Thursday, February 12, 2015

We're in the White Part

The weather map on the back page of the front section of the newspaper divides temperatures into 10 degree increments and assigns each a color from red for the "100s" to white for "Below 10."  We're in the white part today and we're not supposed to get out of the white part for a few days.  *sigh*  I think it's interesting that there are no increments below "Below 10," as if there are no further layers of misery when the temperature sinks that low.  Let me tell you that doesn't even cover a fraction of the misery when it's in the teens below zero and windy.  Add in blowing snow and we're in another dimension of misery.  I'm happy for sunny and 4 degrees today.  I don't have to shovel 4 degrees and sunny, nope, don't have to shovel it.

Durwood called me yesterday afternoon with the West-side Hawk Report.  It flew in, got its feathers ruffled sitting on the fence, flew down to perch on a feeder-hanger crook, moved to the back of the Emma's chair on the patio, and then dived into the birdie tree looking for lunch.  Durwood didn't see if the dive was successful but he got a couple of great hawk pictures I can share with you.

I've been meaning to knit another Choco Cherry mitten to go with that odd one from my last foray into two-needle mittening but haven't gotten around to it, so last night after supper I grabbed a likely looking yarn cake and cast on the cuff.  I got this far, maybe an inch and a half, and still not much color was coming out of the ball.  I could see it in there but it wasn't coming fast enough for me, so I pulled until I got more color, snipped the yarn, yanked out the needles and started over.  See?  Much better.

February 12--Peter Brandt, Timeless Arches.  Father Stephan's measured steps echoed behind him from the arches as he passed, caught up to him when he reached the refectory door, and then followed him back down to the sacristy door.  He held his breviary in his hand as he did every day, his head was bowed as usual too, but his thoughts were far from praying his daily office.  He loved the church and its grounds, attached as it was to the seminary where he had come as a young man called to a life of prayer.  Over the years, more years than he cared to count, he had gone where he was sent.  To the university for his degrees, to serve a country parish in Wisconsin, then to teach at an academy where he spent most of his life, finally he came back to live full time in the place he had always considered his true home.  He had always felt that prayers prayed in this beautiful and peaceful arched gallery took the express route directly to God's ear.  This morning news had come that someone wanted to buy the seminary buildings, demolish them, and develop a business park, leaving the church, the rectory, and the residence for old duffer priests like him to live out the rest of their lives in familiar surroundings.  Father Stephan tried to pray for acceptance of change but all he thought of was the loss of peace such a sale would bring.

Tonight's the Bay Lakes Knitting Guild's monthly meeting.  We're going to learn to thrum, which involves tucking little pieces of wool into your stitches to make something extra warm.  I've got my homework rows knitted and some finished things to show off and a project to work on at work if there's time.  I'm all set.  Time to layer on the woolies because, baby, it's cold outside.  But sunny.  Seeyabye.


1 comment:

Aunt B said...

I don't think my daffodils froze after all. We're in the bluish-green part of the map. Almost balmy!!!