A really great Sabbath

Another one of those golden days, and much appreciated.

I made it to Arlington early, so I drove through my old neighborhood to see the flood damage. My friend Leslye's house is by a park and a creek. That creek sent four feet of floodwater through her home last week. All along that curve, the houses were open, and many of them had Dumpsters out front. I saw her hubby and a younger man (not their son) out in the yard but did not have time to stop and hug everybody. A little further down the street is the complex where we lived for several years, the one where it was Mardi Gras 24/7 upstairs, after Katrina. The property is still surrounded by a chainlink fence. The units on the west side ground floor had their windows and doors open, so they must have had some flooding. Our old apartment, on higher ground, appears to be intact.

Then I drove on to the chapel and to hear Firstborn sing, “I Heard Him Come,” a lovely song written from the viewpoint of one of the lepers. I wish her voice coach from high school could have heard her. I got a lot of knitting in and am now halfway up the left back on Faith’s sweater.

Then I came home, took a catnap, and picked up my companion for visiting teaching. We went over, had dinner, and talked for nearly four hours about family life and the gospel. I got home just in time to go to bed again.

My gym bag is packed; let Monday officially begin.

Bitties and bits

I think the funniest thing I heard yesterday, was “Happy Birthday, N@ked Boy!” That’s what the Bittiest grandchild got told by BittyBubba (age 3) or BittyCousin (age 2) as 2BDH plunked him down into his highchair, clad only in a diaper, for the ceremonial Destruction of the Cake.

It’s a great line. I am filing it away in the back of my mind (where it will never be seen again) should the day ever arrive when I am married. Until then, all my married friends? feel free to use it annually, with my blessing.

How many middle-aged women do you know who would spend $18 on erasers? The answer is, at least one. Middlest and Fourthborn had a photoshoot with their dolls when Fourthborn flew back in July. A dolly picnic, complete with quilt to sit on, cupcakes, and assorted junk food. Erasers, all.

After the birthday party yesterday, I repurposed a small plastic square space-keeper from the new package of furniture slides which Secondborn slipped under the legs of their couch. I was originally thinking that it would make a cute end table, but then I pried away the layers of padding that were under the plastic, and there was enough adhesive that stuck, to do this:



The burgers would be the size of a small pizza for Chutzpah, but more like an average hamburger for Blessing and Celeste. I was only able to score two milkshakes, three sets of fries, a couple of packages of assorted apples, three ice cream cones, two ice cream sandwiches, and a pineapple. I will hit the Michaels in south Arlington when I am off this week, and ones in BigD and Plano when I go to the temple and the Balloon Festival.

I had no luck in the search locally for more steel crochet hooks. So I will order them online, where I can get them more cheaply anyway. [Tola, thanks for asking. If you do have a spare Boye 2 and Boye 3 (not Susan Bates), let me know. I have all the red aluminum hooks I will probably ever use.]

I am about halfway through the Annotated Pride and Prejudice. I don’t think that Jane Austen would consider me well-bred. And I think I am not as much like Elizabeth Bennet as I would wish, except perhaps for the stubbornness.

The annotator makes the comment that there are few real villains in Jane Austen’s novels. Most of the chaos that ensues is a result of good people making poor choices. And I think that that is a pretty fair description of real life, certainly as I have experienced it.

I don’t think that the children’s father’s paternal grandfather had any idea how much wreckage would follow his choice to leave his wife and four children for another woman. I am quite certain that the children’s father did not wake up one day and decide that he had had quite enough with being responsible and the rest of us could just fend for ourselves. I made the decision to divorce him after much pondering and prayer, knowing that it would cause enormous pain and difficulty for our children, but having faith in their essential goodness and strength. [I have been frequently appalled at the result.] And I do not think that Brother Abacus made a conscious choice to deal with the pain of losing his wife by breaking as many hearts as he could, as quickly as he could.

In a small way, I suppose, he has done me a favor. I am very much more careful about where I bestow my heart, and I am much happier being single than I was in my 20’s. And far more patient about the dating process. And more willing to trust Heaven about the timing.

Last night, on Facebook, there were pictures posted of a group date. The new guy was on it, with one of the other petri dishes, and I just looked at the pictures and smiled. No jealousy. [Yay!] No wishing that I had chosen to ask him. Group dates are really not my thing. This peacefulness-regarding-a-guy is not the norm [for me], but I am thoroughly enjoying it.

And it doesn’t hurt to remind myself that he is cooking dinner for me on Tuesday night.

Because sometimes I am flexible.

Don’t laugh, it happens. Just not very often. I stopped at JoAnn’s after work and bought an EZ Design Flex Rule. From the front of the package, “Flexible ruler bends to create and measure curves. Holds shape to repeat designs.” [Repeated in French and Spanish.]

