Evidently I'm doing a hell of a dye job on muh hairs, 'cuz I am too old enough to remember party line phones. I'm thirty-seven, and it was a very remote corner of Iowa. Change happens slowly in Iowa. Hell, I remember switchboards, too. My mom took me to work and I was facinated by all those plugs. Each one went somewhere different, all these little hoses full of wires. Of course, I got dragged along to a lot of her jobs. I even got to push an old man down the hall of a nursing home... in his chair. I thought wheelchairs were the coolest, but after that little trip (probably in kindergarten or early first grade), I came to realize that when you get the cool wheelie-chair, you're probably also gonna have to sit in your own poop for awhile. And you'll only get two mini-Reece's cups with your dinner. And dinner comes 'pre-chewed'. Gah.
It wasn't all bad, lest I seem to have painted a bleak picture of my childhood. I also got to hang out in bars and eat all the beernuts, porkrinds, and Luden's cough drops I wanted.
Spouse is stalking my blog before it's even written, and he has to be up four hours before the crack of dawn tomorrow. I hate trying to type while he peers over my shoulder. Makes me want to type embarrassing things about him. See, he's gone now.
I have some cute "sleeping Eli" pics for Thimbleanna, and another finished object... a Monkey sock to show off to you, but blogger is glugging along and won't load my photos. Someday I'll learn to post before nine p.m. It's now after 11 and I still can't catch a break. Also, dog is flipping out about the farmer plowing across the road. Anyone want a perfectly good chocolate dog? She is four and a half, likes to catch squirrels and cats, and is a whiz-bang mole digger-upper. Seriously, if you know of a quiet old farm with a front porch what wants holdin' down, Jemimabrowndog is your girl. I think we're gone too much now. Too bad, because her puppy years were hellish work... all three of 'em.
The apron-along went not smoothly, but we made progress. Easy to see who the over-achievers are *coughannchough* in a group of mixed-skill stitchers. See, I'd use the word 'sewers', but it comes out looking all poopy, and that we are not, my reader. Nothing but clean yardage was used. Melly was a fabulous cheerleader, photographer, and teacher. My ADD had kicked in fully by the time everybody got there... I was most concerned with matching up threads, then Marie the Ripper scared me and that made everyone else giggle (I take loads of Xanax for a reason, people) and I think for a "first episode" it went okay. Lots to fix before next Sunday's stitching session. There are some exotic specimens to show off. I love 'alonging'. Must do more. Now must go to bed. Husband is again up to his evil physical stalking, and the ice in his glass of tea is making me sooo thirsty. G'nite, muh knittas... and stitchers. If I'm not back in two days, send a search party (emphasis on party). I miss ranting daily. Tomorrow: Monkey sock - part deux.