hand eye crafts

 You spend the morning going through some intense stuff in therapy. Your router/receiver combo decides to conk out in the afternoon.  You spend the afternoon at the hated AT&T store* working in person and on the phone trying to get new equipment sent to you. You think about the tooth and the mice and the price of Maddie's insulin going up and how expensive it is to go to the laundromat but you can't get a new washer because of the tooth and the mice and the insulin and now the flippin' router. So you know what you do?  Go to Bruster's and get a big-ass Peanut Butter Puddles milkshake.  'Cause milkshakes help. *This is not just my opinion.  Every AT&T customer I've ever spoken to here HATES that store.  And there are some issues that, apparently, can only be dealt with there.  It's a mile away from my house, but I'll go 5x that distance to another store (if possible), because this one is so awful.

So, I'm a couple of degrees removed from Steve Jones, the judge on the federal bench overseeing the Trump RICO case in Fulton County. The one time I was actually in a courtroom after being called for jury duty, Judge Jones was presiding. When Briton was in elementary school, there was a school-wide "experiment/experience" where, basically, a little town was built.  There were stores, banks, restaurants, a security force, and a judicial system.  Judge Jones came by each term to swear in whomever was to sit on the bench during that term. Not really close, but something I can claim.

 I know this is weird, but hang on. For lunch today, I had canned soup.  It struck me that for as long as I've eaten canned soup, I've felt sorry for carrots.  Carrots seem to be in soup only to add color and allow someone to say, "There are vegetables in this!" But the carrots are sad little cubes.  There are maybe eight in a can.  It's pitiful. I have never liked carrots.  Which made my craving them when I was pregnant with Hannah super  odd.  Even though those pathetic, soggy cubes in soup have no real flavor, I still don't eat them.  But I do think they're kind of depressing.

 Sally Field's In   Pieces  is my autobiography/biography for "F."  As you can see, my own shelves (and chests and steps) are going to provide "G" through "T": Yes, I have a "Q" and an "X."  I'll share when I get there.

I should know not to talk about knitting projects until they are done or very nearly done.  It's the Death Kiss. Goodbye fingering weight feather and fan scarf.

Bear, fish, flowers, raindrops. "Mantelpiece."

 There's an online store --- whose name I cannot accurately remember --- that will make a necklace for you with a photo of the moon on any date you'd like.  I was born under a full moon, it would seem. (And during a snowfall to boot.)  My children, who could not be any more different in almost every way, were born one under a waxing and one under a waning moon.  They are opposites even celestially.

The knitting cross-stitch, that is. It was actually finished in time for last week's TNT, I just failed to post it. I've decided on making it into a pillow.  There needs to be a trip to Joann, to get a ruffle or piping, or whatever I find to finish the edges.  I have a fat quarter here that can be used as the backing, but we all know that once you're in a fabric store, you see all sorts of things that beckon to you.  We'll see how long I can hold steady.

 Another mid- to late afternoon rumbly, thundery storm, another blip-out of the power.  Tap is unhappy when that happens.  I'm not sure if it's the sudden plunge into darkness, or the beeps and clicks and whirs of things shutting down, then restarting.  He barks his "alert" bark, and, almost without fail, finds me and parks as close to me as he can get. Seeding those storms, of course, is the blistering heat.  I went to the library today (I don't have an "E" biography already on hand), and the common areas there were without full air conditioning.  So many people use the library as a place to come in from the weather, and I'm afraid they weren't getting a lot of respite today.  I hope you're comfortable wherever you are, and that you have a good week.

Not on myself, but on one of the best people I've ever met through knitting and the Internet, librarysarie.  Her library has a Tiny Art show, and look what she made for it! Isn't that breathtaking?  I asked her permission to share it with you;  it just needs to be seen.

The other day, I drew "dance" as my collage prompt, and came up with these: "Change Partners" and "Mary Danced with Soldiers."  (The title of an Emmylou Harris song.)

This is the gap the world will see if I can't find my Essix. I've asked Tap if he somehow got hold of it and has hidden it from me.  This is his answer: Extreme side eye. If he did hide it, he hid it well.  Minotaur-in-a-maze well. This is my feather and fan scarf's beginning: I false-started three times before this, trying to get the right width for the stitch count.  The thing about making a scarf with fingering yarn is you can play around a little, use a bit of the skein up, and still have plenty for a nice, long wrap.

Y'all, I have lost my Essix "thing."  The house, the garbage cans, drawers, closets, have all been gone over again and again.  Nothing.  Which means I had to go out into the world today gap-toothed and lisping.    It's maddening and I don't know what to do.  If the next step were in just a couple of weeks, I'd wave it off.  But four or five months like this?  Uh-uh.  

 Last night, a really intense thunder/lightning storm rolled through here and knocked out the power for a bit.  I got the nearest candles out, and for a while, this house smelled like an interesting combination of stroopwaffel, autumn wreath, and anti-headache aromatherapy.   Briton has gotten me into "Yellowjackets."   I'm seven-and-a-half episodes into Season One.  If any of you have seen it, we can discuss if you'd like. The yarn I wound up Sunday night is Cloudborn Fibers fingering in Black Raspberry.  You know I love speckled/confetti yarn.  It is destined to be a feather and fan scarf.  (🤞).  Fingers crossed because though feather and fan is a pattern I like, I sometimes lose the rhythm and the count of the stitches.

 I've just finished Richard Chamberlain's book, and the question his title spawns has this reply: So each of us is a piece of shattered love, I guess?  We're all so fancy and special, huh?  Who knew?  Other than Richard, apparently.

What's Miss Kim up to now? (Getting Camus and Rousseau in the frame so I'll look all smart and stuff.)

I've moved on to "C."

 Those of you who have children have undoubtedly read Little Golden Books.  Look what Little Golden Books has in store for us: Notice the lack of chest hair in the drawing.  This is not, shall we say, true to life.  I also note that Barry has cocked-eyebrow posture for some reason. Much, much, much love to Twinnie, Tim, and Comet today.  Pilot is over the Rainbow Bridge.

The visit to the oral surgeon was just to check how the gum is healing and to remove the stitch there.  The first was good, the second really, pinchally hurt.  But the stitch is gone.  I go back in October for a CT scan to check the state of the bone graft and start moving toward putting in the abutment.  So, a bit of a *shrug* kind of day.

Getting near the end here.  I especially like the Fair Isle-ish part there at the bottom. Finished the tweed sleeve today.  Time to get to work on the purple half. Headache dulling a bit.  I'm back to the oral surgeon tomorrow, so it may decide to make a return.  Although there's no procedure due, the stress of the whole thing may be enough of a trigger.  And the heat.  Have you heard about the HEAT?