Onion Bread--Done!

This morning I got the dough mixed together and got the onion bread for Thanksgiving baked.  And may I say that this house smells absolutely scrumptious.  It's going to be hard not to cut a little taste but we're going to be strong.  Tomorrow night after work I'll make the pumpkin bread pudding with toffee sauce.  (there might be rum involved--be still, my heart)

I can't decide if these were vapor trails or just really oddball looking clouds in this morning's sky but look at that blue.  Isn't it gorgeous?

Yesterday I knitted on Sudoku Snow #5 and got 10 (decreasing) rows from being done when the yarn ran out.  $%#&^!  But I had another skein of the white in my knitting basket so I could just join on more and keep going, with two more tails to weave in but such is knitting.

Then I turned to the Knoxville Seathwaite hat.  I got halfway through the first chart repeat and I have to say it's making a bit more sense so maybe I'll finish this thing before spring after all.  On Sunday I wound up three skein of bulky yarn into balls when I put together the hat kits and am sorely tempted to cast on the shawl it's for but I swear I won't until the hat is done.  Cross my heart.

Last night I decided to crochet a snowball or two while watching TV and got frustrated that I still don't seem to be doing it right so I got out three of six different colored markers and marked each and every "leg" of the darned thing and think I might be onto something.  I feel like a rank beginner needing to put in so many markers but it makes it so much easier and I hook the right places.  I will swallow my pride and stick with the rainbow of markers so I make snowballs that aren't "artistic."

November 24--Phil Cantor.  Everybody hated Mr. Peterson's Geography class.  Everyone, without exception.  Even people who were crazy about maps and learning about topography and contour lines found their steps lagging on their way to his classroom.  Mr. Peterson had a gift.  He made every word he said boring.  He droned on in a monotone, sounding a bit like the robo-voice on lazy people's answering machines.  Plus he had the world's worst breath.  It had to be some condition because I know he brushed his teeth, he carried an orange toothbrush in his shirt pocket with his pens.

It kind of annoys me when the photographs I use as nightly writing prompts don't have names to aim my thoughts.  Oh well, I manage, don't I?  It's time for me and Durwood to go to our broker's office for pie.  They give away pies at Thanksgiving.  Pretty good deal, don't you think?  Bye.
--Barbara