Well, this morning I sat on the couch and sent the Livingston Rib Lace scarf to the frog pond.
I had a nice chat with my baby brother, AJ, this morning. We started talking about the refund for this year's football tickets and then spent the next half hour talking about everything else in the world. I need to call him more often and I need to call my other brother too. Maybe I'll do that tomorrow.
I found a hat pattern on Ravelry and have the bulky yarn to knit it with but thought I'd knock out another preemie hat. Mostly because there was a little ball of yarn in a bag that I thought might make a tiny preemie hat. Hope I finish the hat before I have to add more yarn. Seems to be my week to play yarn chicken.
24 August--Barbara Malcolm, Better Than Mom's.
The peace of Better Than Mom’s was shattered one morning in late autumn when Fay went through the kitchen, giving her customary greeting to Naomi and Brady as they chopped and stirred to get the day’s three soups simmering, into the diner, and turned right around and walked back through the still-swinging doors.
“Brady, you need to come out into the diner.” When he did not move, she said, “Right now.”
The tone of her voice made him turn pale, drop his knife, wipe his hands on his sparkling clean apron, and follow her into the diner. Naomi was right on his heels. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder right in front of the kitchen door and surveyed the scene through unbelieving eyes.
“How could we have missed this, Brady?” Naomi said.
“We all come in the back, that is how,” Brady said, his voice cracking.
What they saw was devastating. The newspaper machine that usually stood beside the door had been thrown through the window in the waiting area scattering shards of glass all over, some of which stuck out of the upholstered bench under the window like stalagmites from a cave floor. The door was unbroken but the next window down in the line had been broken by having one of the cement planters tossed through it. All three of them wondered how many people it had taken to lift the heavy planter filled with dirt and heave it through the glass. And it was not just plate glass either, Brady had tempered glass installed because he said if someone rammed their car into the building by accident, he did not want the customers inside to be cut by flying glass. So, the glass in that booth looked like pretty blue pieces of crushed ice twinkling in the rays of the just risen sun. At first Fay thought that the vandals had emptied the planter before throwing it, but then she realized that the booth, the table, and the floor next to it all the way to the counter were covered with potting soil and plants.
“Oh, Brady, your pretty geraniums and petunias,” she said, focusing on the smallest thing she could comprehend. “Maybe we can save them if we repot them fast.”
She started forward but Brady put his hand on her arm to hold her back.
“Do not touch anything. I have to call the police. Now.”
He turned and blindly crashed back through the kitchen doors and staggered into his office, fell into the chair, and stabbed at the number keys on the telephone. 9-1-1. He was grateful to whoever had decided on such a simple number to call for help; he knew he could never have dialed anything more complex.
Today's toss was six pottery bowls of various sizes. I've been buying them for years but don't use them. Why??? I do not know. Tomorrow will be a donation day again; those towels are taking up a lot of room in the back of the car. Maybe I'll swing by to visit DS too.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Darn it. Seems as if those beetles are laying in wait for a rose to bloom so they can begin dining on it. They do look good enough to eat but don't tell the beetles that! Nice to hear you had a good chat with your brother. Now more than ever is the time to keep in touch.
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