Pain and progress

Our great personal challenge in mortality is to become "a saint through the atonement of Christ." The pain you and I experience may be where this process is most measured. - Kent F. Richards, The Atonement Covers All Pain, Apr 2011

And the lesser stuff as well. For the better part of a week I have been playing reindeer games with my respiratory system. Not sure if it's allergies or a cold, because I've been doctoring myself with OTC medicines with varying degrees of success. The loratidine did nothing. I tried it for two days before acquiring some generic Mucinex, which has slowly but steadily been making inroads. I will have to go see a doctor before returning to work, because I missed two straight days (not a problem), went back to work on Friday, and got sent back home (problem).

The rule is, if you're out three days, you need a note from your doctor. I see this as the adult equivalent of a note from your mother, verifying that you were not playing hooky. I understand that many people abuse their company's sick pay policy. I am not one of them. I have to be barely able to walk (or breathe) before I will stay home. Yes, if I have a fever. Yes, if I'm throwing up (sorry).

Ferris Bueller I am not. I pride myself on keeping going, even when the going gets tough. It's what I do. It's who I am.

My office manager took one look at me and said Go. Home. So I did. Am I physically better off because I did? Possibly. Probably. Am I a little bit cranky because I will have to shell out $30 for a copayment before I can go back to work? Because this might not be just the usual fall allergies? Who goes to the doctor for a cold?

Me, apparently. But I don't have to like it.

Thankfully, I do have the money. And good insurance. And a doctor I love and trust.

Rant over. Happier stuff. The doll sweater for Mel's Jimmy is done, and I hope she will be as pleased with it as I am. Like the one I made for Middlest's Doran, a miniature Aran of many cables knitted on ridiculously small needles. I am midway up the front for a sweater for my Temperance, who is the doll I've had longest without making anything for her. I'm incorporating design elements from the first two sweaters. Honor's sweater will probably be next. I'll do Steadfast's (working title) last, both because he's the newest and because I will want something relatively uncomplicated after designing around Blessing's curves.

The ultimate goal is for all of them to have Aran sweaters, proper kilts if I can find a miniature tartan I like, kilt socks for the ones with human feet, and proper shoes or boots. Middlest designed a sporran pattern for Steadfast, and sooner or later I will be cannibalizing my leather jacket, which is now too large and practically loved to death. There should be enough good leather for me to perfect several pairs of shoes. Not to mention give me knowledge about authentic historical Scots footwear.

Please, Brer Fox, don't throw me in the textile patch!

In other happy news, there is visible progress on the Eternal Painting Project which is my home. I finally ma'amhandled the obstreperous doorknob off my bedroom door. (Inspiration, tin-snips, and both kinds of screwdriver. Miraculously, no childbirth words.) As well as the polite one from the door to the middle bedroom. Both doors are repainted on the hall side, and I am pleased. I have masked four of the five doorways, preparatory to painting the trim. And I got all of the baseboards up and the nails removed. And the grilles off the intake slots beneath the closet where the water heater lives. And the bits of wall painted which we deliberately left undone on Labor Day weekend, to either side of the grilles.

Do I feel frustrated at all that hasn't been done, because I've been sick? Yes, a little. But then I look at what I've accomplished this year, on my own or with Fourthborn's help, and I am so pleased. It's very much a line upon line process.

I would love to have the hall well and truly done by the end of the month. Ceiling painted, flooring down, new handles on all the doors, bookcases in place, art hung or rehung. Done. And the living room done in time for Christmas.

Next year? The really scary stuff. Kitchen and maybe even the garage.

And now if you will kindly excuse me, FB  and popcorn are calling my name.

On doing things the hard way.

There is a beauty and clarity that comes from simplicity that we sometimes do not appreciate in our thirst for intricate solutions. - President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Of Things That Matter Most, General Conference, Oct 2010

I have done things the hard way for much of my life. Sometimes from sheer bulldog stubbornness. Sometimes because I blinked and missed the road sign. Sometimes because I was sick, or tired, or both. Those are the lessons that have tended to stick with me over time.

Sometimes the solution really is as simple as doing something I know is right when I would rather do something else. (Not necessarily a bad something. Just a different something. And sometimes even a very good something, but not the one that will bring about the greatest good.)

The scriptures talk about the lightness of the yoke and the easiness of the way, when we are yoked with the Savior. I am so grateful for His patience. It cannot be an easy thing to be willingly yoked to the infinitely distractible. And there are so many of us. I wonder how He keeps from being pulled all over Creation?

