This afternoon I started another Preemie Hat. I intended to start a toe cap cast sock but picked out the wrong size needle and cast on the wrong number of stitches so I just kept going. There's always room for another preemie hat.
22 January--Barbara Malcolm, The Seaview.
By that time we were coming into the little village of Blowing Point. I showed them Mr. Carty’s dumpster rental yard and pointed out Amy’s Bakery where the best lobster pies could be bought. I could see Elizabeth’s attention perk up at the mention of food. “Hungry?” I asked looking into the rear view mirror.
“Ravenous, actually,” she said with a laugh. “Will made us leave home at six o’clock this morning and all he fed me all day was granola and M & Ms.”
I frowned at my son. “You didn’t let your wife eat?”
He threw her a look over his shoulder. “Not exactly, Mom. Geez, Eli, now she’ll think I’m trying to starve you.”
I saw my daughter-in-law’s hand come forward and pat his shoulder. “No, Rose, I lied. We flew through Chicago and Atlanta, and in both of them we had to run to get to our gate to board right away. Once they had us all trapped in their big silver tubes, we would sit on the tarmac waiting for god knows what, and you know they never let you off again for anything. If they hadn’t been in such a hurry we could have at least bought a sub or something to split. Luckily Will had some granola and chocolate in his bag or we would both have been keeled over long before now.”
I knew that my son, considerate man that he is, keeps a few granola bars in his bag because his beloved gets terrible headaches if she doesn’t eat regularly.
I turned right before we got to the ferry terminal and pulled up in front of an old colonial house that had been turned into a restaurant. “Here, you two, this is the Ferryboat Inn. Let’s duck inside for a minute.” Over their protests I shooed them out and into the building. I knew that Lomira, my fiber friend who also worked at the dive shop cooked here on Friday nights. Her daughter Pamela is the hostess so I asked her to ask her mom to step out of the kitchen for a minute. I introduced them all and asked Lomira to fix them some appetizers while I picked Marie up at the terminal. I zoomed the last two blocks and pulled in just as the ferry docked.
By the time I had found a parking place and was walking toward the water, there came my bedraggled daughter towing a small suitcase, looking like she had just completed a rough week at camp. She fell into my arms. “Mom! Oh, it's so good to be here, wherever here is.” She looked around behind me. “Where are Will and Elizabeth?”
“I left them at the restaurant because they haven’t eaten all day.” I tugged the handle of her suitcase out of her hand. “Let’s go. I’m starving and I’m sure you are too. You can convince me that I’m glad to see all of you at the restaurant.”
Today's toss was a sweater that I knitted a couple years ago that was too big when I knitted it and is waaaaay too big now. It'll fit someone.
The writing prompt was weird today. It said if you could go back to the younger you, would you go? What would you tell yourself and what would you hold back? Sheesh. So much stuff happened that I don't think I'd tell the younger me.
--Barbara
1 comment:
That is one well-fed squirrel. No wonder he's so fat! That little sweater looks complicated. You are going to disappear before our eyes. But someone will love a hand-knit sweater. I hear you about that "going back to a younger you." So many pluses and minuses to that but I hope my pluses would win out.
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