It's blowing like crazy out there tonight. I tried to take a picture of the snow plume off the roof of the office building behind me but naturally the wind dropped when I opened the patio door. Or it ran out of loose snow. Anyway, the high temperature tomorrow, 3 degrees, is supposed to come around midnight and it's supposed to be -6 degrees by 9 AM with lots of wind. Eesh. Definitely digging out the wool sweater and long underwear tomorrow because, of course, I've got a writing date at noon. And I'm not missing it.
After my post-workout shower I sat down on the couch to watch a movie and knit. I looked at the Keltic Beanie, how many rows I had knitted and how many were left to knit, then at the yarn left on the ball, and knew I was in trouble. Luckily I have another "onesie" skein of the same yarn, different color, so I wound that into a ball and started knitting one round of the new yarn and one of the old one. I hope it doesn't look too wrong because I really don't want to have to frog it back and start over. If I do decide it's too wrong I'll frog back to the ribbing and then alternate the colors on the hat body. I even went down a needle size to conserve yarn because I'm a loose knitter. My stitches are loose, I mean. I know what you were thinking. Tsk.On my way home from the Y this afternoon I stopped at Once Upon a Child to sell them the umbrella stroller and a pair of snowpants that doesn't fit anyone anymore. They wouldn't take the car seat base and I'm confident that Goodwill won't take it either since they wouldn't take the stroller. I suppose I'll end up putting it on FB Marketplace. Oh, I just had a thought, I can put it on NextDoor.com to see if anyone in the neighborhood needs one. That's what I'll do. Good thinking, Barbara.
24 January--Tropical Obsession.
Driving on the narrow road that
traces the southern end of the island, there isn't much to see. The Solar Salt
works is just about the biggest thing on the horizon with its long conveyor to load the white salt into cargo
ships. Beyond the salt mountains there are no more houses, only what look like
fisherman's shacks made of old boat planks and billboard parts, and the slave
huts. At each cluster of huts, red and white, is also an obelisk. The red and
white obelisks aren't the only ones on the island; there are half a dozen of
them ranged on the extreme southern shore. Mariners used to use them, line them
up in certain order to sail into the correct patch of shoreline to pick up or
drop cargo. Manning sat in the arrow of shade cast by the obelisk at Red Slave,
a small pile of cigarette butts at
his side. His eyes were slits as he squinted offshore straining to get a
glimpse of the Santa Marta, one of the boats that came over every week from
South America laden with fruits and vegetables
for the island's tables. He had met Santiago at what some called the Venezuelan
Fruit Temple, a twenty by thirty foot area with a peaked cement roof supported
by Doric columns at the pier in the center of town.
Today's toss was some old placemats that came to light when I was looking for Christmas napkins, a poncho that Durwood's mom had that I've always thought was hideous, and an old electric alarm clock, one with a dial not digital. Wonder if anyone remembers how to tell time that way. And I carried up the last two totes of Mom's pictures, one at a time, since I'm such a nice sister so my baby brothers don't have to carry them upstairs. Time to turn on the electric blanket and pull it up to my ears. Goodnight.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Glad you've got that electric blanket. It's got to be hard to climb out from beneath it in the cold morning. Bundle up good when you go out for your writing date. You're brave to venture out at all.
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