That may be where the "be still and know that I am God" kicks in.

I love it when He gently slices through the Gordian knots of my thought processes and shows me a single, simple, clear image of the desired result. Whether it's the application of a spiritual verity in my daily life, or something as simple as the remembrance of an item already in my possession (somewhere) that will serve the design function I'm currently pondering. I probably need to do the mental macrame in order to appreciate the sublime solution. (Thank you, Elder Maxwell.)

Happiness

So often we get caught up in the illusion that there is something just beyond our reach that would bring us happiness: a better family situation, a better financial situation, or the end of a challenging trial. - Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Of Regrets and Resolutions

I'll tell you what real happiness is: doing something for someone that they can't do for themselves. Beloved's mother left his father when my sweetheart was a baby. It was the wise thing to do. Later she remarried and had his four siblings. That marriage ended through no fault of her own. So when she passed, and Beloved passed, they were not sealed to one another.

I fixed that tonight. It was heart-stoppingly wonderful. When Beloved's stepfather, whom he adored, and who passed a couple of weeks ago, has been gone a year, I'll see what I can do to seal her to him as well. (A living woman can only be sealed to one man, which is why I needed the sealing cancellation from the children's father. A woman who dies may be sealed to any or all men to whom she was legally wed, even if the marriage(s) subsequently ended in divorce. At some point, as I understand it, she will get to decide which one she wants to keep, or possibly choose someone else.) At any rate the paperwork is done for one marriage, and it was a lovely, tender experience.

And now I'm going to say goodnight and see if anybody wants to come talk to me in my dreams.

Gratitude

When we encounter challenges and problems in our lives, it is often difficult for us to focus on our blessings. However, if we reach deep enough and look hard enough, we will be able to feel and recognize just how much we have been given. - Thomas S. Monson, The Divine Gift of Gratitude, General Conference, Oct 2010

From time to time I have enjoyed a somewhat ironic appreciation of the blessing which Malachi and other prophets have shared: that if we are obedient, Heaven cannot be restrained from pouring out blessings on our behalf, to the point that we run out of room to receive them. Most of the rooms in this house, and the garage, demonstrate this verity.

My challenge and blessing is to share the wealth. Not to make room for more stuff in my life, but to make room to navigate safely. I'm happiest when it's two steps forward and one step back, and not the other way around. (Dang. I just remembered to take my antibiotic, almost three hours late. The consequence of taking three different medicines at the moment.)

In the spirit of slowing down while making sure the needful things get done, Tuesday night I served the dead. Last night I made Willow's birthday present. Tonight I wrote the letters for my VT route and reported to my VT supervisor. I am about to put my stationery away and knit for a few minutes. I was up until nearly midnight last night. I'd like significantly more sleep tonight and a reasonable chance of getting to the gym in the morning.

Had a really great day at work today. The urgent stuff got done. So did the important stuff. And I was sensible at the quarterly birthday party and only had a small ice cream cup, bypassing the charming and obviously lethal cupcakes.

I need to do a lot of cooking this weekend, as well as a lot of painting. I've used up most of my leftovers, so it's time to start rebuilding that stash.

I love being able to breathe again.

And they did!

The Shiwoo arrived on Tuesday. He had an exquisitely done faceup in grey, which suited his previous life, but I see him as a tween boy, and Fourthborn wiped* his face yesterday while I folded laundry. It was too humid to use the sealant, so his new faceup will happen the next time we get together, if the weather cooperates.

*Wiping means to remove all previous paint and embellishments. It's like cleaning the chalkboard and starting over.

The Australian print got here on Thursday. I found its frame after work on Friday, in the clearance bin for $8. Sweet! That's all assembled and waiting in the living room.

The Vettrianos arrived on Friday. I unrolled them, admired them, and rolled them back up. I don't have time to mess with them now. Will probably mat them identically to the new print of the Savior, as they will be hung nearby in the hall.

Oye, the hall. I pulled quite a few bits of paint off the wall when I was removing the painter's tape. So that will need to be fixed. Fourthborn and I got the last of the tack strips up yesterday. Along with small chunks of the concrete, enough that I will have to do some patching (unlike in the dining room). And there are maybe a dozen nail heads that must be removed, or they will tear the vinyl flooring. So I'm kinda stuck until that gets figured out. And we know how much I love feeling stuck.

