I want to say right up front that I'm heartily sorry that I weeded, mulched, and planted last Tuesday. I am no better so went to the chiropractor on my way to work, will again on Wednesday, and probably will on Friday. This sucks big hairy monkey balls.
August 2--Write about a time you were misunderstood--No one understands me here. If I order bread they bring me cheese. If I call a taxi they send a moving van. I understand them perfectly. I can read signs and menus, ride the buses and subway just fine. Shopping goes fine if I smile and point. It's when I try to communicate verbally that problems occur. When the frustration gets too great I write out a list and hand it to the clerk letting them think I can not speak. I can see the pitying "poor thing" in their eyes. I don't mind; I get what I want with minimal hassle.
August 3--Write about a bedroom--Gloria stood in the doorway of the room she called her guest bedroom. There was a bed in there--somewhere. She was sure of it. She had a vague memory of a nicely made up double bed, a nightstand with a cut crystal carafe and glass standing in front of an antique alabaster lamp with a pink silk shade with dangling bead fringe. But those furnishings were only visible in her memory, or maybe even her imagination. What was visible from her place just over the threshold were bags and bags of stuff. The truest definition of stuff too. Bags of paperback novels, boxes of outgrown and out of style clothing mixed with boxes of Christmas ornaments, some nearly one hundred years old, some never out of the box. There were plastic totes and ziptop bags of yarn, thin sock yarn, regular worsted weight for everyday knitting, and yarn so thick she couldn't imagine what she'd make with it. Sorting through all of it would be a huge job, even the thought of it was making her slightly nauseous but it had to be done.
There you have it. Such as it is. I like the world you created, Bob, in your piece about a tool. Nice.
--Barbara
Monday, August 4, 2008
One Bag Down
I just want to say that I really did a number on my lower back last week and spent the weekend either in pain or in a Tylenol w/codeine fog. I don't recommend either. But I went to the chiro this morning, will go again on Wednesday, and probably will again on Friday, so things should look up soon. I'm not a good patient.
We had dinner guests Saturday so my weekend knitting time was consumed with cleaning and cooking. All went well, the turkey on the spit was delicious (yes it was, Durwood) and the tomato/fresh mozz/basil salads were lively and the first sweet corn of the season was to die for. Holly brought her frozen key lime pie for dessert. All I can say is, YUMMMMM. I almost forgot, we made planter's punch cocktails with watermelon, banana, maraschino cherries, OJ, ice and dark rum in the blender. Very popular and refreshing.
I did knit/crochet a bit. I finished the first Hula Market Bag and got more than halfway through another Sudoku square. I gave my SIL the first market bag I made (last year) on Saturday when I saw her at the Farmer's Market and she emailed me later Sat. morning to say someone asked her where she could buy one! That's a nice compliment.
We had dinner guests Saturday so my weekend knitting time was consumed with cleaning and cooking. All went well, the turkey on the spit was delicious (yes it was, Durwood) and the tomato/fresh mozz/basil salads were lively and the first sweet corn of the season was to die for. Holly brought her frozen key lime pie for dessert. All I can say is, YUMMMMM. I almost forgot, we made planter's punch cocktails with watermelon, banana, maraschino cherries, OJ, ice and dark rum in the blender. Very popular and refreshing.
I did knit/crochet a bit. I finished the first Hula Market Bag and got more than halfway through another Sudoku square. I gave my SIL the first market bag I made (last year) on Saturday when I saw her at the Farmer's Market and she emailed me later Sat. morning to say someone asked her where she could buy one! That's a nice compliment.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Sleepy Saturday
Stayed up late last night, so I'm feeling a bit logy today. The good news is that the only thing on my schedule is sweeping and mopping out the Attic building. Whoo-hoo!