And from its back, “Suggestions for use: Quilting -- Create vines, place leaves at intervals along vine, and flip to create exact mirror images in corners. Create unique edges, scallops, and more for quilt borders. Mark quilt designs, set in any pattern (like a wave) and move across quilt to repeat design. Trace shapes for applique or quilting designs like heart, circles, and more! Sewing and Crafts -- Measure curved edges for sewing or craft projects. Create curved lines for beading, sequins, and trims on apparel. Great for pattern making, measuring dress lines, crotch seams [huzzah!], and armholes. Warning -- This product contains lead, a chemical known by the state of California to cause cancer and birth defects or other reproductive harm.” [Apparently the other 49 states are unaware of this?]

Note to self: do not conveniently carry this tool around in your mouth, as you have been known to do with knitting needles.

They did not have any steel crochet hooks, so I also made a quick trip to Michael’s, where I found four that I did not have: a 4, a 5, a 6, and a 7. None of which are quite what I need at the moment, but I now have a nearly complete set of steel hooks. I am still trying to find the missing red larger hooks to complete that set. Yes, I could just buy a hook in the right size but a different color. Where is the fun in that?

I also tidied up their display. There I was, standing at the corner of Math Geek and Slightly Obsessive, and aren’t we supposed to make the world a little better than we find it? I suspect that somebody tiny had made a grab for all of that Oh Look Shiny, and the parental unit had just jammed the packages back on any convenient display hook. When I left the store, the 1’s were on the 1 hook, the 8’s were on the 8 hook, and all the 4’s were having a party right where you would expect them to be.

I will check Wally World when I buy more milk, to see if they have the missing 2 and 3. I may also replace three other hooks with the same size by Boye; I have them by Susan Bates, and the 11 and 12 are combined, as are the 13 and 14. I like the business end on the Boye hooks better than on the Susan Bates.

If I am unsuccessful at Wally World, I found an online site which carries the Boye hooks in every imaginable size. I suppose I could ask them for the missing three red aluminum hooks, but I have them in B through K, and I rarely use fat yarns. At this point it is more the thrill of the hunt. I would have to call in to make that order, to specify that if the red hooks showed up in some other color, I would send them back. And I don’t think that’s how I want to spend my Saturday morning.

Not when I need to be at Secondborn’s in an hour for the Bittiest’s birthday party, and I have yet to sign his birthday card and wrap his present.

The right back of Faith’s sweater is now firmly attached; what I want the crochet hook for, is to work a single row of single crochet down the back edge, where I slipped the stitches, to subtly firm up that edge. A 1 is too big. A 4 is too little. Either a 2 or a 3 should be just right. [I wonder if Goldilocks or the three bears crocheted?]

Quick Friday Post

Punctuated by intermittent bursts of speed, flyswatter in hand, inspired by the presence of a moth in my living room.

Yesterday was crazy-busy, squared. I got a lot done at work, but it was bam-bam-bam from one task to the next, and I expect more of the same today. I have been trying to open our new case (the answer is due on Monday) for three days.

Three more days of the job I love, and then a week of staycation. Woohoo!

The right back of Faith’s sweater is attached at the raglan seam, that sleeve all stitched up, and now I am working on the side seam. I think I will pick up a pair or two of dressy black socks to cannibalize for her turtleneck and possibly a pair of leggings. And I think it would be useful to get one of those bendable sticks that you can press against an irregular shape so you can reproduce that shape. Quilters sometimes use them when tracing shapes for applique.
I think Dritz sells them, and I wish I had remembered to look when I was in JoAnn’s last night on my way to the temple. They’re about 1/4” wide and should do a good job of memorializing the curves that the center seams on a pair of trousers need to navigate. They would probably also be useful while mapping Blessing’s curves when I’m ready to make her a formal.

I filled out paperwork last night to serve as an ordinance worker in the temple. There will be a series of interviews, but I hope to start after the first of the year.

Maybe today I will remember to take my camera? The Trinity was swollen with muddy water when I was sitting on the Commerce Street Bridge on the way to work yesterday. I would have had time to film a documentary. Dallas = sauna, until the runoff has made its way downstream and the ground has a chance to dry out a bit.

Dinner tonight with Brother Sushi. [Dinner Tuesday night with the new guy!] Drive-by fooding of the elders tomorrow. And possibly a family birthday party for the Bittiest one, who is one today. Where has this year flown?

Why I like dolls with elfy ears

We figured it out at Knit Night last night. We talk about all sorts of stuff: TV shows we watch [in my case none, as the TV is still not plugged in], which led to the discussion of a new one that William Shatner is in, and how much most of us had liked Captain Kirk, while I was always more enamored of this guy.

Imprinted as a teenager, I was.

I read with some comfort, another blogger’s struggle with forgiveness. Maybe we are doing a better job with the rising generation, because my children seem to be more skilled at it, notwithstanding my checkered example. Or maybe the issue I am struggling with (Man, Behaving Badly) is simply a non-issue with them because of the generally lowered level of civility from when I was their age. Maybe it seems as quaint to them as June Cleaver, vacuuming in pearls.

