I Said One Would Try

 

Remember when I hung the seed wreath last month and said that I wouldn't be surprised if a squirrel got on the roof to try to access it?  Well, it happened today.  I know there's no squirrel in this picture but just before I snapped it there was a little gray furry triangle of squirrel face peering over the edge, then I heard the pitter patter of tiny feet across the roof and put the camera away.  

In a few minutes here was this fat and inquisitive gray squirrel sniffing around under the wreath, standing on its hind feet peeking into the house, and gazing longingly up at the seeds so far away.  I hoped that a Downy Woodpecker would swoop in for seeds and to poke fun at the squirrel but that didn't happen.





 
I was surprised to see blue sky and sunshine when I opened the curtains this morning.  It was a whopping 17 degrees out there.  (it's 12 degrees now)  You can see that the birdbath is partially frozen but that didn't stop a Robin (a Robin!  in January!) from having a drink.


I spent the afternoon reading over the comments on Chapter 40 that the women writers made on it up at The Clearing, made a few changes, slotted it into place in the full manuscript, then saved it as a pdf.  Last week I learned about an app for the iPad called UPAD (not a freebie) that lets you write on what's on there so I thought that'd be a good place to put the full novel so that I can go through it marking places that need something added or something changed.  I've been reading the app's User Guide and finally found out how to import things into the app.  They have to be in pdf format so today, after saving the manuscript in Word, I also saved it as a pdf, emailed it to myself, and sent it on to UPAD.  Whew.  Tomorrow I can transfer the notes on that small piece of paper next to the tablet and then keep going.  I have 2 1/2 months to get this thing in shape to take to the Writers' Institute at UW-Madison in early April.  I want to get through it, let it rest for a couple weeks, and then go through it again.



After supper (wedge salad with Green Goddess [that tasted less strongly of tarragon tonight] and Canadian bacon followed by Shrimp Egg Roll Noodle Bowl), I knitted on the Turquoise & Orange Campfire Sock.  This is the same kind (but different color) of yarn that I used on the last sock but a different sock pattern so the yarn's self-patterning part isn't as obvious.  I'm not sure I like that it isn't making tidy stripes and the little row of flowers so I might frog it before I go any further and start another plain-old-sock with it so the yarn self-pattern shines.

Here's the January charity knitting all finished and ready to go to guild to be shown off tomorrow night.  Man, that white micro-preemie hat is tiny.






16 January--Tropical Obsession. 

Manning lay at the foot of the Willemstoren lighthouse steps, pieces of broken coral flung onshore by the last storm digging into his back. He wasn't at all sure how he got there and had no idea how he would get back to his bungalow. Before he had even opened his eyes he knew where he was. How? A groan escaped his sun-dried lips as he levered himself up into a sitting position with his elbows, the rubble tearing and scraping his skin. This is the reason they call this stuff ironshore, he thought, there's not a hint of comfort in it. The world swayed dizzyingly as he looked around, hoping to see his rental truck parked nearby. Unless it was behind the lighthouse or beyond the rubble berm a hundred yards down toward the slave huts, he was screwed. From the position of the sun, straight overhead, he guessed it was siesta time on the island. The only people out and about in this blazing sun were crazy scuba diving tourists and they were at least sane enough to be underwater where it was cooler, not frying their brains in the sun. While he sat there considering his transportation problem he was checking himself for injuries. His head was pounding but a quick feel of his skull didn't produce any squishy spots, thank God. He attributed his headache to having been lying broiling under the tropical sun for who knows how many hours. His arms and legs seemed to be working. So he braced a fist on the ground and slowly stood up. Not bad, he thought, swaying a bit. He looked around again hoping that from his lofty height of six feet he would spot his truck and, if not that, then someone who might drive him to town. No glass or chrome winked at him from any direction, except for the shards of broken auto glass mixed with coral gravel which was a common thing on this island of relatively well-to-do diving tourists and young native men who sought to balance things a bit. He shuffled into the narrow sliver of shade on the backside of the lighthouse and immediately felt better. His hands roamed through his pockets hoping for a clue to how he had ended up unconscious at the southern end of this desert island. No keys, no wallet, a clean folded handkerchief came out of his hip pocket, and there was a matchbook in his shirt pocket. He didn't smoke, hadn't for years. He turned it over in his hand. China Palace was imprinted in gold on the faded red cover. The restaurant had closed more than ten years ago. The building was now a moped rental place. Where had the matchbook come from? His head lifted at the sound of an approaching vehicle. He tucked the little cardboard folder back in his pocket, stepped out of the shade, and raised an arm to flag it down.

I surely did love that it was sunny today but having that blanket of cloud cover move off to the east lets all of the heat that kept us grazing the 30s most days lately out.  I had to hurry to the car after my haircut this morning so that my hair didn't freeze and break off.  Today's toss was a crocheted stole that I made years ago and never wear and a few undershirts that I don't need now that I don't sit in the cold dive shop a few days a week all winter long.  Technically they weren't items out of the basement but I figure they count anyway.  Out of the house is out of the house, and I'm being very careful to only buy consumables not hard goods that stick around forever.  I'm determined.
--Barbara