I also can't get the doorknob off my bedroom door, to replace it with one that won't pinch me or lock me out. I'm wondering if a hacksaw is the solution (and if that would work for the nails in the hall). The door is in good shape, but bland. One friend suggested replacing the door. That may turn out to be my best option.

In happier news, I now have a butler's tray table for the hall, saving me the cost of the demilune table at IKEA, which was the right color but also, sadly, bland. (People! I don't *do* bland!) The savings covered most of what I paid for four carved oak chairs. All from my favorite little antique shop. I got four chairs for less than the cost of one of the chairs that Squishy butt-tested for me a few months ago. So I can cross those off my list.

I also have two new 7.5 foot ficus trees that match the small one. Friends from church sold their house faster than they thought it would go. So she put a message on the ward RS Facebook page: please come help yourselves. That saved me another $300 plus.

So, I have spent some money, and I have saved a lot more. Six new dining room chairs would have set me back between $900 and $1000. I briefly considered getting two benches from Pier One, on sale for a little under $400 total, but I couldn't tuck them under a gateleg table when not in use. These chairs are eminently tuckable, and they cost me $119 plus tax and a quarter of a tank of gas (but I was picking up Faythe anyway).

I have a lot of stuff out in the living room, just waiting to go up on the walls, but I need to do the ceiling and floor first. I knew I needed a relatively quiet weekend for pondering and planning. That doesn't stop me from feeling a little frustrated that I can't start charging full speed ahead when I wake up tomorrow.

It's just another reminder that I really have minimal control over my little corner of the world. And I have had far too many of those reminders of late, from the thing with my eye that could have been a detached retina but wasn't, to a child's name change that will cost me another $400 at some point to get my will updated if a handwritten and notarized codicil is insufficient, to concerns about where some of my beloved children will spend eternity if they don't rethink some of their choices.

This is Fast Sunday, and because I am diabetic I will not be fasting. But I will definitely be praying for wisdom, understanding, and comfort. And if my home teacher is in town I may ask for a blessing. I have a lot to think about, from stubborn nails to my own faults and weaknesses.

I am so thankful that I am not in charge of the universe.

Someday my prints will come.

I ordered three today. A calligraphy piece by Bianca Cash, an Australian artist. Two by Jack Vettriano, who painted "The Singing Butler," which I have loved and wanted for years. Beloved liked it, too. It was the subject of an extended, mischievous, and chaste but flirtatious discussion, early on.  So having a copy in the house will remind me of my sweetheart's joie de vivre.

Next week is going to be Christmas nearly every day. The Shiwoo should arrive over the weekend. I've alerted building security in case it shows up tomorrow. The Vettrianos should be here around Friday. I don't expect the package from Australia to arrive until the following week. And then I get to go nuts picking out mats and frames. I love that stuff!

Nearly done with the first back on Mel's doll sweater. And discovered a cabling mistake on the front that will require my frogging back about an inch to fix it. It's a subtle error, easily missed, but it bugs me, so out it comes. After I finish the back, because I've decided to try a three needle bind-off at the shoulders.

Will be trying the opera again this season, with Firstborn. Am hoping that all the weight loss and exercise will have sufficiently improved my mobility that I can sit in a cramped space for the duration.

Tomorrow begins a weekend of hard work and hilarity. I'm borrowing Fourthborn, a compressor, and a nail gun. We are going to paint and otherwise knock things off my honey-do list. I'm hoping that when I take her home, the hall will be essentially done, and the carpet will be gone in the living room.

A girl can dream. And this one's going to bed shortly.

Almost 40.

No, I haven't found a magical age-reversing machine. I am nearly 40 pounds down. Without dieting, starving myself, or becoming an exercise anorexic. Just a few simple changes to my diet, and gentle exercise on a regular basis. I'm still learning how much to eat, how often, and in what proportions. Obviously, the Metformin helps.

Today it all worked out pretty evenly. Irish oatmeal for breakfast, with half and half and a bit of Demerara sugar. Way less than I would have used in the bad old days. A little later, some orange juice. Lots of water. At lunch, some of my black bean and Ro-tel soup with the last of the taco meat stirred in. And a bowl of watermelon/avocado/mint/feta salad. Late afternoon? Pistachios and Craisins. More water. Several sticks of sugar free gym throughout the day. Enough that when I grabbed an Arby's on the way to Costco, my jaw ached. So, maybe a little too much gum, chewed a little too vigorously. Oye to the veh.

