Wednesday, March 23, 2016

These are the ends, my friends ...

It's Tuesday, and I headed downstairs with a Doctor Who earworm in my head and a couple of crocheted scarves around my neck. The weather got funky again, causing local temperatures to plunge into the low forties. In Florida. In late March. Pretty darn uncomfortable. Anyway, I grabbed a G hook on my way to the stairs so that I could finish pulling in the ends on the scarves while wearing them to keep warm. In my kitchen. In Florida, did I mention that?

I love scarves; I love to wear them, inside or out.

I also love to make them, knitted or crocheted, mostly for my personal use, but occasionally as a gift for someone who appreciates handmade stuff (most people do not.)


I have only owned one store bought scarf in my life, and that's because my mother bought it for me when I headed off to the Shawangunk mountains for college. It was part of a set that included a hat of the type made popular by Ali McGraw's character in "Love Story." Orange and gray. Damn, a really ugly scarf, but my mother honestly loved the color orange. Matched her hair, the living room carpet, and the flocking on the wallpaper. Somewhere among all my possessions (I hope) is the first scarf I ever knit, in a box stitch pattern I worked out myself, in blue and gold. (Go Lawrence Tornadoes!)

Doctor Who got stuck in my head because my wake-up alarm uses the opening theme for the Twelfth Doctor. I'm probably doomed, at least for the rest of the day, but I have to admit it makes a very effective alarm. If I'd had it back in the sixties and seventies, my Pop would not have had to call me every morning while I was away at college. That 8:00 AM biology class was a killer, and he knew it.

(This is also a very bad morning - if you follow the news then you know that Belgium has had multiple terrorist attacks, killing at least 31 people. I'm not sure of the number of injuries, but I do know that this is unbearable. There is not one world leader who knows how to deal with ISIL and its colleagues-in-crimes against humanity.)

Fibromyalgia killed my fall/winter garden, incapacitating me so that some planting never actually got done, and the whole thing was neglected to the point that the weeds were choking out the vegetables.

I have flares that can knock me on my ass for days or even weeks, rendering me ritually useless, and that is exactly what happened this growing season.

Here comes James to the rescue. Today weed pulling, tomorrow roto-tilling, after that a visit to Lowe's to start building the spring garden. I'm already craving tender okra (which doesn't grow during the fall and winter. Ask me how I know.)

Will I never learn? I did too much - much too much - purging my closet of clothes I will never wear again.

Not only sizes I will never wear, but my entire work wardrobe - suits, jackets, skirts and dresses all terribly worn because, having not received a raise in over 8 years, I simply could not afford to replace them. Five enormous bags ready for Goodwill. I didn't do any of the heavy carrying, but it was still too much. I also finished sorting my craft books, making up bundles of Workbasket and Annie's Pattern Club (and her Crochet and Fashion Knitting clubs) booklets to pass on to friends who I know will enjoy them. I've been shlepping those booklets from one house to another since 1979 and it is time to share the love. There's a lot of great ideas in those pages, but most are for items I no longer have an interest in taking on as a project.

Truly, I am too tired to write anymore. More thoughts, more recipes, maybe tomorrow.

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