Tag Archives: knitting

Swords Into Plowshares

21 Jul

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA Being left-handed and oldgetting up in years, dumb as a box or rocks, set in my ways, I have never learned to knit. Not for lack of willing teachers, but more a matter of having “iffy” hand and eye coordination.  And so, I have taken to using the loom in the picture. It can be slow going, but I enjoy it, and it keeps my hands occupied. You can always tell my work, because the only thing I can do is a cable stitch in the picture. You may have to squint.

When I went to knitting yesterday morning, I could find my “hook’. It’s a bit of bent metal set into a plastic handle, which is used to flip the bottom loop of yarn over the one on top. A crochet hook won’t work, so I was using my fingers. I mentioned this to The Squire in passing, not complaining, just wondering what on earth I had done with it.

“How does it look?”

I extended my index finger and bent it at a slight angle.

“OK. I know what you mean.”

He wandered off, and I heard the electric grinder going in the back room. He came back a few minutes later and presented me with a “new” hook. He’d taken a thin screwdriver, ground off the blade, and carefully bent it to the proper angle. He’d actually chosen a tool with a pocket clip, so I could keep it in my shirt pocket!

Spoiled? Moi? Never!

 

 

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You Talk Too Much

3 Apr

 

Last night was absolutely dreadful! I was in a terrible amount of pain from my throat, and was up and down several times, trying to either relieve the soreness, or just get myself bombed enough to sleep in spite of it. I even took a painkiller that had been given to me when I had my throat operation. It’s a wonder I didn’t poison myself! Not that I’d have cared at that point.

The doctor checked me out and we got that squared away – lungs clear, blowing my nose was unproductive, yadda, yadda.

I am still reading Dr. Warraich’s book, Modern Death, and we batted around our various horror stories. He had one patient who was braindead, and the family agreed to remove the tubes and machines. “How long will it take?” “Most people die within two or three days. Some longer and some shorter.” The machines were disconnected – and the family waited. And waited. And waited.

The woman began breathing on her own, and then sat up. She was completely lucid – other than the fact that she was convinced it was the early 1950s.  She discussed the place where she worked, believed Eisenhower was the President, knew where each of the children went to school, and was convinced her oldest son was her husband.

After a few days, she lapsed back into a come, only to awaken a few days later – in the 60s.  She woke up, a decade at a time. The doctor said she was just rebooting. Verrrry slowly. She recovered completely and walked out of the hospital, hale and healthy.

By the time The Squire and I sat down to whatever meal it was, my throat hurt so much  from chattering away that I couldn’t eat, and forget about talking. If nothing else, I’ve dropped several pounds with this plague. We have knitting on Monday evenings and Thursday mornings, and I’d missed Thursday’s get-together, but I was in no shape to go out tonight.  The Squire, bless him, offered to run to town and get my medicine (why do they give people with sore throats such BIG pills? Yeesh!) and drop off some stuff for the knitting group.

Sometimes, I look at him in complete wonderment. Where did he learn to be such a perfect husband, and what did I ever do to deserve his love?

Mad Dog!

18 Nov

Normally, when I go over to knitting at church, I take Blazer with me.  On Monday nights, he has a grand time playing with the Cubs Scouts, but for the last several months we have been sharing our space on Wednesday with the Golden Age Group. Now, Blazer is a bit of a Golden Ager himself, but I do worry that he will be in the way, so this morning I left him home.

The Squire said that when the dog realized I wasn’t in my normal spot – in front of the computer, alas – he went looking for me. He couldn’t see the car in the drive, so he searched all over the house, sniffing in every closet and under the bed.

Then he looked for my car a second time, and began his search anew. Sometimes Blazer gets very “talky”, but The Squire said this morning’s words were more akin to angry muttering, mixed with low growls. The dog was obviously seriously pissed.

And the Golden Age group didn’t show up!

The Church Dog

29 Jul

When I go to knitting on Monday evenings and Wednesday mornings, I almost always take Blazer along. He has a mad crush on Miss Kathy, the secretary, who always gives him treats, and acts as Official Greeter for another group that meets on Wednesday mornings, sitting by the door and waiting for a pat on the head.

He also goes with me when I am on Altar Guild, and knows he can follow me anyplace but up onto the altar steps. He stops and flops down on the carpet, once even resting his chin on the step, and waits for me to get things done, then trots back to the sacristy while I finish up. Ah, if only he had opposable thumbs!

The last couple of times I’ve gotten ready to leave, he’s come out the door, and then flopped on the grass, refusing to move. This morning, I had to go back in for something, and he leapt to his feet, dashing back inside with me, but wouldn’t leave the front lawn. I finally had to get his leash out of the car to get him to follow me.

Mind you, this is a dog who  won’t eat until we say grace, so it’s hardly surprising. The Squire says we should just get him a white collar and rename him Deacon.