Write about a tool: After supper my dad usually worked on cars. He had been a mechanic at Rosenberg's gas station, but quit there and started up a business of his own. There were always two or three cars in the back yard, parked under the willow. Of course, the folks at Rosenberg's didn't like the fact that he was undercutting their business. My dad, on the other hand, didn't like the idea of making somebody else rich. Besides, he was flexible in the way people made their payments. A lot of the time, he took eggs and boxes of fresh vegetables and even home-made sausage in place of cash. He said it just made things a lot simpler. Mrs. Fitzgerald, who cooked for us at the time, liked that everything was fresh, or maybe a day old at the most. Suppers were generous affairs, and Mrs. Fitzgerald always took something home once things were cleaned up, which was, I think, a big part of the reason she cooked so well for us. When she was ready to leave, my dad always thanked her for the meal. I don't think I ever saw her leave without being thanked. She would lower her eyelids and say that it was pleasure.
Then after supper, he went out to the garage, to the cars. When I had finished my homework, I'd go out too and hand him tools and listen to him explain what he was doing. He would ask for an Allen wrench, for instance, or a ring clamp, and then he'd talk me through the procedure.
"You see what I'm doing here?" he would ask, leaning over a car engine, a light bulb hanging on the raised up hood, and turning a screw on the carburetor or the intake manifold or some such component.
Sometimes I got it right, but most of the time I didn't have a clue. I'd make my best guess, usually couched in terms of two plausible possibilities, and hope for the best. Then he'd smile and say that I was close, and explain what he was working on. I'd listen and wait for him to ask me to hand him one of his tools, black with grime in where it had been stamped deep, and gleaming dully in the light of the bulb overhead.
Bob ;-)
Write about a tool: After supper my dad usually worked on cars. He had been a mechanic at Rosenberg's gas station, but quit there and started up a business of his own. There were always two or three cars in the back yard, parked under the willow. Of course, the folks at Rosenberg's didn't like the fact that he was undercutting their business. My dad, on the other hand, didn't like the idea of making somebody else rich. Besides, he was flexible in the way people made their payments. A lot of the time, he took eggs and boxes of fresh vegetables and even home-made sausage in place of cash. He said it just made things a lot simpler. Mrs. Fitzgerald, who cooked for us at the time, liked that everything was fresh, or maybe a day old at the most. Suppers were generous affairs, and Mrs. Fitzgerald always took something home once things were cleaned up, which was, I think, a big part of the reason she cooked so well for us. When she was ready to leave, my dad always thanked her for the meal. I don't think I ever saw her leave without being thanked. She would lower her eyelids and say that it was pleasure.
Then after supper, he went out to the garage, to the cars. When I had finished my homework, I'd go out too and hand him tools and listen to him explain what he was doing. He would ask for an Allen wrench, for instance, or a ring clamp, and then he'd talk me through the procedure.
"You see what I'm doing here?" he would ask, leaning over a car engine, a light bulb hanging on the raised up hood, and turning a screw on the carburetor or the intake manifold or some such component.
Sometimes I got it right, but most of the time I didn't have a clue. I'd make my best guess, usually couched in terms of two plausible possibilities, and hope for the best. Then he'd smile and say that I was close, and explain what he was working on. I'd listen and wait for him to ask me to hand him one of his tools, black with grime in where it had been stamped deep, and gleaming dully in the light of the bulb overhead.
Bob ;-)
Creaky
That's how I feel. I hurt the most in the morning and as the day wears on I get better only to backslide overnight. I should have gone to the chiropractor yesterday but didn't think of it until this morning so I'll try to get in before I open the store on Monday. Middle age sucks. I'm glad you liked my silly Bananagram story. It's good for a giggle. I'll show it to Jenny on Thursday--and I reminded her that she submits then too. I was too sore and sleepy to write Thursday night but I managed last night.
August 1--Write about a tool--"I can't find it," Ruth said. All Jeremy could see was her bottom upended in front of the sofa, her elbows pumping like pistons as she tore the afghan and pillows off and flung them aside. Her hands were blurs as they plunged down alongside the arms and deep down the back. After going over the entire sofa three times she fell back onto her heels and turned to face him. She swept her tangled dark brown curls out of her face, her slender and graceful hands clenched into claws. "I've got twelve more rows to go, twelve, and I'll have finished your mom's Christmas sweater." She picked up a heap of knitting in a beautiful pale aqua wool and shook it at him. "Twelve rows, Jeremy, only twelve. It's Sunday night and nothing is open. I need my needle." In the interest of saving his marriage he helped look, although all her knitting needles looked alike to him. He was too smart to say so. He did venture to ask if she might not have another pair in the same size. She looked at him as if he'd asked where she kept her spare husband. "Of course I have more size tens. These are my favorite." Just as he could feel her building up to another outburst their son, Liam, came into the room carrying one drumstick and one bamboo knitting needle. "Hey, Mom," he said, "hope you don't mind but I borrowed one of your knitting sticks." He stopped in the doorway and surveyed the mess. "Did you lose something?" The jury is still out whether Liam will live until his twelfth birthday.
