What do you do when the best bacon on the planet is made at Nueske's in Wittenberg, an hour's drive west? You saddle up and make a bacon run. Durwood drove, I knitted, we chatted, and we came home with bacon, some to eat and some to freeze. We each had a smoked brat with kraut and free root beer for lunch there too. It was lovely on this chilly, rainy day. Now he's taking a nap and I'm ripping a book from CDs to the laptop to slap onto my Walkman and posting on the blog. Later I'm going to knit with friends in the Harmony Cafe next to Goodwill. It'll be fun.
November 11--Lindingo, Sweden. "It's too small to farm," said Magnus, lying in the tall grass propped on his elbows with the binoculars held tight to his eyes. Katrina lay beside him sketching in a notebook. "Do you think pirates are on the island?" she said. Magnus snorted. "Pirates? Don't be silly, Rina, old Peterson lived out there. He was a hero in the war and I want to go out there to see his medals." Katrina watched a ladybug pace across her page and climb up her pencil. "Well, why don't you? You have a boat and can row that far, I'm sure." Magnus lowered the binoculars and turned to look at her. "And what if he's got the island ringed with booby traps?"
My eyelids kept slamming shut and so I quit there. Enjoy your weekend.
--Barbara
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