But the women of my generation, and a little younger? To a woman, the reaction is smite first, forgive the remains. So I am actually ahead of the curve, a little, because I have gotten past the point where I think it would be a great idea if all the women he has treated thus were to line up with cream pies and apply them to his face.

There would be a sudden, and marked, pie shortage in North Texas. People would stand, perplexed, in bakery departments from here to San Antonio as hordes of middle-aged women marched triumphantly toward the checkout lines. Strong men would weep at having to settle for a cold-storage apple and a slice of cheese for dessert. Toddlers would wail, “But I ate all my broccoli!”

Do you see how good I am being? At great personal sacrifice?

Thank you. That’s all I wanted to hear.

Oh you can’t get a man with a gun

If they ever make an aftershave that smells like gunpowder, I’m a goner.

Re: Brother Abacus, who keeps popping up in my life like mushrooms after the rain. If I were in need of a financial services adviser of impeccable integrity [and had not dated him], I would recommend him wholeheartedly. That being said, the man has left emotional carnage in his wake. And not just with me. He may have too much self-interest to cut notches in the bedpost, as some men do [but his Chapstick is another story].

Pride? Yes. Prejudice? You betcha!

So, as my girls have tenderly pointed out, apparently I am still not quite done forgiving him. I really am trying to be like Jesus. Some days it is easier than others. I managed to forgive their father, for far more. This gives me hope...

May [I] live in interesting times...

What I want to know is, what did I ever do to tick off that Chinese person, and why did s/he curse me?

I had played hooky from Sunday School for two successive Sundays, so I had to guess at where we were in the schedule. The new guy was subbing in his Gospel Doctrine class, and he was teaching the Jonah lesson, so I knew that if I studied that one, I had a 50% chance of being right.

For my non-LDS friends: our curriculum is correlated. Two Sundays a year are devoted to the Sunday sessions of General Conference. Two more are dedicated to our local stake conferences. Which leaves 48 lessons to cover the lesson material. And we have a four-year cycle: first year for the Old Testament and the Pearl of Great Price; second for the New Testament, third for the Book of Mormon, and fourth for the Doctrine and Covenants. This year we are neck-deep in the wranglings of the children of Israel.

It is pretty darn cool to come up for air in the middle of a study session and realize that all [or most of] the other LDS grownups throughout the world are thinking about Ruth that week, or Noah, or Isaiah. The schedules may vary by a week or so, depending on the timing of our stake conferences, but we can count on the fact that on the first Sunday of this year, we will all be “In the beginning...”, and that we will all bat clean-up with Malachi.

So yesterday I picked Lesson 33, and I read the assigned chapters in Jonah and Micah; the related enrichment materials in a book written by Daniel Rona, who is Jewish and LDS; and the enrichment material online at Meridian. I also rediscovered my hand-written notes in the margins of my Bible, pertaining to some in-depth study I did a few years ago when I was in counseling after a family tragedy. I had forgotten that the Book of Jonah is a chiasm, with the central verse being Jonah 2:8. My further notes on this, on a blank page in the front of my Bible, led me to ponder the nature and the necessity of forgiveness in my own life.

I felt really prepared to worship when I went to church, and I enjoyed the discussion in our Gospel Doctrine class.

Even though everybody else was on Lesson 34, and hobnobbing with Hosea.

It is a good thing that forgiveness was uppermost in my mind when I went to the singles potluck and break-the-fast, because one of the first people to greet me was Brother Abacus. Who got my name wrong. And then patted me on the shoulder in passing. [There are so many reasons why this was incendiary; this is not the place to discuss them.]

I walked down the hall to wash my hands, and then I invited him outside for a little talk. And by the grace of Heaven, I tempered justice with mercy. I told him, quietly and politely, that just because I had forgiven him for the way he treated me when we were dating, that did not mean we were friends. Do. Not. Touch. Me. Again. At which point he (A) looked very surprised and (B) gave me the apology he should have given me four years ago.

So, he is forgiven (again), and I am going to have to rip out all the knitting I did last night, because angry knitting is not pretty knitting.

Forgiveness means that you do not continue to beat somebody about the head and shoulders for their mistakes. It means that you are civil to them, should you meet them again. It does not require that you allow them to trespass upon your boundaries.

I called Brother Sushi when I got home, and he said that my behavior, as described to him, seemed perfectly reasonable and appropriate. (I was second-guessing myself at that point.)

Today is likely to be a busy one. The pool has reopened, and I am looking forward to a nice long sploosh in it. I have a date with Ben and Jerry this morning, to tackle Mount Washmore. And I have a lunch date with Firstborn and 1BDH and Messrs. Smith and Wesson. I have not shot off anything more deadly than my mouth in 40 years, so this should be interesting. I do remember the first two commandments: do not point at anything I do not intend to hit, and always assume that it is loaded.

Well, it certainly seems to be a weekend for consistency.

