When I made the bed this morning I saw the full-ish moon on its way to setting and I noticed that next-door has put up their Christmas tree and it was turned on. Can you say "greeting card"? Then an hour later I looked out of the other bedroom window to see that the sun had risen enough to brighten the shreds of clouds in the blue sky. Ahh, sunshine. I see now that the clouds are thickening but for that one bright shining moment it was sunny. I'll take it.
I didn't have a lot of knitting time at work yesterday (I'm not sure what I did beyond visiting with my high school pal, BV, for an hour [thanks for visiting, I loved it!] but the day hurried past) but it's time to shift colors again on the Landscapes Wrap. I had high hopes that I'd have it ready to show off at Thursday's BLKG December meeting and Christmas party but I didn't knit on it on Sunday and barely did yesterday but the rows are getting 2 stitches shorter with each pass so maybe if I bear down just a tiny bit I'll still make it. It won't be blocked and it might not have its I-cord top edging but maybe I can get it to the finish line and weave in the tails before Thursday night. Maybe. I wanted something new to swirl around my neck and shoulders. Maybe I can work a little, knit a little today and get closer to done.
I read on today's front page that the Packers won last night. I heard Durwood groaning at mistakes and encouraging them in turn until bedtime when I shut the door on the football agony, wrote a bit, and went to sleep. I'm sorry to say I don't really care. I'm surprised they let me live inside the city limits with an attitude like that.
December 9--Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Young Girl in a Pink and Black Hat. The pink flowers of her hat matched the pink of her lips. Gerald sat at the back of the subway car half-hidden behind an advertising poster and watched her. He liked when she wore the black and pink hat. He liked it when she talked to another commuter. He liked it when she smiled and when she was serious. She worked in the DuPage building on the seventh floor. He followed her there most days because he went to the library down the block to read the papers. On warm, sunny days she took her lunch into the small park across from his library so he got to watch her take bites of her sandwich with her straight, white teeth. Gerald knew a lot about her, about Amy. Her name was Amy. One day she would notice him and then his life would begin
Durwood's back in bed having a nap and he asked me to wake him before I leave. Seems to me like retirement's a good thing. Stay warm today. I see a sweater in my future. Maybe long-johns too.