The one where I’m looking

way forward to the weekend, even more than usual.  Two excellent things are going to happen, 1)  Mr. Iknead and I are going to have our 32nd anniversary and 2) we’re going to spend it in Fayetteville with the Papoose.  Thirty two years, more than half my life (I’m 54) and we still like each other.  A rarity now, I think.  Dang, I thought I had a picture of Mr. Iknead and me right after we got married.  DD has it on her facebook, I’ll get her to send it to me in the next day or so.

OK, I’m loaded and ready for WIP Wednesday tomorrow.  No tonight, one first thing in the a.m.

The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship.  Ralph Waldo Emerson



The one where I brag

about my Drop Stitch Shawl, I have one row and the bindoff and it will be finished.  I’m going to add fringe and am toying with the idea of putting beads on the fringe.  Maybe some that look like crystals, or some silvery stuff.  Right now, I’m just basking in the euphoria that comes along with a FO.

Mirrorsocks are coming along.  I love the grays.  I do have to tattle on myself; several repeats of the pattern, patting myself on the back, then I decide to turn the page and see what’s coming up patternwise.  That’s right, There’s a whole row that I didn’t know about.  Not a big deal, the pattern is fine without being added onto, but now I know why reading the complete pattern is recommended BEFORE starting the actual knitting.  Silly me.

The older I grow the more I distrust the familiar doctrine that age brings wisdom.  H. L. Mencken



The one where I’m trying really hard

to be patient, waiting for the yarn I ordered (the Manos del Uruguay) to finish the Drop Stitch Shawl to arrive.  I’m trying to ‘will’ it onto on my front porch so it will be waiting for me after work.  It just might work.  I’ve also learned something about the mail, tracking your package a million times during the day does not make it arrive any faster.  In my head, each time I check, it gets a little nudge closer.  If I was in charge…….

OK, I’m home and it’s not.  Tomorrow is another day.

Here’s Josie resting from her hard day of holding down the couch.

Tough life, huh?

Life is like playing a violin in public and learning the instrumentas one goes on.  Samuel Butler (1612-1680)



The one where I at last

sit down and do some donkey work, uploading the pics onto Flickr and then, in turn, deleting them from my camera.  Since one good turn deserves another, I then can’t rest until I’ve gone though the uploads, now deleting duplicates on Flickr.  Not a hard job, just time consuming, requiring a bit more patience than I usually have.  I feel good anyway, this is something that has languished on my to do list for a couple of months (at least) and I’m glad to have even a little bit of the job done.

Mom has been at Presbyterian Villiage now for a full week and things are going well, I think.  We had a few difficult days, but we expected to have at least a few of those and I think she’s settling into her new routine as well as she can.

My newest sock project is on the needles, Mirrorsocks, in Kollage Yarns Sock-A-Licious, color 7808, a lovely foggy gray, like what I imagine a London fog must be.


Diamonds are nothing more than chunks of coal that stuck to their jobs.  Malcolm Forbes (1919-1990) American magazine publisher



The one where I remember that

life is a series of adjustments.  I got my mom moved up here to Little Rock from the wilds of southwest Arkansas yesterday.  It went well, better, in fact, than I expected.  It was hard last night leaving her, knowing that she literally had no clue about where she was and why.  That’s the heartache of all caretakers of someone with dementia.  My mom is a grown woman, but has the mental capacity of a small child, maybe 5-6 years old.  There are still brief flashes of the person who is my mom, but most of the time, she’s a child in an adult body.  It felt like the first day of first grade when my kids were little; having to entrust her care to someone besides me or Mr. Iknead.  I cried then too.  I cried for Mom, I cried for myself and I cried for my dad.  He passed away a month ago yesterday and I keep running into the fact of his death like something I’d stumble against navigating a dark room.  When does it get better?

Knitting.  I’ve done a ton in the past couple of weeks, partly because of the car time I’ve had (Mr. Iknead prefers to drive, I prefer to ride.  One more example of our fitting together, I suppose).  Now I’m getting anxious about running out of Manos for the Drop Stitch Shawl.  This happens every time I get close to the end of a project, you’d think I’d catch on that, but still I think I’ll give Yarnmart a call in the morning, just in case.

Here’s a picture I love – Mr. Iknead and the apple of his eye, the Papoose

He’s not crazy about her or anything!

People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the seas, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.  Saint Augustine (354 A.D. to 430 A.D.) Early Christian theologian and bishop