The fridge and pantry are restocked. And all without having to deal with the Saturday shoppers. I would rather have a mammogram than go to Costco on a Saturday.

The front of Mel's doll sweater is done, with the ends all woven in. I did that at lunch today. I'd like to find my box of DP's  so I could leave the front on the needle until it's time to do a three needle bind-off at the shoulders. I may have to settle for running a doubled strand of silk thread through the stitches for now, so I may get the backs cast on.

That's all I've got for you tonight. The recycling is out. I have a bag that will go into the trash and out to the street tomorrow morning.

Time to take my Metformin. Good night,  Gracie!

I bought the Shiwoo

But I did not buy the B&G. Alternate song title: Shiwoo(s) in Mysterious Ways. Yes, I have bought another doll, this one from Middlest, who was recently laid off and could use your prayers and positive thoughts.

(B&G is a doll line.) Shiwoo is one of the Fairyland sculpts; my little Grace is a Pukifee Shiwoo, I think the smallest size they make in this sculpt. She is getting an older brother, a bit shorter than Honor and the Adamelli twins.

Middlest texted to say that my check had arrived and that He Who Is Yet to Be Named will go out on the mail as soon as he has eyes, boxers, and a pattern for a sporran. He is currently bald, blind, and naked. I bought a pair of eyes, and Middlest is sending a second pair in the package. Wigs for boy dolls are pretty uninspiring unless one is into anime or emo. And I am neither. He might be bald for awhile.

This means that I am going to have to knit another miniature Christmas stocking from the cream Noro. I think I have just enough.

It's been an interesting week. I hung the new picture of the Savior in the hall. I had tried the one that was hanging by the front door. It's Del Parson's smiling Christ and I think called "Christ's Love". I had never seen it before the night Beloved first cooked for me. And it makes me happy every time I see it, both for the subject matter and the associated memories. But the new wall color in the hall clashed horribly.

I had had the inspiration that it would be lovely to see the Savior smiling at me whenever I walked down the hall toward my room.

The new painting is not a "feel good" painting. It's a "remember and ponder" painting. Which is why I bought it in the first place, because the connection was deep and instantaneous. But it does not convey that sense of "Oh good. You're home. I've missed you." that the first one does.

Maybe it's a good thing to be reminded that, much as I love my life and the house my husband gave me, I have a long way to go before I am Home.

The work continues. I have the west walls and the south wall masked in the north-south hall, and the north wall masked in the east-west hall. And the paint bought for walls and ceiling. And a goodly number of new switch plates installed. Fourthborn is spending next weekend with me, and I hope to see the hall mostly finished and the carpet ripped up in the living room.

One door frame in the hall needs a new piece of vertical molding. The sill of the double doors that hold the water heater needs to be replaced. I don't know if we'll get to repainting the doors to various rooms.

I have the hardware to replace the recalcitrant doorknob on my bedroom door. It locked me out on Friday night. The nerve! Thankfully my phone was with me on the outside, and Squishy was both willing and able to help. (No more hangers on the doorknob. That's going to be a hard habit to break.) I think eventually I will be replacing all of the doorknobs with French-door style levers. They're prettier, and I think perhaps better suited to this aging body.

I finished the front of Mel's doll sweater this morning and am in the process of designing the backs. Rather than the saddle shoulder I used when making the sweater for Middlest's doll, I am planning to use a three needle bind-off.

I had really wanted to get some painting done yesterday, but after all the up and down on the stepstool to mask the edges, my feet and ankles had had enough.

I think this is all the news that's fit to print.

Kaaaa-choooooo!

Probably stirred up by cleaning out the third bookcase. Lots of dust. And a surprising amount of Gracie fur that had sifted in behind the notebooks. I started sneezing on Friday. I am the new sacrament meeting chorister. Church is in six hours. And I don't think these people have ever heard me sneeze.

I sneezed during my mechanical drawing final, my senior year in high school, and almost all of the guys jumped so hard that they snapped the lead on their pencils. Definitely not something you want to hear during moments of reverence and quiet contemplation. (Although there would likely be less, or less audible, cussing in reaction.)

So I went on the hunt. Somewhere in this house is a Ziploc with the last of the Mucinex. What I came up with, under Beloved's sink, were two tabs of Alavert. After researching possible drug interactions, and getting multiple reassurances that I would not keel over, I took one. It's not supposed to make me drowsy.