Nearly Perfect Saturday

Went to bed early yesterday morning, after a Friday dance that was meh. While there are plenty of individual songs that I like from the 80’s, it is my least favorite decade in terms of music [unless we are talking the 1780’s, approximately the time period when Pachelbel wrote his Canon in D, or the 1880’s, when John Philip Sousa’s band played for two Presidential inaugurals]. (It was a terrific decade in terms of being fruitful and multiplying. Eighty percent of my children were born in the 80’s. Seems appropriate, somehow.)

Where was I?

So, I slept until nearly 6:00a.m., got up and drank some milk, knitted a repeat or two on the front of Faith’s sweater, and went back for a nap.

Then I went over to the Will Rogers Coliseum for the Cowtown Indie Bazaar, a craft show featuring local Etsy dealers, including two of my friends. He makes beautifully crafted modern furniture. Not my aesthetic, but his workmanship is impeccable. I got to run my hands over a chair he made, and the finish is smooth as silk. And she makes neat stuff for kids.

I showed remarkable restraint. Mostly, I collected business cards and wrote down what I liked on the back of them. I did bring home a pair of earrings (really bad picture follows).



The general effect is that a brass ballet slipper dangling from a disco ball. The French hooks are very large and voluptuous. We’ll see if they make my ears crazy. I don’t have the metal sensitivities that several of my girls do.

Here is a far better picture: a pendant that followed me home.



It’s about 1.5 inches square. I will wear it with a silk ribbon, or maybe a narrow leather cord.

There were two vendors who specialized in steampunk accessories. I am really digging the steampunk, but no, you do not have to worry about my showing up at a singles’ dance in Victorian regalia. I am altogether too fond of having freedom of movement. But I got some great ideas for doll necklaces, if I can find the right charms. The vendor was wearing a necklace which combined a rusted/patina’ed pair of children’s round-nosed scissors with rhinestone buckles, delicate chains, and gemstones. Sounds goshawful, I know, but the total effect was charming and harmonious. Take a look at the necklaces that a lot of the catalogues are offering, and kick them up a notch (add watch bits or small keys or lockets, etc.), and you have a fairly representative idea. I could start with the chatelaine my sister gave me that holds my needlework scissors...

After the craft show, I went over to the French Knot to show off Chutzpah’s bloomer/skirt, because that is where I bought the soy-silk thread a few weeks ago. They love show and tell at that shop! Then I went across the street to Lucile’s and had lobster bisque, a side Caesar, and two freshly-baked sourdough rolls.

After which I came home and took another nap. Fairly late last night, I hopped in the car to pick up milk and juice and something to take for my ward’s linger longer, a quarterly break-the-fast that competes directly with my stake’s monthly break-the-fast for the singles. So I will eat with my ward and then meander down to the Burleson chapel for the fireside, assuming I do not either come home for a nap after dinner, or go to visit the Bitties and their parental units. I make no promises.

I got a few pages into the actual text of the Annotated Pride and Prejudice last night. The comments are fascinating, but I think this will be harder going than the last time I read P&P, because the annotator keeps commenting on how irresponsible a father Mr. Bennet is. Which reminds me of all sorts of things I can cheerfully ignore while watching the movie or reading the standard edition. No wonder my girls have issues reading Jane Austen.

I am so thankful to live in a time when women have the right to own property, and when many of us have sufficient education to be able to support ourselves, and a family if necessary. When my options are greater than an arranged marriage, prostitution, or a sweatshop.

In knitting news, the front of Faith’s sweater is done. I realized that it had to be the front because hello! she has a tail (magnetic, removable), so the sweater needs to open in the back. I have the two front raglan seams done, most of the sleeve seams, and a whole lot of ends woven in. I’ve cast on for the left back section and expect to get quite a bit of it done at church today.

EEK Barbeque

I know that a picture is worth a thousand words, but my camera was here, and the side of the building was zipping past at 60mph. So you’ll just have to put up with some fraction of that thousand words.

I was on my way home from the temple last night when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the partially-lit sign at Spring Creek Barbeque. (Yes, that’s how they spell it. This is Texas, where spellcheck and motorcycle helmets are for sissies.) And I was rapidly approaching, not only home, but that level of tiredness where almost anything is funny.

EEK Barbeque

Sure, why not? *chortle*

More eek. Somebody knocked on my door at 11:00 last night. No, I did not open the door. I went to the door and hollered “who is it?” No answer. “Who is it?” No answer, so I turned my head and hollered at the back of the house, “Honey, somebody’s at the door ... Yeah, *you* call them. Thanks!” Yes, I did call 9-1-1. And then I had to get dressed again, as I’d told the dispatcher that I only wanted to talk to the cops if they found somebody in the bushes.

Not amused [apparently I reached that point where not everything is funny; I know I was suddenly far more alert than I had been]. Maybe it’s time I renewed my acquaintance with Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.

But it’s morning, and I slept reasonably well. The entirely fictitious male presence did a good job of patrolling the perimeter last night.

