I finished the teapot at work yesterday, even made the lid with knob. It was amazingly easy. I'm not totally thrilled with the angle of the spout, Durwood suggested tacking it up at a better angle. I might try that. I'm also thinking of felting it a bit to firm it up so it keeps its shape a bit better. But isn't it cute? I'm thinking I should make a couple tea cups to go with it, maybe not saucers or spoons or the sugar bowl and creamer but the cups are a temptation. I worked on Sudoku Stone #9 too but you don't really want to see yet another partially knitted gray square, do you? I didn't think so.
Durwood called me about midday to say that there were men in the lot behind the house tearing down the sagging fence. By the time I got home from work the fence was gone and a few new posts were up. It looked very odd without that fence blocking our view of the office building behind us, so odd that I closed the curtains way before I usually do since we both felt like we were eating supper in a fish bowl. This morning the two guys are back drilling post holes and setting the posts, although I suspect they won't get done today. They might, but I don't think so, it's Friday after all.
Today I'm packing. Packing my writing things, packing my "camp" clothes, packing enough (more than enough) knitting to keep my fingers busy for a week. I reread what I have done of the latest manuscript rewrite and think I'm on the right track. I made a few notes and can't wait to dive back in. Maybe I'll even jump the gun and do a little writing on Sunday before class even starts.
September 25--Peter French, Slick Rock, AZ. The hot wind roared down the canyon, barreling through carving its initials in the sandstone. Grains of sand borne on the wind scoured my knees making me wish I had worn my khakis even though it was hot. I tied a bandanna over my mouth and nose and pulled the brim of my hat down to shade my eyes. A few paces on the path went from dry to wet, from yellow-orange to rust-red. I looked ahead to see if there was a spring but saw the trickle of water building toward me. Then I knew that the wind was air pushed by moving water higher up in the mountains and I was in real trouble. Climb! Jake's voice roared in my head. Climb, dammit, Sheila, climb now! Without thinking I reached for a gap in the rock and hoisted myself up the wind- and water-carved stone. Before I was five feet above the canyon floor the grinding sound of the onrushing water reached my ears and the whole canyon began to vibrate.
We've got a few errands to run today and I have to pack, do a little laundry, pack more, and go to Friday Night Knitting. I'm a busy woman, I don't have time to dilly-dally around, so quit distracting me.