Wish me luck.

In other news, the bookcase is emptied, dusted, and moved. I had just enough painter's tape to mask off the area above my studio door and the east wall of the hall. It felt great to go to bed last night with that accomplished.

I've cleared most of the bags out of the living room. The largest but not heaviest will go to church with me. Squishy will get the last two after I get home from Empty Nesters tomorrow night. And that will be that until the next batch.

Because I'm in this for the long haul, and there is always going to be another batch.  However, I have a functional bathroom, and the dining room looks great except for the quilt block clutter. I hope to deal with that sometime today.

(Painting a wall counts as "labor" in my book. Not so much the actual painting, but I haven't done the cutting-in. Cutting-in has a high PITA factor.) Sewing a quilt block doesn't seem like work to me. And is therefore Sabbath-appropriate. At least in my world. Whereas sewing together an entire quilt block would probably be work.

Hrmm. This is beginning to sound like "you can only walk so many steps on the Sabbath before it turns into work and you're going to hell". I might want to rethink this. As I'm sewing the quilt block?

One hour. No sneezing. This could work.

I've commented before that I have an impressive collection of cookbooks, because everyone needs a rich fantasy life, and I like to keep mine G-rated. Last night I brought home a book on home management. It is wonderfully well-written. Except for my teenage years, I've never felt that housework was beneath me. I have frequently felt that it was beyond me.

On the trip to Nauvoo, one of the sisters commented about how we women base our self-esteem on how our house looks and how our children behave. I cracked that I must be a man in drag.

Housework has been both a battle of wits against the forces of entropy and a lifelong battle of wills with my mother (even 16 years after her passing), who quite reasonably expected me to be a participating member of the household, while I wanted to read or play or daydream.

Chores were something to be gotten through. I learned the mechanics, but I never gained a testimony of housekeeping. I read Daryl Hoole's books on the domestic arts, and she might as well have been speaking Sanskrit. I bought "Sidetracked Home Executives" and made the index cards. But I rapidly reached the point where there were more people making messes than there were cleaning them up, and everything fell apart. For years. I would feel frustrated and guilty and depressed, and I would make forays into order. The good guys would win for awhile, and then *meh*.

This woman (Cheryl Mendelson) and her book (Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House) make sense to me. It's a huge book, 894 pages. And it's written for rank beginners as well as seasoned homemakers.

That clean, fresh scent? Hope.

The end is near.

No, I am not in doomsday mode. I am about this [    ] far from emptying the third bookcase. And I needed to take a little break before tackling the last few notebooks.

I had a moment of stark incomprehension before placing the five dutch oven cookbooks into the bag for Squishy and his brothers. One of those times when I realize how much there is to know about a seemingly simple topic. And how different Beloved's interests and mine could be. It truly does take all kinds to make a world. Or a universe. I'll be in charge of nakedness prevention. Beloved can be in charge of feeding the hordes.

I do miss that man. Today, rather fiercely. But I wouldn't call it loneliness. Just feeling the connection. Sorting this particular bookcase has been more time consuming and thought provoking, because the others have been mostly filled with books. This one has had notebook after notebook. Training manuals. Resumes. Genealogy. Personal information that has needed to be delegated or shredded.

I am almost there. And a little worn out from the tenderness. (I certainly haven't been working hard enough to break a sweat.) So I think I will knit for a few minutes, and read for a few more, and then take a short nap. And then maybe I can wrangle the last couple of notebooks, move the empty bookcase, and start painting a wall or two.

Adventures in sundry places.

Arkansas, Thursday night and Friday morning

Freight train broke down on the line ahead of us. We sat for over an hour, not far beyond Texarkana. Power went off a couple of times but only for a few minutes each time.

We sat again in Little Rock, for who knows how long. At 3:16 am we started moving. I still hadn't slept. Stopped again. I dozed for maybe half an hour. Two freight trains rolled by. [This train I'm riding is 21 coaches long. (Not.) Thank you, Worried Man Blues.]

Missouri, most of Friday

The Mississippi, at St. Louis, is huge. And dirty. Impressive only for scale and not for grandeur. Apparently it's prettier when viewed from the observation deck on the upper level.

Breakfast was tasty. Overpriced, but tasty.