Still more eek. I took a good squint at my cell phone bill after work yesterday. There was a $75 charge that I didn’t understand. Why are you charging me for data when I don’t access the internet on my phone?

Did you know that if somebody sends a picture to your phone, even if you don’t look at it, you get charged for data usage? (No, Sherry, it wasn’t your fault. That single shot of your poor bashed car cost me something like 30 cents.)

So now I have a data plan, effective about 5:21 last night. And they have credited my account for that unpleasant little surprise, as well as the most recent 30 cents. I suppose the good news is that now I will be able to check my email from work, and post witty squibs [or half-witty ones] on Facebook.

I am almost to the armscye on the back(?) of Faith’s sweater. I think two more pattern repeats will do it. And then I will have to decide if this is the V-neck front of the sweater and knit accordingly, or if this really is the back.

More dancing tonight, but no new guy, as there are two birthdays in his tribe today. Time to go pull that third painting out of the backseat of Lorelai. I succumbed. The office manager reduced the price on all remaining artwork to $5.00, and this is the picture that reminds me so much of the foothills of home, in autumn.

Part of this Labor Day weekend will be spent hanging pictures. Seems appropriate, somehow.

Consider this a note on the fridge.

Very quick post, as I want to hit the pool before it closes for maintenance until 5:00am Sunday. I will have to track down the other Fort Worth club in this chain.

Doll sweater back is more than halfway done.

@Sherry: yes, no more riding the train. I’ll miss those two hours of knitting time, but it frees up an hour in the morning and gives me the option of another hour of sleep. Or at the health club. Or dawdling over breakfast.

We are having rain. I love rain. I love cooler weather.

Great day at work yesterday. Hoping for another one today.

Went to the temple last night. Did initiatories. Turns out, the new guy was also there, but he did different ordinance work. So we never saw each other, which was probably part of the plan. I’m going back tonight for more of the same. [Robi???] And then I can do mundane stuff all weekend and thoroughly enjoy that, as well.

Took some of my leftover three-bean salad for lunch yesterday, and it was good. Probably wasn’t the wisest thing I've ever done, to grab a couple of party burritos for dinner on the drive home from the temple last night, but thus far no internal 1812 Overture, so I’m a happy camper.

Heading out between raindrops to go take care of this body that Heaven gave me. I hear thunder. Yum!

Minutiae

Because that’s what you come here for, right?

I was blasting through my Bloglines last night, when I got to CrazyAuntPurl. She just finished hosting a Pride and Prejudice read-along. She mentioned an annotated version. I checked it out on Amazon. And then I hopped in the car and drove over to the bookstore, where I paid retail (because it sounded that good).

While standing in line to pay, the Gershwin CD came on overhead. I grinned. Two fallings-down in a bookstore (same chain) on consecutive Tuesday nights.

From there I went to Target, since the Hallmark stores were long since closed. The new guy has a birthday coming up soon. I was hoping to find a birthday card that was squeaky-clean *and* funny *and* had fish on it *or* a LeCreuset pot with little curlicues of tastiness wafting up out of it. [Or, maybe, a nice assortment of petri dishes.]

I am part of an under-served demographic: those who are dating and are not quite ready for Medicare. Throw in a commitment to behave with decorum and honor, and that eliminates 99.9% of the cards intended for guys. No Viagra jokes, no flatulence jokes, no drinking jokes, you get the idea. There was one for a 60th birthday that might have worked, about what would happen if you had a whole string of 60 year old guys lie down end to end. The punchline being something like very few of them would be able to get up again, unassisted. But since I’ve had my own issues with mobility, and I have no idea if he does, it was only marginally funny. And this will be something other than his 60th birthday. So that was two strikes.

I am one-third to one-half the way up the back of Faith’s sweater. Lots of good knitting time yesterday.

Today I am officially no longer a commuter-by-train. No more hoping to score the use of somebody else’s monthly parking on the days I drive into Dallas. I might need to celebrate by sneaking in an extra evening at the temple this week.

Time to pack my lunch and see if I can remember where I put the Happy Birthday stamps.

So, one of the other petri dishes friended me!

I didn’t catch her last name when he introduced us at the dance last Saturday night. She is the former wife of a friend of mine (Brother Sushi, that would be Gooberman).

With each passing day, my life is looking more and more like something that M.C Escher might have drawn.

On the other hand, the second sleeve on Faith’s sweater is finished, and I’ve cast on for the back.

The new guy confirmed that on Saturday night, yes indeed, he had had two petri dishes sitting adjacent to one another, across the table from him. And that there was another sister at our table who very much wanted to be a petri dish, but who will not achieve petri dish status. Not because of a lack of worthiness on her part, but because there is not a “glimmer of chemistry.”

I asked him, “So, am I to infer that there may be a glimmer of chemistry betwixt thee and me?”

[I had asked him several other questions in that email, pertinent and im-.] He replied, “In response to your last question - the answer would be yes.”

Woohoo!

