Frus. Trated.

That's how I feel right now.  Extremely frustrated.  I was knitting on my brioche hat at Friday Night Knitting this evening and noticed three mis-knitted stitches about six rounds back.  I tried to fix one of them and made a mess of it.  Then I started tinking back stitch by stitch and on the second round goofed up which led to me pulling out the needles and pulling out every hard-won stitch.  So now I have three separate balls of yarn again.  Grr.

I left knitting once I got the yarn wound up, went to Walmart, but they didn't have the Sprechers Ginger Ale that I want to take along when I go away with the knitters on Wednesday (even though the internet said they did) so I checked the Pick 'n Save app to discover that there was some there.  I drove over--and they didn't have it--so I battled my way through signing up for pick-up.  It didn't like the way I put in my phone number the first couple times I put it in then I had to pay by credit card which I didn't want to do.  I got hotter and hotter under the collar as I stood in the checkout area trying to get the darned stuff ordered.  Geez.







On a happier note, this morning I pulled out the bag of mealy apples I got at the Farmer's Market, cut them up, and put them in a pot to cook for making applesauce.  Unfortunately I put too much water in the pot so I needed to let it simmer for a couple hours to make it thicker. That made the house smell heavenly and I got a full quart of it with a dish of it leftover to eat right now.




 


While the apples cooked I watched the third Lord of the Rings movie on DVD and finish March Preemie Hat #4.  It's good.  I put a cinnamon stick in with the apples and it's just right.  Doesn't need any sugar either.



Imagine my surprise when I saw this post on Facebook this afternoon.  A North Carolina waterfowl preservation group sent out a call for knitted or crocheted nests for them to use for baby birds.  I'm sure they'll be inundated with yarn nests but I'm very tempted to knit a couple just for the fun of it.





22 March--Tropical Obsession. 

The waves roll in changing colors as they come. Navy blue, then teal, then pale turquoise before crashing in an explosion of white foam on the rusty black shore. This is no postcard shoreline of soft white sand and fluttering palm trees. The rocks are jagged and pocked, jutting into the air like broken teeth, offering no respite for the eye. The waves that pound these rocks begin their march as tiny wind ripples off the west coast of Africa growing more powerful, gathering strength as they roll across the Atlantic. The wind is their escort encouraging them to guard their energy so their arrival on this scrap of ancient reef barely poked above the surface of the ocean will not go unnoticed.

You know, I really hate days when frustration seems to be my boon companion.  I did manage to get all of my workout clothes washed and put away, and I made some delicious applesauce.  Everything else?  Bah.  I think about it tomorrow.  After all, tomorrow is another day.
--Barbara