Grr, A Knot.

I finished Sodoku Lime block #8 this morning at breakfast (no, I didn't try to knit and eat; I ate first then knit while the conversation flowed around me), then after zooming out to the storage for the camping stuff and getting it into the dishwasher I cast on Sodoku Lime block #9.  I was just about to the middle and here came a knot.  Arrgh!  I was not going to frog it back and start over so I cut out the knot and will have more tails to weave in.  It's the last Lime one and it has to have a knot.  Bah.

As I said I went out to the storage and dug out the camping dishes and cook kit.  It's been years and years and years since we've gone camping and I am supremely confident that we won't ever go again, so somebody might as well get some use out of it.  My pal, Lala, is taking a couple nights' camping adventure soon so I'm going to take all of the now-clean stuff along when I meet up with her next week.  Whatever she doesn't want is going to the Goodwill.  It's time to start being ruthless about getting rid of stuff that is just taking up space (and money) in our lives.

A couple of teen-aged Bluejays have been visiting our birdbath lately and I've been trying to be fast enough to get a picture of at least one of them.  I figure they're this year's batch because they're only blue from the tip of their tails to about where their hips would be if they had hips, there's a bit of blue on their wings, but none on the cockade on top of their heads.  I got a couple snaps of one today but do you think it would turn around for me?  No.  So, I've charged Durwood with getting a picture of the backside of one or more of them.  He says in the daytime a bunch of them come to hang out at the birdbath.  I wouldn't mind if he got a picture of that too.

August 1--Jose Schell, Red Fox.  The small red-furred shape tiptoed across the paved trail, slipped between the trees, and went down to the river.  Generations of foxes had come the same way from the den in the grove of trees by the road.  It was a lucky thing that the road curved away from the river so that the small copse of trees growing up out of the rocks stayed unmolested.

And that's when the teeny, tiny thread of inspiration petered out like a wisp of smoke in a windstorm, so I downed tools, turned out the light, and conked off.  It was the smart thing to do.  Happy Beach Week, Aunt B!  I hope it stayed dry for your supper on the deck.  Love you!
--Barbara Sue