It was nice to get confirmation that the reason he is being such a gentleman, is because he is one, and not because there’s no spark. Truly, a situation I can live with, and be patient about.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled knitting.

“For Good”

I got to see a bunch of old friends last night. [Please kindly refrain from pointing out that most of my friends are old. Some of them could still kick your nevermind.]

“Recall the new star that announced the birth at Bethlehem? It was in its precise orbit long before it shone. We are likewise placed in human orbits to illuminate.” ~ Neal A. Maxwell

That quotation was neatly lettered on the blackboard in the Relief Society room after the potluck I attended in my old stake. The fireside speakers were two dear friends. He is the bishop in Firstborn’s ward. She is the stake Relief Society president. They are tag-team speakers: he would speak for awhile, and then she would, back and forth with stories and examples until we were thoroughly engaged. The subject was how we touch one another’s lives. At the end of it, he sang “For Good” from “Wicked,” while she accompanied him. I was really glad that I had a small box of Puffs in my Ubiquitous Red Bag. I am tearing-up again, remembering.

My old stake and my current stake are not-so-good about publicizing their singles’ activities, but somebody got the word to the Facebook group yesterday, and word went out about 5:00 last night. So some of the folks we saw at the dance were there.

Lots of productive knitting time yesterday. The second sleeve on Faith’s sweater is almost to the underarm. I am really enjoying the stitch pattern, and I am definitely going to knit one of these for myself.

I woke ahead of the alarm. I have not been in the pool since late Friday night. I am fixing that. I have stuff to think about, and I seem to do my best thinking when I am in the water.

Happy Monday, everybody!

Who rolled my odometer back?

So. Much. Fun.

If I didn’t know better, I would suspect that I woke up c.2002 yesterday. The day did get off to a weird start: I went back to bed after breakfast, after setting the alarm for an hour ahead of my eye appointment, only to wake up ten minutes before I was supposed to be there. And I was at least 25 minutes away. I am now scheduled for during my staycation next month.

The funeral was great. I didn’t know my friend’s mother, but apparently she was quite a character. And she had 10 kids, and all of them were there, and it was possibly the most musical funeral I have ever attended, because she was passionate about music, and some of her kids and grandkids are exquisitely talented, vocally.

From there I went to the grocery store, came home long enough to stow the perishables and grab what I needed for the dance, including my cooler for a portion of the new guy’s newest culinary experiment (twelve bites of which I just enjoyed for my breakfast, and the rest of which will be doled out to myself for as long as I can make it last).

Drove to Brother Sushi’s and sat on his couch with my knitting while he put his DJ equipment into the truck. Then rode to Denton in air-conditioned comfort, the two of us chattering like magpies.

It has been a very long time since I danced that much. Mostly I was up, dancing with the sisters, but I did get to dance with all my favorite guys, and I did get to dance the last slow song with the new guy. And I am pretty sure that I am the only one of his petri dishes who got to take home a slice of his cheesecake.

I don’t know what time the dance ended. I don’t know what time it was when the guys got Brother Sushi’s truck reloaded. I don’t know what time it was when we hit the drive-through on our way home (but I suspect we were beating the living daylights out of the Sabbath). I do know that when I pulled out from in front of his house for the drive home, it was 1:24. I left with his firm instructions to text him when I got home.

I texted him at 2:00a.m. (Me, the woman who frequently leaves Knit Night at 8:30.) Drove home, blasting Gershwin as I have been doing since Tuesday night.

I wouldn’t want to do this on a regular basis; I did it way too often when I was in my 20’s, and it will take a day or two to recover. Right now I feel as if somebody had rolled me up in a blanket and beaten my knees, hips, and ankles with something fairly soft but still noticeable. Maybe the Jolly Green Giant’s nerf baseball bat, or a raft of feather pillows?

Worth it? Mm-hm, yeah, most definitely.

Very thankful for no additional church meetings today. That will take some getting used to. Since this is a fifth Sunday, when the priesthood and the Relief Society have a combined meeting (is it wrong that I think of it as There Goes The Neighborhood Sunday?), and there is no lesson material to study, I am going to take my knitting and finish Faith’s first sleeve and get the second one underway.

But first I need to drop the new guy a note and tell him that the current cheesecake incarnation was successful.

Scraps of this and that

The first sleeve on Faith’s sweater is nearly to the armscye. I am undecided whether I want to knit it in five pieces and sew them together, or to do what I usually do: finish all the bits up to the armscye, join them into a five-armed creature, and do the raglan shaping and the V-neck shaping all at one go. I am seeing this sweater as more of a tunic, to be worn over a black turtleneck or bodysuit, with leggings. Except that I would have to take her hooves off in order to put pants on her, unless I design them to lace up the sides.

My kids who got me into this hobby are now easing into problem-solving mode as they read, and they will have all sorts of good ideas for me. My kids who think we are all a wee bit strange for playing with dolls, will no doubt be confirmed in their opinions.

