Oh, Myrtle Mae, It Sure Is Cold

 
When I got up this morning it was zero and by 9 o'clock it was -8 degrees.  Now doesn't that seem like it's going the wrong way?  It sure does to me.  I think it probably got up to 8 degrees, maybe 9 degrees, by mid-afternoon.  At least it was sunny.  I like sunny.  I unearthed my nice, warm, red wool, handknit sweater, a silk turtleneck undershirt, old long johns, wool socks with some foot warmer things,  I kind of felt like I was getting ready to go to work but I don't have to go to work anymore.  I'm retired.  I like being retired.

I was excited to see an envelope from myintent.org with the pair of "word of the year" bracelets.  LM, a writing friend, was wearing hers when we were at The Clearing at the beginning of January and I admired them.  So I ordered some.  You can choose whatever word or words you want and they're made by hand to your order. One of mine says "self-care" and the other says "bravery."  I'm hoping that seeing them on my wrist helps remind me to take care of myself, physically and emotionally, and to keep planning and doing, to keep being a big girl and not hide under the bed when the world gets too big and scary.  (not that I'd ever do that, no, not me)




A Nuthatch visited the platform feeder this afternoon and I was lucky enough to snap its picture.  I don't know why I like them so much and am so thrilled to see one.  Maybe because they don't come around much.  I know, I'm a dork but it's an innocent variety of dorkiness, right?


 


Knitting didn't go so well this evening.  I realized that the Keltic Beanie was just too darned big so I yanked out the needles and frogged all the stitches.  I'll rewind the yarn into a ball and start over with smaller needles.  The pattern gauge was 4.5 stitches/inch and I was getting 4 stitches/inch.  That half-stitch makes a huge difference.  






Once I'd reduced the hat to a pile of yarn tangle I picked up the Zauber Campfire Sock and finally knitted my way out of the orange into the yellow-orange and then yellow-green.  See?  This is why I like knitting with variegated yarn, the color changes pull me along.



25 January--Tropical Obsession. 

The local fishermen went out just after sunset five nights a week. They putted out of the anchorages to their favorite fishing grounds navigating by the starts. No fancy GPS to keep dry or out of the bilge water in the bottom of the shallow boats. All they needed was a view of the stars to lead them out and home. Not that they needed to go all that far offshore, the waters around the island had been declared a marine preserve over thirty years before so there were plenty of fish to catch. The rules said they could only fish with hand lines, not nets, but Santiago figured what the fish police didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He always trailed a net behind the Santa Marta on his way from his little bay on the coast of Venezuela to the Town Pier. He made sure to haul the net in, put the fish in the well, and stow the net before getting too far into Bonairean waters. If anyone asked he had plenty of fishing line scars to brandish to prove how he caught the fish. The nets were good for covering the other cargo Santiago carried, the things the gringo Manning waited on the beach for every Tuesday night.

Tomorrow morning my brothers are coming over to go through Mom's photos.  I'm looking forward to seeing them and sharing memories and laughs--and a bowl of chicken soup.  Stay warm.
--Barbara