At this point we were running about four hours behind. I had zero interest in sightseeing. I wanted a shower, and clean clothing, and a minimum of five hours of unbroken sleep. In no particular order.

South St. Louis is full of the little old houses that I love. And I had "St. Louis Blues" looping in my head. I thought you should know.

Illinois, Friday afternoon

It was evident as we crossed the river that Illinois is doing much better than Missouri.

By the time we got to Springfield, we were six hours behind. The Amtrak trains are slotted around the freight trains. So the problem with that first train just kept snowballing. We bagged all the carefully planned sightseeing in favor of heading straight for the British pageant.

At Springfield I had been up for 33 hours, more or less. When we arrived at Nauvoo, it had been 37 hours. (By the time I got to bed it was closer to 40.) Lots of food and/or snacks.

The Mississippi is a whale of a lot more impressive at Nauvoo.

The British pageant was lovely. I just peeled out of the support hose I put on under my jeans yesterday. Happy ankles.

I. Am. So. Tired.

Carthage and Nauvoo, Saturday

I had so many spiritual experiences that it will take me weeks to process them. Observing the dungeon cell where Joseph and the others spent some time before being moved upstairs. Looking out the window through which he fell after he was shot. Visiting the Smith family cemetary.

We saw the Nauvoo pageant Saturday night, after catching the final session in the temple. Sharing a house and a shower with eight women was surprisingly peaceful.

Nauvoo, Sunday morning
Nauvoo is a small town of 1100 people, when it's not tourist season. From April through October, there are 800 missionaries and who knows how many visitors. The Visitors Center is lovely, quiet, and impressive. I stood at the feet of the Christus statue replica and pondered. And again at the foot of another marble portraying the First Vision. Beautiful, moving, inspired work. I cannot comprehend the talent that goes into making that kind of art.

There is nothing like singing "Praise to the Man Who Communed with Jehovah" in Nauvoo First Ward. Nothing.

Amtrak, Sunday afternoon and overnight
Nowhere near as exhausting as the trip up. My take-aways? I like riding on the train, per se, although it took me two or three days at home before I didn't feel as if I were still on the train, when I closed my eyes in the shower. Very discombobulating. I still have the cross-Canadian railway trip on my bucket list, but if I go it will be with a sleeper car reservation. When I go to Nauvoo again, and I will, I will fly or drive. The food on Amtrak is surprisingly good. Not gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, but far better than I expected. Support stockings under jeans are adequate for the prevention of exploding ankles. Traveling with nearly two dozen people is not crazy-making. I would do that again. The trip was well-planned, and any glitches were not the fault of the planners. I was wise to take the extra day off.

Nauvoo

This was on my bucket list for many, many years. Every Latter Day Saint who can do so, owes it to himself to go to Nauvoo. It has been an adventure replete with changed plans and minor frustrations, but it has not been a disappointment.

This place is holy ground. It has been sanctified by the prayers, faith, sacrifices, and deaths of my people. I have stood where Joseph stood. I have sat in the window from which he fell when he was murdered. I have worshipped and served in the rebuilt temple, which is exquisite in every detail. I have sung "Praise to the Man Who Communed with Jehovah" in the Nauvoo First Ward with 1500 fellow Saints. I have stood at the feet of the Christus statue in the visitors' center. I have seen the new British pageant and the Nauvoo pageant. And the newest temple film.

I will share the adventures and mishaps when I get back to work and can edit the draft I began on Thursday night.

Before I board the train for home, I want to leave you with this: Joseph was a prophet. The gospel is true. The Book of Mormon is the word of God.

More breathing.

Picked up my new shelving units yesterday. "Picked up" in the relative sense, as the boxes weigh 50 pounds apiece. Skinny dude a little older than I wrangled them onto my cart. Skinny dude a lot younger than I wrangled them into the back of the Tardis. Where they remain for the moment. I have yet to nail the baseboards in the closet. Until that happens and the shelving units have a place to go, that's where they'll stay.

Meanwhile, I emptied out the second bookcase, moved it, and refilled it. I am that much closer to being able to repaint the hall and rip up the carpet. None of which is happening today.

Today I am going to make birthday cards and wrap presents. Nice quiet activities for the Sabbath.

I realized with some dismay when I awoke yesterday that I need to buy pajamas. I will be vacationing with friends this summer. We are renting a house. It is one thing to throw on Beloved's Packers sweatshirt when the weather is cold. Or to sleep in a worn T-shirt and 18 year old pajama bottoms during the summer. The one is insufficiently modest for company. The other is frugal and a little forlorn.

