It's better than lying on the bed and suffering, but nearly as frustrating.
I crocheted a sweater for FlapJilly, my in utero grandchild. The pattern called for 28 rows of this and 23 rows of that and I bet that the whole thing would have looked better had I matched my gauge to that of the instructions.
Instead, when the pattern called for sewing the side seams together, I couldn't find them. Worked from the bottom up, the sleeves were perfect, the neck divine, but the body was short. Very, very short.
TBG and I pondered and he suggested adding length and as I worked the item transformed itself from a monstrosity to something vaguely resembling an article of clothing. After tying bows and turning sleeves into cuffs, it's actually almost adorable.
I'd take a picture, but I want to surprise Little Cuter and SIR this weekend.
I've been feverishly creating small items but the parents to be are now requesting BIG blankets... big enough for the new mommy and her baby to cuddle beneath. The problem with that plan is the short attention span of the crocheter. I like things I can finish in a few days.
Still, the recipients should have some small say in the gifts, I suppose. Super bulky yarn may be the ticket.
Watching my fingernails cruise the keyboard made me sad.
TBG saw a news story depicting the dangers of the ultra-violet light used to set the gel nail polish I've been using for my manicures for the last three years. Apparently, there are enough UV rays in the little machine into which I stash my nails for thirty second intervals to cause all manner of cancers.
I went this morning, resigned to a straight polish job on both fingers and toes. It would chip, require time to dry, demand that I be careful.... all of which I dealt with as my vanity struggled with my desire for a long and healthy life.
Then, I looked at the machine - L E D emblazoned on its front. No harmful UV rays for these digits, now perfectly adorned with neat and unchippable white, French tips.
The Schnozz went in for a check-up and, nearly six hundred dollars later, I remembered that I needed new windshield wipers, too.
The noise I hear upon starting the car is still there. The technician says it sounds just like the other GTI's in the shop, even though it's a new noise to me and I've owned the car for 50,000+ miles.
There's no smoke, no awful smell, and the rumbling disappears after five or ten seconds. I think I'll ignore it. As G'ma used to advise, if you don't like a noise in the car, turn up the radio.
I've been blaring oldies all week.
I'm finally able to walk in my sandals. For three years, they've been hidden away in a plastic space saver bag, crushed together like grains of sand on the beach. Now, with my ever increasing ability to ambulate well, I'm finding that I don't need the support of tied shoes to get where I'm going.
I opened the bag, dumped it on the floor, and was transported to the summer of 2010, when WallyWorld put all the plastic flip flops on sale for fifty cents a slipper, one dollar a pair. I bought navy and green and pink and white and black and red and yellow and teal and light blue and I was still under $10.
Now, stiff from years of inactivity, they laugh at me from their plastic bin. I'm still working my way through my Keens and Tevas. These cheapo pals will have to wait for August, when I'm bored with their fancier, more expensive, cousins and the triple digit temperatures draw me to their minimalism.
It's nice to have that problem again.
The clothes I'm taking to Illinois will fit in my purse. I've left toiletries at the kids' house, and sneakers and socks and sweaters, too. I'm debating not taking a suitcase at all.
On the other hand, I could fill a giant piece with my winter gear and leave it all there. They'll have to invite me back, if for no other reason than to wear it.