Let me preface this by saying that I HAD opened that window and the shutters earlier in the day, so this could not possibly have been there that long.
Nonetheless I admit that I am not the best housekeeper in the world.
This little spider is.
I tip my hat.
We’ve got my husband’s Windows machine set up so that he has his password, I have my password, and Em has her password, and we can all access our respective sides of the computer without Em accidentally causing problems on the adminstrator side. Emily really wants to know my password.
Em: “If I guess, will you tell me?”
Me: “No! It’s my password, it’s supposed to be a secret.”
Em: “What if I guess?”
Me: “You won’t be able to guess it, but okay, go ahead.”
Em: “….is it ‘knitting’?”
Me: “Ooh, good thought! But no.”
Em: “Hm… …is it ‘coffee’?”
Hee! No. We explained how passwords are supposed to be something hard to guess, so she wouldn’t be able to guess it. But I LOVE that she immediately came up with two things so near and dear to my heart. I guess I’m an open book.
Little friend who’s been dining from our trash can for the last few nights. I poked my head out to see what the noise was, and there was absolutely nothing there. Very mysterious. Then the trash can wobbled and the lid lifted and this little critter poked its head out and started wandering back toward the woods.
Today is trash pickup day. Sorry, raccoon, no good eats tonight.
FO: Toddler hat
Yarn: 3/4 of one ball of Adriafil Knitcol
Needles: US Size 4/3.5mm
Pattern: CO 84, 2×2 rib for base, 12×7 decreases.
Gauge: 6 sts = 1″
Ravelry project page here.
Notes: Modeled on a McCann’s Irish Oatmeal tin. Man I love that stuff. The hat was going to be for Afghans for Afghans, but I’m skeptical that I can get it there by the Friday deadline.
The reason it’s so late in getting done is that I had to remake most of the hat twice. The first time, I used size 5 needles and wasn’t satisfied with the fabric. Too loose. The second time, I was knitting on it during the trailers at a Star Trek IMAX show. In the darkness and conversation with the non-Trekkie friend I brought with me, I lost a stitch in the ribbing. I didn’t notice until the decreases when the stitch count was off. Pulling it up with a crochet hook just puckered the fabric oddly. Rrrrip!
Fortunately, now it’s just fine. I could have gone down to a three, but this is good enough and I’m not doing it again.
I really like this yarn, Adriafil Knitcol. Click the link for the yarn description. You can tell it’s an Italian company because English is definitely not their first language. It’s all correct, just stilted, which makes me smile. I picture lots of fashionable people wearing black and smoking cigarettes and gesturing. My mental image of Italy may be just a wee bit stereotypical, but at least it’s “Roman Holiday” and not “Godfather.”
I never would have bought this yarn based on the way it looked on the ball, but I saw a shop model knitted up last time I visited The Needlecraft Center in Davidson and I really liked it. It’s superwash and sport weight, so it would be great for baby things, socks, or little legwarmers. I’d use this yarn again.
We divvy up the stuff and the sole surviving Dwarven miner starts assessing what needs to be done.
I see a passage. Aleanghi sends down the bat. There’s somebody down there, coming our way. Turns out to be gnomes. And not friendly garden gnomes, mind you. These are Svirfneblin. Gesundheit.
Several times over the last few months my daughter has mentioned that she wanted to go inside a particular office building near our house. I can’t blame her. It’s big and shiny, with a mirrored glass and polished marble exterior and a fountain out front. She mentioned it again on her way to the dentist yesterday, and she was so anxious about going to the dentist that I suggested we go visit it the following day. Which was today.
I learned a lot of valuable lessons from my mother, most of them by her example. But one of the ones she taught me which was stated expressly was, “If you look like you belong somewhere, people won’t question it.” Very true. I put that to good use many times working in TV. With that in mind, I put on “business casual” attire for our trip. Em belongs everywhere, so she needed no dressing up.
We roamed around the halls, with me directing us so that we didn’t pass the same place too many times. Then I said, “Would you like to go to the top floor and look out the windows?” Answer: yes!
