we love each other more and more, with every fam’ly night.

Tomato, tomahto. I’m outta here!

My friend Alison shared this.

And it’s too good not to re-post.

Stake conference today was just amazingly wonderful. I came home instructed, edified, and even more peaceful than is the norm around here.

The elder twin and a friend were just leaving as I got home. They had come to give Beloved a blessing. He was having killer headaches and that dull ache in his midsection which my experience with hepatitis in 1979 tells me is his liver having fits.

He separated maybe a dozen and a half pomegranates and got the seeds rinsed and put into ziploc bags for later processing. I made a simple dinner: four of those giant chicken thighs simmered in a big pot with our entire harvest of leeks (about two cups’ worth chopped; the leeks we got were slim like Audrey Hepburn, not sassy like Mae West) and some herbes de Provence and freshly-ground pepper. When the chicken was done, I pulled it out and used instant mashed potatoes to make an ultra-simple potato soup. (We needed to use up what was left in the box.) Also made garlic bread, and this time I got the timing right with the broiler, so third time really was the charm, just as it is for this marriage.

Insert wink here.

I have completed reinforcing the steek on the sweater, slashed it open, picked up stitches along one front, and am about a third done knitting the first band. The Packers game is still on, out in the living room, but I needed to get up and find a slightly different sitting position, and I am about footballed out for one day.

[Aside: I walked into my studio to put the silk thread away after finishing the steek reinforcements, and I closed the door, and the hooked rug on the floor, combined with all the other textile bits stashed or strewn about the room, benevolently conspired to make the game inaudible. Just as There Are No Cats in America, there is no football in my studio. Although if I could find an SD, MSD, or Yo-SD-sized poster of Aaron Rogers or Clay Matthews, particularly the latter, I bet I could find room for that. Blessing strikes me as a Packers fan, under her Eliza R. Snow demeanor.]

Mostly done.

The raglan decreases on the sweater are done, as is the neckband, as is the weaving-in of ends. The neckband is about three-fourths stitched in place, and I still need to close up the underarms, but we are about this [ ] far from being ready to reinforce the steek, turn this pullover into a cardigan, and whip up the bindings for the front edges.

This morning we had the baptism of one of my Primary kids. Her father joined the church a few weeks ago. This, as a result of the child who walked up to her mom one day and said that she needed some money because she wanted her mom to sign her up for church. She figured it was like soccer, where you have to pay to play.

Only with your life, honey, only with every scrap of brains and heart and grit that you have, if you want it to be worthwhile. And it is.

We have the preliminary appointments set, and if I understand everything, the last one they gave us is not the first one in the series of treatments. Beloved has to be off chemo for 28 days before they can begin the new protocol, and his last chemo was September 20th. He is tired and weak and achy, and he asked today if maybe his hair is getting thinner, and maybe it is, a little.

I suspect that, without chemo to keep them down to a dull roar, all the little cancer beasties in his liver are letting the good times roll, much like the bugs in the Raid commercial before the shadow of that aerosol can falls over them. I had hepatitis in 1979. What I remember is being unutterably weary (a different sort of weariness than from depression) and having a perpetual dull ache in the midriff. He is having headaches, still, but mostly the achy middle. He came to the baptism with me this morning, but he was using my cane to help drag himself along.

The doctor said last week that if the protocol works, it will significantly improve Beloved’s quality of life as well as the quantity of time remaining. We are hopeful.

It is one thing to suffer, personally. Most of the suffering I have experienced in life, I have brought upon myself through poor choices. Some of it has been inflicted upon me by the poor choices of others. And some of it is just a byproduct of living in a fallen world. It is ever so much harder to watch one’s children suffer, or one’s spouse. I know it’s not as bad as it will get before the end, for either of us, but I think of the counsel and warning given to the Savior’s mother, that a sword would pierce her heart also.

There are days that it feels like that.  And yet, for the moment, my heart is at peace and I have no shortage of hope.

Beloved just walked in and is making getting-ready-for-bed noises, so I will close this down for the night and wish you sweet dreams and peaceful slumber. And us, as well.

Simple Gifts / Choose the Right

One of my favorite hymns is the Shaker standard, Simple Gifts.



Another is in our hymnal, Choose the Right. What does this have to do with knitting, you ask? Well, sometimes the best solution to a situation turns out to be the simplest. I have begun the neckline shaping on my sweater. It involves short-rows, and in about a row and a half I will have to do a patterned row, where I want the handpainted yarn to lie on top of the finished stitch. However, that row is now a purl row, which means that I will not be looking at the face of the sweater, but its reverse. I wondered, do I knit-back-backward, a technique I learned many years ago? It accomplishes the same thing as purling, but you get to watch the stitches travel from left to right, which is not the norm if one is a right-handed knitter. [And I have not tried it in years.]