This just came zooming out onto the page. It was fun. Now I need to rest. I'm having a dinner party, you know.
--Barbara
August 1--Write about a tool--"I can't find it," Ruth said. All Jeremy could see was her bottom upended in front of the sofa, her elbows pumping like pistons as she tore the afghan and pillows off and flung them aside. Her hands were blurs as they plunged down alongside the arms and deep down the back. After going over the entire sofa three times she fell back onto her heels and turned to face him. She swept her tangled dark brown curls out of her face, her slender and graceful hands clenched into claws. "I've got twelve more rows to go, twelve, and I'll have finished your mom's Christmas sweater." She picked up a heap of knitting in a beautiful pale aqua wool and shook it at him. "Twelve rows, Jeremy, only twelve. It's Sunday night and nothing is open. I need my needle." In the interest of saving his marriage he helped look, although all her knitting needles looked alike to him. He was too smart to say so. He did venture to ask if she might not have another pair in the same size. She looked at him as if he'd asked where she kept her spare husband. "Of course I have more size tens. These are my favorite." Just as he could feel her building up to another outburst their son, Liam, came into the room carrying one drumstick and one bamboo knitting needle. "Hey, Mom," he said, "hope you don't mind but I borrowed one of your knitting sticks." He stopped in the doorway and surveyed the mess. "Did you lose something?" The jury is still out whether Liam will live until his twelfth birthday.
This just came zooming out onto the page. It was fun. Now I need to rest. I'm having a dinner party, you know.
--Barbara
Friday, August 1, 2008
Late Friday Afternoon
Barbara, are you feeling better today? Thanks for the Bananagrams. I like your story a lot. It had this slightly loopy innocence that is very appealing. Reminds me of your hippo story, only with an admixture of Wind in the Willows. My suggestion is that you show it to Jenny. Thanks again.
Bob ;-)
Bob ;-)
Yarn Slut
Retail America had a 90% off coupon in today's paper. We went. Now my "mad money" pocket is nearly empty.
Last year when I learned (relearned) to knit I knew one of the things I wanted to knit was a hoodie for me. I found a free Lion Brand pattern for a Thick & Quick sweater with a collar and one for a hoodie with no sleeves. (Why would you knit a thick and warm sweater with a hood but no sleeves? Can someone tell me that?) I needed 13-15
skeins of yarn to knit my size and just couldn't justify the cost. But Retail America had a whole big shelf full of Lion Brand Thick & Quick in red and black variegated. I bought 15 skeins of that and 6 skeins of brown/rust/cranberry to make a sweater for Durwood (He deserves it; he's a very patient man.).We roamed up and down the aisles just in case we had missed a treasure. Well, if we did we rectified the oversight. There was a pile of Great Grape BIG yarn and one skein each of Amazon
and Grand Canyon BIG print. I figure that it'll make awesome wacky hats for next winter.I have no self-control when it comes to yarn, even all-acrylic yarn. I'm so ashamed.
Brainstorm!
Durwood found an ad on the back page of the paper for Retail America and they had yarn for 70% off. 70%!! (Didn't I tell you he's a treasure?) We went and most of what they have is Lion Brand and a lot of "eyelash" but I did find this shelf full of Red Heart Hula which is a sport weight 100% acrylic yarn that's smooth and shiny and a lot like nylon twine. They had 7 different colors (you know I love colors) so I bought some thinking it'd make great crocheted market bags.
Well, I must admit that at first I thought it'd make great knitted market bags but the yarn was a real pain to knit, so I dug out the Sugar'n Cream crochet pattern I'd used before and got to work. The first one's looking good. Not going to save the whole planet crocheting market bags but I can tidy up my little corner a bit.
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