An Afghan 30 years in the making

Today I finished putting together the 100+ granny squares for an afghan that I made 30 years or so ago.  The wool was so old it cost $1.39 a skein and was from Woolworths.  This was pre-internet and done without any kind of a pattern.  I think I had an example or picture and worked from there.  So I had all these blue varigated squares, each one incorrectly made.  And  after searching the internet for a way to put them together that didn't involve sewing them, I picked a method and in about a week I finished a task I started when I was just out of high school.  I remember working on it, sitting on my green loveseat between my parents in thèir almost mstching recliners.  This memory brings tears to my eyes, as I remember how much I was loved and how much I miss those two wonderful people.  Now if I could only decide what to do with it.

The Cat's Meow

I heard somewhere, or read somewhere recently that cats don't meow among themselves.  That it is something they do amongst humans.  I guess they make other noises to each other.  Certainly Kaliko seems to have enough to say at night, at the top of her voice, to fill a Russian novel.  No cats could be more spoiled than mine are, so what is she complaining about?

A Black Blanket

Shopping.  Hassel.  That one word just sums up the total experience for me.  First there is the total struggle of getting my scooter in and out of the mini van.  Then there is the fact that one afternoon, two to three hours of shopping, so totally exhausts me that I sleep for hours when I get home and am pretty wiped out the next day.

I desperately neede a new blanket, because the one I had looked like it had been dragged out of a trash can, having lived there for a year.  I wanted a nice soft blanket.  They seem to be available.  But I could not find a soft blanket in a colour I could live with.  Lots of different shades of brown, which I hate.  And for some reason, an entire shelf of bright red.  But no soft colours to go with the texture.  No blue, no green.  So I ended up with black.  It sounded odd, and I spent many minutes staring at the paltry selection trying to decide.  And what do you think?  It actually looks great on the bed.  So the trek turned out fairly well.  Nothing startling to say.  Just a good end to a pasttime I often dread.

Deer Don't Eat Daffodils

So said my counselor.  Can't remember how we got on to how the deer eat all her tulips and roses, but don't seem to like daffodils.  Just had to record that phrase.  Would'nt it make a great book title?