My right hand feels twingy. Get your mind out of the gutter, gumdrop: I’m left-handed. Anyway, I needed a new way to knit that lets me rest one hand and a big-ass challenge. Can it be done? Can I do it?
Tough day with pain and I kept trying to sleep with my eyes open. To combat ennui, Mom brought by a knitting loom set – for SCIENCE!
We shall see!
When the doctor told me that for four weeks post-surgery I would do nothing but sleep, eat and stretch, he glossed over a few things. For one: patients are supposed to sleep flat on their backs; also: patients can’t sleep. Nap, yes. Sleep, no.
In addition, the doctor could in no way account for things like that my mother would barge into my house every day to talk for a few hours, bearing yet another dessert large enough to feed a high school basketball team. This morning, Mom asked what she could bring over. I shouted into the phone, “No! No more puddings! Put down the spring-form pan and back away from the flan! Do not stop for pound cake! If cotton candy tries to give you a strange man, don’t take that, either!”
One thing the doctor was right about, though: after a few exercises, I feel bone-weary and have to put my feet up. Even so, I cannot look a bonbon in the eye.
Another of Georg’s friends sent us productive pressies.
By the end of each day, I feel like I’ve been run over by something large. It’s temporary, of course.
It’s good to have goals. My goal today was to wash my hair. Topaz, Drusy and stuffed penguin approve.
Home now, foot propped up, cats piled high, husband handy. Ready to start my projects and/or nap.
Drusy watches Lidia as I buzz around the house, preparing for surgery. Pete and I expect to find shopping lists and demands for better jewelry.
The new chaise where I will probably sleep next week arrived today. Pete immediately covered it with throws to fool the cats into thinking the couch was previously clawed.
We bought furniture. Speaking of things you didn’t see coming, you must watch this all the way to the end.
You’re welcome.
Made ravioli with Mom all day today. Here, we see Pete’s dinner awaiting its moment of truth, brown butter sauce.
This week: fruit juice and watchful cats. Next week: fruit juice and watchful cats and surgery.
This morning, I opened an envelope at work and found something totally unexpected: a thank you note from the family we collected for during the unnamed university’s anti-hunger project. We have not had any contact with the families and worked with the understanding that our efforts helped people we won’t know, but here was an adorable drawing in the hand of a tiny artist of five snowmen with initials of family members. My icy heart melted. Later, because I am a conniving thinkerizer, I cornered the head of the libraries and told her all about it in heart-rending detail until I was sure she would never allow anyone to cancel the project.
Georg put out the word that I can’t be left to my imagination and yarnworkers have responded in a big way.
Sweetpea and friend regale us from atop the mantle. Art is life, life is art, cats is cats.
Poor Impulse Control 