A squishy brown wrapper arrived yesterday, and inside was a mother lode of yarn called 'Dream.' I'd been dreaming of getting started on the projects I had in mind for it, but as I cast on the stitches I decided that it's called Dream because you dream of being done with it. By bedtime I had worked through a little more than half the ball--enough to try on what I'm making with it--and changed my mind. It's going to be a dream to wear.
In between stints with Dream, I worked on the story about my grandparents and decided it's as much about canning as it is about them. And that me wonder - why on earth have I never been drawn to canning? It's got everything - a big mess to make and clean up, hours of commitment, a result that could be purchased from somebody else with far less inconvenience, and a complete distraction from writing. Plus I really, really love home-made peach jam.
That bug may yet bite me. In the meantime I still have hopes for bridge and lawn bowling: for a few years now they've been inching their way up from what? to meh to intriguing. If I ever run dry on diversions it's a safe bet one of them will hit irresistible.
2 comments:
I go through Canning Cycles- making jam every few years, pickles once a decade or so, and the whole shebang (veggies, meat) with a pressure cooker about every 20 years. One time, I pulled a jar of hot pepper pickles off the shelf to admire them- the pickles had been made with cucumbers, garlic, peppers and dill that I grew in my own garden. Also the grasshopper that was perfectly preserved, still clinging to the dill stem.
Kathi I so did not see that coming!!!
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