Hat

 



Last week I felted the hat.  As I feared there was too much hat and too much yarn for it to felt down to a wearable size.  If you remember, it started out big enough to reach my shoulders.  When it had been through the hot cycle of the washer six times and twice through the dryer, here's how it looked.  Not exactly the way I imagined it.  Number one, it's way too wide and, number two, it needs a shave.  But.  If I pinch it in a few inches at the nape of my neck up to the crown and turn the brim up in front, it looks like a real hat.  So now I need to slash it from brim to crown, cut out the excess, and sew it together, then give it a shave.  I believe that there's a case of Gillette disposable razors downstairs that will be just the thing for hat shaving.







 

The amaryllis leaves are twenty inches tall and show no signs of slowing down.  No flower stalk is poking up between the leaves either.  At least they're green.







Wildlife!  I looked out this morning to see a squirrel leap up onto the birdbath for a drink.  I haven't seen a bird stop in days but the squirrels are still here.  We don't have enough snow to see footprints so I can't say that the RAT is or isn't around.  I'm hoping that it's either poisoned or has moved on to a yard where there's food.


06 January--Barbara Malcolm, Spies Don't Retire. 

The boat had just rounded the southernmost point of the island when a large flock of flamingos flew over on their way to the salt pans where they would spend their day stalking in the pale pink water seining out the shrimp that gave them their characteristic color.  He was always amazed to see that their wings were mostly white and black, neither color visible when they were walking.  It intrigued him that such big birds could propel their massive bodies with such slow flapping.  The sound of their honks and the heavy beat of their wings made him wish that he could lift his arms and fly to Venezuela with them for a night.

“Mistah George,” Bunny said.

George looked at him and Bunny raised a crooked finger to point at a small gray bump on the horizon.  George frowned and shrugged his shoulders.

Bunny shook his head and said, “It’s de island, Arawak Island, where we headed, mon.”

Feeling a bit foolish for not realizing that he would be able to see the island so soon floating there just over the horizon he nodded and waved his thanks to the taciturn figure at the wheel.  The cluster of men sitting under the awning had also heard and a few dragged out their binoculars to get a closer look.  They watched the small gray bump grow as they approached, the gray turning into dark green cactus thrusting its arms into the sky above pale yellow ground.

Arawak Island looked to be a few acres barely keeping itself above sea level.  When they got closer Bunny slowed the boat and turned to sail around the shore to the Marine Park mooring where they had permission to tie up.

I had lunch today with a part of the St. Agnes Graduating Class of 1965.  That's always a fun time.  We're all so different yet we have that tiny point of connection that seems stronger than I ever imagined it would be.  Tomorrow I get to do laundry. Yippee.  I've got some leggings cut out that I can sew up while the wash sloshes around.
--Barbara