Knit the Dog

[...because if I ever run out of yarn--- I can just knit the dogs.]

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


I love to travel. I've been on so many airplanes I have it down to a smooth routine; I love scoping out a new destination and planning where to stay and what to see and eat and do. These days I especially love visiting my daughter and her family in Seattle. In fact I'd move to Seattle, or one of its suburbs, in a heartbeat. It's a fascinating, elegant city and the Pacific Northwest is rife with things to explore, and drop dead gorgeous too.
And I love to come home. Glory knows I've had enough homes, having moved something like 29 times [only seven in the last 30 years though.] There is absolutely nothing as wonderful as sitting in your own domicile, in the most comfortable chair, with sun streaming in the window and your current dog gently snoring at your feet, and knowing that for at least the next few minutes there is nothing on earth you have to do. I know the history of every object here, the cooties are all our own, and the smell of home is so familiar that I can't tell that there is one.
It's not possible to learn this until you have your very own place, and you have traveled far away from it for at least a week and then come home tired of nameless hordes of fellow travelers and pulled your suitcases in the door, and breathed that deep sigh of--- home, I'm home. Like we did last night [which was November 17th and I haven't blogged since, bad me. Wrote this & then wandered off somewhere.]
Which is why I'm working on the next trip, late in February. And at least one knitting retreat somewhere in the mountains; and maybe an anniversary trip to France; and we'll just have to see about the rest.
We had a few inches of snow in December, right before the east coast got slammed with a bunch, and unusually it hung on to be enjoyed for almost a week. We spread nets of white lights over the ivy in front of the house for Christmas, and when we turned them on they shone through the snow in a really cool and eerie fashion. Phil also hung his five light balls in the Japanese maple. I don't know if this is a southern thing or all over now, but there is a neighborhood in Greensboro that hangs so many lightballs from so many trees that driving through it is a close encounter of some kind. Very alien but one must applaud the amount of work they go to to do it.

This morning, we awoke to about 8 inches of white and not-so-fluffy, and it's still coming down but now it's all sleet. Might take pictures later. The dogs like to eat it but now that they're senior canines, they don't want to stay in it for long.

Phil's interminable sweater is DONE. I detoured to make myself a nice hat and then another hat for him, and some scarves and mits and baby blankets and a few other things. But now it is done, and it fits, and will keep him warm at work. I learned a lot doing it and now I'm ready to tackle a sweater for me.

And there have been the taxes. Which is why I haven't been blogging; that and political despair, but that's for a different venue. For the third year, I'm volunteering to help elderly & low income folks do their tax returns through AARP Foundation. Due to some unforeseen stuff, I have ended up pretty much in charge of the whole show, including training counselors and becoming, help help, an expert on certain issues. This is such a poor fit for math-challenged me that it would be funny if I weren't panicking too hard to have fun. Dear cosmos, please let it all be over soon.
Today, since we are snowed in, I'm going to bake and organize all my knitting and do laundry and just generally be domestic. And knit. Oh, honey, I am going to knit up a storm.