For the past several weeks, I have been going to my friend’s yarn shop in Duncanville after work on Friday nights. It’s a different bunch of talented women from my Tuesday night Knit Night friends. And it’s truly my idea of happy hour, a place to unwind from the joys, triumphs and challenges of worklife, a delightful alternative to rush-hour traffic. I stay for an hour, sometimes two, then I gather up my stuff and head home.

My friend Leslye sent me the greatest joke via email: the redneck fire alarm = a thingie of JiffyPop nailed above the doorway to each room. I could do that, now that I live in a quiet neighborhood. When I lived at La Casa Cucaracha or the penultimate apartment, that alarm going off would only wake me up all confused, thinking that the neighbors were fighting.

Still blasting Gershwin on my drives to and fro. George, Ira, and Brian will be accompanying me to the dance tonight, where Brother Sushi will be the DJ. So I will not lack for clever, trustworthy male companionship.

Speaking of which, the new guy asked me to bring my small cooler. And to be prepared to take home a slice of his new version of the German Chocolate Cheesecake. If his experiment is successful, he will bring me a blue gel brick to keep it cool. Which, of course, would necessitate my returning it to him as I did the storage containers a couple of weeks ago, which, according to his son, would seem to be part of the plan.

Remember the MIA fabric store from last weekend? I called their number a couple of days ago, and it was forwarded to a different store a little farther north, in one of the ritzier suburbs. They carry upscale, specialty fabrics. She asked what I was looking for, and I told her I wanted blouse-weight silk. I could hear the warmth in her voice. Yes, they have that. So I will head up there between next month’s ward temple trip and that night’s dance in Richardson, and I will see if I can score fabric to make ballgowns for Blessing and Celeste, and party dresses for Faith and Chutzpah.

I am going to stretch my legs out and knit for awhile, then get ready for my eye appointment, which will be followed by a funeral, some errands, and the dance.

I have a whole closet full of nothing to wear, and I need to pick up more hose.

Not all who wander are lost.

Good man, that Gandalf.

I had a little adventure last night. Not the scary kind, and not the irritating kind. Just, an adventure. I’ll get to that in a bit.

Work was good. I nearly zeroed out my desk, and while I was typing away in a most secretarial fashion, I made notes regarding a couple of reports I need to do for the data clerk. [We had two mediations this week.] And I wondered, suddenly, if I had gotten her a report for every mediation we have had this year.

So I figured out how to get myself a list of them, and I converted that list to a PDF, and while I was covering the last half hour of switchboard (because the usual suspect was at the dentist) I went through and marked up that PDF with what date the case closed, if it was a closed case, and the date of the mediation, if it was still open. It will now be a simple matter to compare that with the page where the data from my reports shows up, to see if I’ve taken care of all the jots and tittles.

I did not make it to the gym yesterday. I took my bag, figuring that I would go after I finished up at the temple. Served there, had a nice leisurely dinner at Rockfish (jalapeno cream soup and a side salad), and then headed home.

I have several alternatives. One is a toll road, but Lorelai has a tolltag, so that’s not a problem. One is under construction, but typically I can dodge that by running down the service road at the airport. They outfoxed me last night. The detour shunted us off by Bass Pro, led us hither and yon by Grapevine Mills Mall, Great Wolf Lodge, the Gaylord Resort, and back to the freeways.

Which is where it gets a little tricky. At or near Grapevine, you have State Highway 26, State Highway 114 (which leads, basically, from where Texas Stadium used to be, out past the north end of DFW Airport to Paradise, Texas, and who knows where from there; i.e., nowhere near downtown Cowtown), and State Highway 121. If I had stayed on 26, I would have come in on the north end of downtown. If I had continued on the 26 service road for maybe a quarter of a mile, I would have connected back with 121, which feeds into Belknap and takes me right to Camp Bowie.

But I did not. I took the road less traveled, when in the back of my mind I should have remembered from my interpreting practicum days (spring of 1998) that one false move can put me in Wichita Falls. More or less.

I spent half an hour meandering semi-suburban streets, knowing approximately where I was and approximately where I should be, but not quite making the connections. I had that lovely full moon in my face, over my right shoulder, over my left shoulder, and at one point she disappeared, which suggests that she was following me. I drove past a huge Wal-Mart, a bigger high school, went halfway around a traffic circle (roundabout, for you Brits) until I got to a street that I knew connected with 121. Naturally, because the moon was full, I turned the wrong way on it for a bit, but eventually I came to the intersection where the California Pizza Kitchen was, and suddenly my internal GPS kicked in.

I left Rockfish about 8:45. I got home after 10:30. Yes, there was a wreck on LBJ/635 that slowed me down for awhile before I took the long way home (and of course it was too dark to knit while I was just sitting there), but mostly I was just emulating Charlie on the MTA.

But you know the cool part? I wasn’t stressing out. Just this lovely sense of “I wonder where this goes?”

