I Lied

I thought I was master of the cables on Monday, yesterday I didn't have much time to knit at work but I managed to screw it up and have to tink (k-n-i-t backwards) a cable round--twice, and then either screwed it up or discovered a screw up after supper, so the yarn is back in the ball, the beads of the abacus bracelet row counter (which I love) are back in "start" position, and the needles are poised to start again.  Time is ticking away.  April 10 is the deadline.  I need to sit myself down with no distractions and make these things.  I need a goal:  my goal is to have one mitt done by the end of the weekend.  Focus, Barbara, quit dabbling and focus.

D'you know what happens when you smooch and snuggle a baby with the sniffles?  That's right (give that man a cigar), you get the sniffles too.  My head feels like it's filling up with snot (isn't that a lovely word? it's perfect for what it represents), my ears feel a little tetchy, and my throat feels like a little guy in cleats is tromping around behind my sinuses.  I got out the Zicam and honey lemon drops, and I'm complaining about it so I should be better in, oh, about a week.  Bah.

I don't remember if I showed you the little stack of hankies I bought at the thrift shop in Sister Bay last Friday.  One is all pretty and embroidered, one is linen with a tiny lace edging, and six are hemmed linen with a little cutwork design in one corner.  It isn't precision work, by any means, it looks like someone trying to learn how, but I like the size of them, I like that they're linen (I'm a big fan), and I like that they'll soften with use.  All six for fifty cents (they were marked $1 but green tagged items [all my items were green tagged] were half price last Friday--woohoo!)  Sometimes you hit the jackpot.

We woke up to a dusting of snow today.  "A dusting" is March-speak for "it snowed again, dammit."  They say it may rain today.  *flings hands up*  I... I... I'm not shoveling it, that's for sure; it's on its own.  Anyway, it's supposed to be sunny and warmer over the weekend.  It'll melt.

March 27--Christian Frederich Zincke, Portrait of a Young Man.  "Do you want this?" Jay held out a small framed painting.  His sister Kay pushed her glasses up on her nose, leaving a smudge of dirt there.  "What is it?  Better yet, who is it?  A relative?  Is it marked?"  He cocked his head, his eyes intent, with a small furrow between his brows.  "Maybe, maybe not.  Could be a relative, could be something one of the family magpies picked up.  You know how Mom and Grandmom were, they couldn't pass up something shiny.  This is shiny, even his lips are shiny."  He squinted at the tiny thing in the dim attic light.  "This is a guy, right?" he asked.

And then the sniffles slammed my eyes shut and rolled me into sleep.  The end.  Time to dress, eat, and go to work.  Yesterday I sold a bunch, maybe today will be even better.  Or I'll knit a mitt and not screw up.  Either way today will be a win.
--Barbara