I turn yarn into things. In the quiet moments at work yesterday I dragged out the crochet-a-snowball pattern and my hook and made the rest of the skein into balls. Determined as I am not to buy any more yarn when I have an adequate substitute in the stash, I dug out a skein of cream (which is kind of white-ish) and another of oatmeal (a gray-ish white) to make more balls. I figure that any shade of white-ish will do. They're snowballs, they're toys, besides real snow gets dirty and discolored. I might even make some with colored yarn, that might be fun actually.
After I ran out of snowball yarn I started the last knitted ornament cover I have an ornament for and finished it after supper. This is the remains of the skeins I used for the first five balls cut into shorter lengths and tied together with Magic Knots. I like it, I'm calling it Harlequin.
The sky this morning was breathtaking. I went out at exactly the right moment when the sun was barely over the horizon, rising into a break in the clouds, and sending rosy pink light over the bottoms of the clouds. Ahhh.
November 3--Allan Laidman, Bike Ride. Her helmet was painted to look like a ladybug, red with black spots and with a pair of bright, slightly crossed eyes on the front. She pedaled her bike down our street every morning from the first warm spring day until the first snowfall made the roads too treacherous. I'd see her when I stood washing breakfast dishes after Jim had gone to work and the kids had left to catch the school bus. I envied her freedom and the joy on her face. I wonder if that old bike hanging from the rafters has a few more miles in it.
I'm getting tired of sports images to write about. I'm not sporty enough to have a lot of credibility when it comes to throwing or hitting or kicking or sliding or coasting. Maybe I need to shuffle my prompt picture pages. It's a gorgeous day today and over 70 degrees and sunny. I should be outside. You should be too.