I know where the gym bag goes, this morning: back into the trunk. I needed to type more than I needed to sploosh in the pool. I will do that tonight after work (because I will not be going home by way of the temple tonight).

I started the sleeve on Faith’s sweater yesterday. I get my eyes checked tomorrow morning, and I get to go dancing tomorrow night.

Jimmy Stewart / George Bailey was right: it’s a wonderful life!

Bloomer Skirt is Done!

There she is, perched atop a tiny terracotta pot. The beaded panel of her skirt resembles an overgrown sporran. I wonder if I could figure out how to make her a pair of kilt hose?

Here is a detail: the side of her bloomers. The leaf-shaped glass bead has flipped upward. I ended up stitching both skirt panels to the waist of her bloomers and embellishing each panel with three of the abalone beads. I also trimmed the ribbon lacing of her cardigan to a respectable length and used the remnants to fashion two new hair bows, both of which are stitched to their respective, tiny strands of hair. If she did not have quite so much hair, I would think a tiara should come next. [A force of nature ought to have a tiara.] Or a pair of fairy wings.



I have finished swatching the sweater for Faith and am ready to cast on and get going.

They do this on purpose, you know.

Oh man, oh man, oh man, I came home from Knit Night with some amazing music! I was sitting in the bookstore, knitting away on a swatch, and I realized, “That’s Gershwin.” And then I thought, “That sounds like the Beach Boys!” So before I left, I went over to the information desk and inquired. I listened to it all the way home, one of the songs twice. It’s a little unnerving hearing Brian Wilson sing “I Loves You, Porgy,” but otherwise all the surprises have been of a happy sort ;)

Picture “Swonderful” mashed up with “Barbara Ann”. I’m going to ask Brother Sushi to play it on Saturday night, and I plan on line-dancing to it. [And then I plan on having a small heart attack, because it is rollicking. Make sure the paramedics are cute, OK?]

Can you *hear* me grinning from ear to ear?

Oops, wrong song: should have been, “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.” Every bit as great as the mash-up from “Take the Lead,” but in a more comfortable [for me] style.

I did some serious swatching with the silver grey Gloss Lace: “Mulberry Grid” on page 70 of the Summer 2010 issue of Knitters. On four-aughts. I’m not the only one who sees hints of lilac or lavender in this dusty grey, and I think it would be perfect for Faith. She’s been a remarkably patient little hoofie-girl.

What? And get blood on my knitting?

This, in response to Firstborn’s comment that I don’t need help getting even; I have knitting needles in my bag. Yes, and my favorites are hard to come by, and they are attached to yarn that I like even more than I like the needles. So why would I want to risk damaging my needles or a WIP (work in progress) just to give somebody an attitude adjustment?

What I really need to do, is to adapt Tevye’s rabbi’s prayer for the Tsar: “God bless and keep the Tsar Brother Abacus -- far from us!” [Or at the very least, on the other side of the room from wherever I happen to be sitting.]

You know, it would be so much easier to remember that I’ve forgiven him, if he didn’t keep popping up unexpectedly and reminding me why I needed to forgive him in the first place. Or if there were a scintilla of evidence that he has acquired a clue.

My “dontcha” shirt was a hit with the new guy. Maybe I should invest in the one that says “I knit so I don’t kill people”???

OK, in non-boy news, I have nearly finished Chutzpah’s skirt. I ended up stitching it to the top of her bloomers. There is a tiny bit of embellishment remaining, and then she will be ready for her closeup, Mr. DeMille.

I am taking allegedly healthy lobster ravioli to work for lunch today. And there is Knit Night tonight. I am also taking my umbrella swift and ball winder, to get the silver-grey laceweight ready for swatching.

Because, as you all know, swatch happens.

Here are some of my single friends, performing the haka:

I was released as Relief Society president in sacrament meeting yesterday, and Bishop asked me to speak briefly about my experiences and to bear my testimony. I handed over a bag of RS-related stuff, plus my keys to the building, the clerk’s office, and the RS closet. [I will now have to find a new form of weight-bearing exercise.]

The new guy (who knew that this was coming) warned me that I would feel out of sorts as that mantle of responsibility and inspiration passed to the new president, who was my first counselor. Still waiting for that to happen. I teared up at the opening song in sacrament meeting, played hooky during Sunday School to show her how to access what she needs on the computer in the clerk’s office, and sniffled my way through the lesson I taught in Relief Society.

After church, Bishop invited me to stay while they were all set apart for their callings. It’s going to be another strong presidency.

What a wonderful experience and opportunity this has been. I am looking forward to the next adventure. And until I get nudged or shoved in the new direction, I am going to spend some time setting my house in order.

I do believe that I promised to share what I bought at Baubles & Frills on Saturday afternoon.



Yellow beads (jade? quartz?) to make necklaces for Chutzpah and company, and maybe some for sale. Oval abalone beads, ditto. And a tube of matte hunter green seed beads, almost exactly the same color as Chutzpah’s sweater. I think I showed remarkable restraint.