So we know what FHE will look like tomorrow night. While I don't mind shopping, I don't want to spend a lot of money on something I'll wear a few times and then be too small for.

Anyone who says that women dress for men, is deluded.

In knitting news, the sweater for Middlest's doll went out in yesterday's mail. Along with several years' worth of gifts from Fourthborn. And I have nearly the first round completed on a cowl from the sultry silk blend yarn. That will be my church knitting today.

You know the drill: be good, and remember who you are.

Yup. Still breathing.

Just in case you were wondering.

I woke a little ahead of the alarm this morning and finished the neck shaping on the doll sweater. It's blocking on the ironing board as we speak.

Tonight I'll stitch it together and figure out the neckband. This will be my first evening at home since Sunday night. I'm glad for the time with family and friends. I am also tired.

And I have no idea what to take for knitting today. Maybe it's time to fire up another cowl? I have some silk blend sock yarn in sultry jewel tones. And it's already wound. My size 4 Addi Natura circ was waving hello from next to the dark chocolate. I think I'll see if the yarn and the needles want to play together.

Be good. 

Tuesday is trash day.

The old baseboards have been divested of their nails and are waiting on the curb. My wonderful neighbor cut the new ones yesterday. I've nailed two in place and moved the armoire into the corner and unfurled the area rug.* The drop leaf table and lamps are back in place. I baked a pan of lasagna and took it across the street. One of the three bookcases in the hall has been emptied, moved into the space that the armoire vacated, and refilled.

*Which I love, but not necessarily for the dining room. I think it might be more suitable for the living room.

What I think needs to get done by Tuesday morning: empty and move the other two bookcases. Pull up the carpet in both halls and schlep it to the curb. Remove the old baseboards. Remove the nails from the old baseboards. Pull up the tack strips. Put the bag of small baseboard scraps, pulled nails, and short lengths of tack strips on the curb.

And today is the Sabbath. I love the Sabbath. I want to honor it. I need a day between today and Monday, preferably one that nobody else knows about. Because I don't see anything on my list that doesn't come under the heading of work.

The one thing I could do, is grab some paper bags and put them by the bookcases. There's a whole lot of non-book stuff that got put in there at one time or another.** I just looked at it. Made me tired. Dividing the keep from the donate from the trash would definitely come under the heading of work. But I can gather up bags and be prepared for a more appropriate time.

**What was the handle for my mandoline doing in there? Do I even still have my mandoline, or did I give it away in an earlier purge?

I am ravenous. I didn't eat breakfast until afternoon. And I was too tired to fix dinner for myself after making the lasagna for my neighbors, so I just drove out to recycle the water bottles and picked up Arby's on the way home. I ate breakfast an hour ago, and my stomach is yelling that my throat's been cut.

Fixing that is definitely a Sabbath appropriate activity. If the rest of it is done by trash pickup a week from Tuesday, it is still forward progress.

For those of you not following along on FB.

I spent most of Friday and a little bit of yesterday laying down the new flooring in the dining room. I think that I have never been so thankful for a Sabbath in my life!

I'm not quite as stiff today as I was yesterday. There is no way I could have done this before I started going to the gym. None. And I haven't gone since Thursday morning, but I have definitely been getting a workout.

I'll finish that corner tomorrow after work. That's the plan, anyway. Cutting the planks to fit around the moulding is fiddly business. I was able to flip and tweak my paper template from the bit on the right. Maybe it won't take me an hour and a childbirth word or two to do the one on the left, which comes just at the end of a plank. The hardest part of the inside of the closet is done. Once I get the moulding accounted for, the rest of the closet will be a snap.

And what I learned in doing the tough corner of the closet, which will barely show when the shelving units are in place, will stand me in good stead when doing a similar corner in the entry, where precision or the lack thereof will be far more noticeable.

I can't wait to rip up the carpet in the living room and get going in there.

But for now I am reveling in the fact that today is the Sabbath, and finish-itis can just go pout in the corner.

Smoke. Mirrors. Underwires.

It was a B2G2 sale. And I am more than a full cup size down. So I bought two the next band size and  cup size down, because the bras I like do not come in the new cup size in my current band size. (And I don't trust the engineering of the bras that do.) Perfecto, once I add the band extenders I bought at Hancock's after that. The other two bras are two band sizes and one cup size down. It seemed like a reasonable approximation of where I'll be in another six months.

