I kept my promise to crochet four more spaghettis at work yesterday. It took me into the afternoon to get them done because I kept getting interrupted by phone calls and people wanting to buy stuff and get info about stuff. *sigh* I live to serve. (which suddenly reminds me that I need to get into some going-outside clothes and deliver a pair of tanks to be tested, I almost forgot--hmm, then I can zoom over to Hobby Lobby [I have a little gift card thanks to NS's daughter] for some more pancake-colored yarn, I'm running low) Anyway, I think this is an adequate nest of spaghetti for the four meatballs. The people sitting around me at Guild last night told me that I need to knit or crochet sauce for the noodles and syrup for the pancakes but I told them they need to dust the cobwebs off their imaginations and get over themselves.
When we arrived at the Guild meeting last night we were each given one of these white paper bags with a partial skein of yarn in it with patterns for shamrock cloths big and small. Of course, I forgot to check to make sure that the set of interchangeable needles that lives in my knitting basket includes either #2 or #3 tips (it doesn't) so I had to make do with #4s which is just fine. See? I got almost halfway through the pattern for the smaller cloth. We are to complete them by next month's meeting and bring them to be entered in a prize drawing. Ooh, prizes.
I slept in until 7:30 this morning. It felt so decadent but I missed the pretty sunup sky. All I have to show you is this blue sky and white clouds with sunshine. Not a bad consolation prize, I think. Sunshine. Yes!
February 17--Giovanni Baronzio, Saint Columba of Sens professing his faith before Emperor Aurelian. Churches, churches, churches, thought Eli, is there anything but churches in this town? They had sighed up to go on this bus tour with their neighbors, Ted and Delores, before they knew all the details. They knew the dates and the route but, until Susan brought the brochure home and he read through it, they were in the dark. He suspected that Susan knew that the tour stopped at one church after the other for ten endless days when she'd sent in the check but he didn't call her on it. There wasn't one brewery tour, no battlefield, not even a rinky-dink museum devoted to the history of the stapler, just hour after hour of belfries, altars, stained glass windows, and tiny cemeteries with crooked tombstones. It was enough to make him plot an escape to a pool hall or a seedy tavern for an afternoon.
I'm going to get dressed and go outside in the sunshine and not-cold. According to the marginally reliable weatherman who lives in my phone it's 41 degrees outside. That's nearly shorts weather around here but I'll spare the populace the vision of my fish-belly white legs. You're welcome.