Sometimes the Yarn is Right...

... for the stitch pattern and sometimes it isn't.  A couple weeks ago I cast on a sock with that Virgo yarn I got in Lexington last year, got the cuff knitted and a few rows of the pattern but it just didn't seem right.  The cuff seemed too narrow, the yarn wasn't sproingy, and the stitch pattern disappeared into the background.  I put it aside.



Then I cast on the same sock, one size larger, in rainbow yarn that I bought in Bozeman, MT the last time Durwood and I were out west.  I thought it made sense to knit with the yarn that I bought there when I went back there.  Besides a sock is a nice small project to knit on an airplane or two.  The more rounds I add to this Choco Rainbow sock, the more I realize that this is the perfect yarn for this stitch pattern.  See how the slipped stitches stand out against the background yarn?  Yeah, this sock has me written all over it.




Yesterday when we'd finished talking about stocks and stuff, my financial advisor and I mentioned our food failings--mine is ice cream, hers are cookies--which forced me (that isn't too strong a word for the compulsion that came over me today) to whip up a batch of 10-Cup Cookies.  I got smart and didn't bake them all, only a dozen of them, the rest I scooped onto parchment paper on a cookie sheet, froze, and bagged in a ziplok bag to bake a few at a time.  Later.  Much later.  I'm never out of ice cream.



Bright and early this morning, KK came with a helper to rip out the old and install the new vinyl bathroom floor and front & back entrance floors.  There wasn't anything wrong with the old yellow vinyl except for being the stuff I picked out in 1978 and I was beyond tired of it.  I'll admit that 41 years of feet and scrubbing hadn't dulled its luster.  It wasn't worn but the edge by the tub and at the front door curled up so I was concerned that water or snow melt was leaking under it.  I love the new stuff.



 20 August--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

            Once I was able to relax again, we spent the next few hours having the best conversation I’d had in a long time.  We talked about books we’d read, Abel trying to convince me that Tom Clancy’s books weren’t as complicated as I knew they were and me telling him that there wasn’t any such thing as “chick” lit, just stories men were too insensitive to appreciate.  We were each surprised that the other loved Kurt Vonnegut, although I insisted that his short stories were better than the novels but Abel disagreed with me.  We did agree that John Steinbeck was one of the greatest authors America had ever produced.  I was surprised that Abel was a big poetry fan.  He recited a few poems from memory and promised to bring over his favorite poems by Billy Collins and read some to me.  I’d never heard of him and was amazed to learn that he had been America’s Poet Laureate a few years ago and was a contemporary poet who Abel said wrote about ordinary things with extraordinary beauty.

            We’d been sitting talking when I realized by the chiming of the antique clock on the mantle that it was ten o’clock and the house was really cooling off.

I suggested to Abel that I see if I couldn’t find something for him to sleep in and make up a bed for him on the couch so it would be ready when he was.  He agreed so I took the flashlight and dug in the back of my dresser where I’d shoved a pair of flannel pajamas I’d bought for Bert’s birthday gift his last year and never got the chance to give him.  My favorite wool bathrobe was a man’s style anyway, so Abel could wear it without embarrassment.  While I was in my bedroom I changed into my own flannel PJs and dug out a chenille robe Sam had given me for Christmas a few years ago.  Chenille bathrobes always reminded me of the old-fashioned bedspreads that were all the rage in the 1950s but I could either look like I was wearing a bedspread or put on an ancient quilted pink one I had with both elbows worn through and years of breakfast stains down the front.  I went with the bedspread.

I took some sheets and a blanket out of the linen closet and carried the whole pile into the living room.  I gave Abel the pajamas and robe and he went to change in the bathroom while I made him a bed on the couch.  While I was working, I thought I heard voices outside.  I walked into the kitchen just as Abel came out.  I whispered to him that I thought someone was outside and he came with me.

We’d only gone a few steps into the room when the back porch door burst open and Clara walked in with Hank on her heels.  “Gail,” Clara was saying, “Hank and I snow-shoed over to make sure you had enough firewood.”  Her voice stopped abruptly when she saw Abel and I standing there in our nightclothes.  “But I can see you’re doing just fine.”  She turned around and started shooing her startled husband back out into the storm.  “Come on, Hank, let’s get home.” 

“Clara,” I said.

“It’s okay, Gail,” she said, not turning around.  “Hank and I will just be moving along.”

“Clara, stop.”  I walked across the room and grabbed her arm.  “At least stay for a cup of hot chocolate.  You’ll turn to icicles if you go right back out in that storm.”

My old friend turned around and peeked at Abel over my shoulder.  “Are you sure?” she whispered.  “We don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You’re not interrupting, Clara.  Abel, tell them to say.”

He stepped forward and said, “Please, Clara, stay and have some hot chocolate with us.  Hank, why don’t you help me stoke up the fire?”  And the two men were out of the room in a split second.

            Clara grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the back door.  “Holy crumps, Gail, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I opened that door and saw the two of you standing there.  What’s going on?  No, forget I asked.”  Even in the dim kitchen I could see Clara’s blush.

            “Nothing’s going on.  At least not tonight.  Abel came over when he couldn’t get through on the phone and he was here when the power went out for good.  He volunteered to keep the fire going tonight and is sleeping on the couch.”  I could hear the men talking in the living room.  “Grab the milk, will you?  I’ll get out a pan and make that hot chocolate I promised.  Thank goodness I’ve got a gas stove.”

            Clara and I made the hot chocolate and she called for Hank to bring the tray.  He came in with a very puzzled look on his face and Clara headed off any questions with a look that promised that as soon as she learned the story she’d tell him.  I could see I’d be in for an inquisition once Clara and I were alone.

            A very subdued quartet sat around the fire, sipping hot chocolate, not talking much at all.  And as soon as the cups were empty, Clara stood up and announced that since the wind had stopped blowing she was in the mood for a moonlight snowshoe home.  She chivvied Hank out the house in jig time and soon they were on their way.

            “Well, that was interesting,” Abel said.  “I suppose the news that I slept over at your place will be all over town by sundown tomorrow.”

            “Do you really think it’ll take that long?”

            “Do you mind?” he asked, a look of concern on his face.

            “Oh, not really.  Tongues have been wagging ever since we started dating last summer.  You can bet that according to rumor we’re having a much racier time than we actually are.”

            Abel snorted.

            “But, Abel, I really appreciate you giving me time to get used to having a man in my life again.”

            He put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Gail, you know how I feel about you.  You take all the time you need.”  And he leaned forward and kissed me.  “You get to bed.  I’ll rinse the cups.  Goodnight.”

            “Goodnight, Abel.  Pleasant dreams.”

            I lay awake a long time before falling asleep.  I heard Abel a few times in the night, up keeping the fire going.  It was nice to have a man in the house again.

I met KW at the Y this evening and we walked and talked in the pool for half an hour or so.  I wore my new version no. 2 swimsuit and it worked just fine.  I thought I should try it out before taking it to Yellowstone, etc. just in case the old fabric fell apart at the first wearing.  It didn't and I had a couple ideas on how to improve it even more.  When I get home.  Tomorrow I get a haircut, write with ACJ, and have grief group.  Busy, busy, busy.  This laptop is going to the fixit shop on Friday; it's acting oddly; I think it has a brain lesion.  I'm taking my serger in to the sewing machine fixit shop on Friday too because one of the knobs won't turn any lower than "3" which makes adjusting the thread tension challenging.  It's always something, isn't it?
--Barbara