I am hoping that when I have reached my target weight, I can resume buying nice boring full coverage bras from Wally World, without extenders. And not have to rein in the girls with industrial strength models from Lane Bryant.

I hope Beloved is not disappointed that the girls are waning. I know he is busy with important stuff for the Kingdom on his side of mortality. And he was more of a generalist than a boob man. And he's got FirstWife right there to keep him on the straight and narrow if he wanders too far down memory lane. (Or mammary lane, as the case might be.) I just don't want to hear, "You weren't kidding about the Tina Turner legs! But where did the girls go?"

Am I the only one who wonders what is going to support them when I have my resurrected body? Maybe they will become immune to gravity. Pretty sure there won't be underwires in Heaven.

In knitting news, I nearly finished the first back of the doll sweater last night. I will be working on the dining room today, with frequent breaks for knitting. I hope to make significant progress on the second back.

White jeans.

People who buy them should maybe ponder the advisability of washing the car before wearing the jeans. And I probably should have bought the talls. The average are on the cusp of being high water, and they haven't been laundered yet.

I rocked them anyway. Buying jeans in a smaller size is a treat. Buying bras in a smaller size is a little demoralizing. And something of a guessing game. Lane Bryant has a B2G2 sale going. Or maybe it's a buy 2 get 2 half off sale. I need to find that coupon.

I think the solution is to buy two in the current band size, one cup smaller. And the other two, another cup smaller. I think that might be a good approximation. I can finesse the fit by tightening the band.

Meanwhile, I am wearing the other new jeans to work today. And heading to Lane Bryant tonight.

It's raining cats and dogs and little fishes. I bagged the gym this morning. The lightning was impressive, and a bit intimidating. Wish I could just stay home and knit and putter today.

Tack strips are gone.

Floor is swept and vacuumed and partially mopped. I ran out of steam about a third of the way through. And I could see where I'd been when I glanced in there on my way out the door this morning. On the one hand, kinda gross. On the other, somewhat encouraging.

And what a morning it has been. Another staff meeting. A little over an hour and a half. Mail out the wazoo, nearly all of it for one case. A deposition with seventeen attachments, all of which needed to be saved first to the incoming mail folder, then to the docketing system, and finally sent to an expert for review. Oye to the veh.

Started my lunch half an hour late. I've finished yesterday's salad. And most of yesterday's entrée. But what I want to do is go home and take a nice long nap. The HP's are supposed to come tonight to dedicate my house. I thought they were coming last week, but there was a scheduling conflict. Maybe tonight I can finish mopping the floor and pull the rest of the baseboards and start putting down the vinyl planks. Even if I don't get it all done, it would be so nice to go to bed with a good size corner of it completed.

A girl can dream. I can picture that room with the flooring done, the area rug in place, and the table set for company.

I pulled the carpet.

But I did not pull the SUV. (No, I don't have an SUV. That was the first thing that came to mind, that fit the melody.) I pulled the carpet and left it in a pile on the floor and took my second nap of the day. When I woke up, I realized that it was too much for me to wrangle on my own. The neighbor across the street was working in his yard. He dragged. I steered. The padding was much lighter, and I managed it easily. Couldn't have weighed more than two gallons of milk. Just bigger. And floppier.

I've run a broom over the floor and pulled up most of the tack strips. All that's left are the ones in the closet. They will still be there tomorrow. I'll sweep again, and vacuum, and mop the floor at least once. The room echoes like crazy. By this time next week I hope to have the flooring down, the area rug in place, and the furniture arranged.

I have a little aching in my thighs from the bending, sitting, and stooping. But my back feels great. I have to keep moving, even when I'm taking it easy. Otherwise my ankles swell. So the work I did yesterday is not as foolhardy as it might appear. I moved slowly and carefully. I broke the work up into small bites. I rested in between. And I paid attention when I tugged gently on the corner of the carpet, and it was harder to budge as a whole than when I was freeing the corners and piling them in the center of the room. So I called in the cavalry.

Feeling good today. Looking forward to church and reading and all of the knitting I thought I would get done on Friday and Saturday before finish-itis kicked in. I tend to doze off at odd moments (twice during this paragraph), so I may only be good for sacrament meeting. Heading for the shower now.

Be good, and remember who you are.