On all previous patterned rounds, I simply placed the decorative yarn to the left of the main yarn, ensuring that it would lie on top. It took me longer than I care to admit to realize that I can purl back and get the same effect if I make sure the decorative yarn is on the right. When I turn the work so the right side is facing me, the fancy yarn will be on the left, and the stitches will look just the way I want them to look.

'Til by turning, turning we come round right.

He’s doing better. Thank you!

His pain and discomfort is much diminished. He’s ambulating better. And we got great news yesterday: he’s been accepted into the clinical trial for the targeted treatment. We are still getting the proper referrals in place, but it’s all opening up in that direction, and we are tired but hopeful.

Another blessing is that his twins both have jobs where they can work from home, so they will be able to do some of the schlepping-of-Beloved to Houston and back, leaving me here at least part of the time to work and earn the money for deductibles and cat food and other inconsequentials like that. Squishy can also take a turn from time to time, but his employer needs more notice than do the twins’ bosses. This is one humongous relief, because I have X days of vacation remaining, and the first round of treatment would pretty much use them up. I am so grateful for the boys’ generosity and willingness to serve, and for the kindness of their managers.

I have one set of raglan decreases (three more decrease rounds) before I start the neck shaping on my sweater. I would give a hearty huzzah! but I woke up at 2:30 or so and have yet to go back to sleep. I tried, but he was up, and then I was still awake, so I got up and paid bills, which will make four business entities very happy indeed.

Last night after family prayer, Beloved went to bed, and I went out to the living room for a wee bit of knitting to finish winding down from the day. All of a sudden, there he was. He had come back out to tell me that he loves me (!) and make sure that I was well and truly kissed. And then he went back to bed.

Which is something that I would like to do, but I don’t see it happening before tonight. (I know that my office manager won’t want to see it happening while I am slaving over a hot keyboard.) Work went well yesterday; I am hoping for more of the same today.

I think I forgot to mention that the lovely blessing which Beloved got, spilled over onto me. There is no way, under ordinary circumstances, that I would have been able to drive half of the mileage to Houston, and 90% of it home, without Heavenly intervention. My right knee is just that bad. Some of you will remember how crippled-up I was after two round-trips to Huntsville five years ago for UIL choir camp for LittleBit. Not. Fun. But now? Only a hint of tenderness. Only the slightest bit of swelling.

So thankful.

Home and safe and hopeful.

We are back from Houston. I drove two good-sized chunks of it yesterday and virtually all of it this afternoon.  Beloved has/had an intermittent, fierce headache dancing all over the inside of his skull. We think part of it is that the frames on his new glasses are too snug. So he will get that fixed while I am at work.

We should hear in a couple of days if he has gotten into the targeted therapy at MD Anderson, but it is looking good. They have to do another CT of his head (because of the headaches) and are doing an MRI of his spine (to make sure that the pain in his derriere is strictly muscle-related, as we believe).

We have had family prayer, and he will be crawling into bed any minute now, and I will be heading out to the living room to finish depressurizing from the drive. I drank most of a 20 oz Cherry Coke on the way down last night, and I polished it off this afternoon, and to say that I am wired would be the mother of all understatements.

The lovely blessing which he got after church yesterday has spilled over onto me. Ordinarily, there is no way on this lovely green Earth that I could have driven 90% of a 250+ mile drive and been able to walk afterward. Not only am I moving around the house at a somewhat livelier than usual clip, I was the one who unloaded the car (not that there was much to unload, this time around; we ate pretty much everything we took, and I am quietly devouring the last of the gingersnaps, so the rest was mostly laundry, which is now in the hamper).

I found the one yarn shop in Houston which was theoretically open on Monday, and when I walked inside, it looked like it was being run by two good looking young guys, and I thought huzzah! but they turned out to be electricians, and the owner had just left.

I have to tell you about our room. If the battery had not been dead on his laptop, Beloved was tempted to post a description on FB. Shall we just say that it was, more or less, the equivalent of a honeymoon suite because our reservation had gotten lost in space, and that was the only nonsmoking room on the ground floor which was still available. So they upsized us. Headboard consisting of a ginormous mirror, which inspired no end of ribaldry on our part with a side order of wishing that we both felt more lively. Jacuzzi with a sign requesting that it not be turned on until all of the jets were properly underwater. Obedient sort that I am, I complied, but I think somebody must have hit something when cleaning it. because once the water hit about half-mast, there were geysers spraying out into the room from the back of the tub. A process which repeated itself with only slightly less enthusiasm as the tub drained after my (solo) soak.

I would say that the vast majority of the patrons of this clean, small, inexpensive inn are middle-aged to geriatric cancer patients/families like Beloved and Ms. Ravelled. I wonder how many of them can truly appreciate a mirrored headboard? I will add that it was not particularly comfortable to lean up against while knitting in bed. But at least we were not sleeping in Lorelai, or under a bridge.

Beloved is horizontal and fading fast. The only sounds in our room are the ticking of our clock and the tapping of my fingers on the keys. Night, all...

I *had* a clever title, but...

...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.