Happy Rosa Parks day

I refuse to celebrate the death of a deeply flawed man who simply rode the coat-tails of sister Rosa Parks. So, for Rosa, I will accept the fact that I won't get my daily dose of mail-order catalogs and credit card offers today. I also accept that a trip to the bank would be futile, as they are enjoying the freedom from work a "bank holiday" affords the bank's employees. I will even reasonably accept, when I venture forth into the deep-freeze that is outdoors to go to the grocery, that today the stores will be crowded with all the people who would normally be somewhere else... like at a job. What I'm having a problem with is all the traffic on Verizon making my air-card slow as sh*t, because all the kids who attend government day care tax-funded warehousing of children "school" are home, clogging up the Internets. Just because somebody had to go and have a dream. I have a dream too. It's called give credit where it's due, and take adulterers off their crumbling pedestals.

On the upside, I can't stop giggling about the newpaper article and how I'm now getting calls at home from complete strangers about when my shop's hours are. I'm also ridiculously thrilled about the comments made by Thimbleanna on her blog about me. Words like "hoot" and "knitting goddess" are making me impossible to live with. (Need a plate out of the cupboard? Sorry. I am a knitting goddess and therefore am too busy performing my needle arts to bother assisting a mere mortal. Bah!) It was great fun having her stop by the shop and I can not stop grinning about her post. I don't blush easily, if ever, so this is a big deal for me. Seriously.

Now I need to scrub head-injury boy (Eli) who took quite a tumble down some stairs last night. He's fine, but a bit scrumbly looking. The arnica gel helped the bash over his eye not to bruise. We have a few klutzes here at Becher Haus, which is why the stairs were designed with double landings... no one ever has to fall more than seven stairs, and he only rolled down five last night. What does it say about my kids that I'm okay with that? Or could it be my glowing MOTY award on that shelf over there? Type at y'all later. A deep-freeze trip looms on our horizon. C