We took the elevator to the 14th floor. (Em: “This is like a ride!”) Just off the lobby was an office occupying all of the window views. I don’t know why this didn’t occur to me. Window offices must be in high demand, they wouldn’t just put a window on a hallway when they could charge big bucks for it instead.
We went to the receptionist, and I said, “Hi!” with a big smile. The receptionist said, “Oh, hello!” I said, “I’m wondering if I could ask a favor. She (pointing to Em) was wanting to see the view from up here, I’m wondering if there’s a window we might be able to look out of for just a minute.”
The big conference room with the best view was right behind her and obviously in use, but she thought for a moment and looked around and said, “Sure!” and added, “Oh, I can’t believe she’s so big!”
It was at this point that I realized she thought Em was the daughter of someone who worked there. Two choices presented themselves. One, correct the misunderstanding and possibly have her tell us we couldn’t go into the office, or two, just roll with it.
You know me. I’ll do anything for my kid. I chose to roll with it.
The receptionist gave us both visitor badges and showed us to a smaller conference room. And the view was great! We could see all the way to center city and beyond, and Charlotte’s famous canopy of trees was stretched out as far as the eye could see. Really spectacular.
Once we’d had our fill, which didn’t take long with a ten-year-old’s attention span, we went back to the reception area and gave our badges back, and I thanked the lady warmly. She said, “I just can’t believe she’s so big. Do you think she looks like Angie?”
I smiled and said something like, “Just look at those eyes!” which could work as “not at all, Angie doesn’t have eyes like that” or “yes, of course, Angie has eyes just like that!” and technically I wasn’t telling a falsehood. Thankfully somebody else came up and in the confusion the response was lost. Unfortunately, the receptionist said to the newcomer, “Look, that’s Angie’s girl!” We beat a hasty retreat to the elevators, where we shared a car with the lady who thought Em was Angie’s girl.
Mentally, I was saying, “please don’t know Angie, please don’t ask questions” but the polite silence of the elevator saved us. She got off and we continued down, our excellent adventure at an end.
Em had fun, saying, “That was like a dream!” She wants to go back again. Unfortunately, we can’t go back to that office, since before we get back Angie could come in and hear that her daughter had visited. I’d rather not have security called on us.
There’s a nearly identical tower right next to the one we visited. We’ll sneak into that one next time.
Why do I bring this up? She sent not one but TWO care packages to us. One for my daughter and one for me. First, let’s check out Em’s. She’s remembered Em’s love of space and sent a sticker book (ALWAYS a good choice) and another book on the subject. Also, a bendy toy that is adorable. Topping it off we have a variety of Texan treats. Austinuts cinnamon pecans, Cowtown cookies and Texas Chewie pralines. Mmmmm!
Now let’s check out my package! Holy frijoles!
First of all, note that
There are several other me-specific items such as a fridge magnet reading, I dreamed my whole house was clean…” Heh. She knows me.
And check it out. I got yarn! Sock yarn! It’s Plymouth Happy Feet, which I didn’t even know existed. I’m very excited to have a new brand of sock yarn to play with. AND she got me needles appropriate to the yarn. The ball band calls for size 2, but she got size 1, which is perfect because I am a loose knitter, as I have said many times on this blog. Is that thoughtful or what?
Last night I had nightmares all night. In one, my mother had been unjustly convicted of stealing fine art and sentenced to three years in prison in New Zealand. I think my brain picked New Zealand because that’s as far away from here as you can get and still stay on the planet, although I was staying in New Zealand to work on her release. I had done a documentary on this particular prison, so I knew it wasn’t as bad as it could be, because I could still send her books. Turns out she was going to a different one that didn’t allow books. Talk about torture! I was hatching elaborate schemes to send magazines (which were allowed) and somehow smuggle in short stories disguised as feature articles. It was all very disturbing.
I guess all this means that I love my mom and would hate be separated from her. I think she’ll get an extra big hug when I see her today.
(Please stay away from New Zealand.)
ETA: My mother the comedian just called.
Me: Hello?
Her: Now, they’re only giving me one phone call…
Heh.
