Let's Hear It For The Boys!

With the start of the new school year practically breathing down my sunburned summer neck, I suppose it is time to start thinking like the educator I be.  And what better way to get back into the swing of the season than with a book review?  

For the record, I can think of lots of better ways.  Retirement, a lottery win or finding a pot 'o gold all spring to mind.  But this is the best I got right now...

A recent study conducted by the Young Adult Library Services Association reports that the #1 reason boys don't like to read is that they find it pretty boring.  In response to this, author James Patterson, along with co-author Michael Ledwidge, has come out with a new novel aimed specifically at the young male reader.  As an educator whose caseload consists primarily of boys (and reluctant readers, at that), I eagerly jumped at the opportunity to do a Mother-Talk review for this book.

As with all my previous reviews for Mother-Talk, I write this not from the "mom" perspective, but as a long-time special education teacher, counselor and parenting educator.  My thoughts, suggestions and reflections are designed as guidelines for families when making choices for their children's reading material and with the understanding that all children are different.  As parents, you are the experts on your own kids and know best what will be a good reading experience for them.  

Now, without further ado, let me introduce you to Daniel and his story as told in...

The Dangerous Days Of Daniel X.

Daniel's life, already somewhat different from that of the average boy, changed for the worse at the tender age of three.  While upstairs in his room completing a museum quality replica of the Lighthouse Of Alexandria out of Play-doh, he hears his parents attacked and brutally murdered.  Daniel escapes the assassin through the timely use of his special powers but now finds himself alone and saddled with the awesome responsibility of carrying on his parent's work.  

It is fifteen year old Daniel who tells his own story.  From his perspective, we learn of the ominous threats to our planet courtesy of alien forces and his role as a defender of our world.  Gifted with the power to manipulate the space around him, create his own environment and fill it with people to help him, he bravely works through The List Of Alien Outlaws On Terra Firma, dispatching invaders as his powers become strong enough to overwhelm them.

His greatest desire, though, is to find and destroy the alien responsible for the deaths of his parents.  In this first installment of the series, he is afforded that very opportunity.  The obstacles are many and Daniel's chances of success somewhat iffy.  But he is determined to see this killer brought to justice.

Daniel is, quite simply, one of the most heartbreakingly lonely characters I've come across in a novel.  He is a boy rather unlike any other boy and certainly mature beyond his years.  Hence, he is capable of remarkable insight into his solitary condition.  And yet he is still very much a child, however much the world has conspired to make an adult of him.  In an effort to find some connection to others, he surrounds himself with family and friends of his own making and develops strong, meaningful relationships with them.  In the end, though, these creations have short lives and must eventually leave him until he can renew his strength enough to bring them back.  For Daniel, it always seems to come back to being alone in the world.

It is this sad combination of brave, independent alien hunter and lonely little boy that makes the character of Daniel so compelling.  As I watched him seek ways to connect with someone, be they real or of his own creation, I found myself both saddened and cheered by his unwillingness to let go of neither his mission nor his dreams.

The tale is quickly paced, perhaps even a little jarringly so for an adult reader.  However, the story is deep enough that adjustments are easily made.  The speed with which the plot moves should certainly appeal to the target audience (young males) quite handily.  There is a great deal of suspense and drama, but resolutions are reached speedily and the next conflict introduced smoothly.  

In terms of overall readability, I found this novel to be a bit more challenging than the previous book I reviewed by this author.  I would suggest that this story might prove comfortable for those reading at or around the 7th grade level.  In addition, it would prove useful if the reader has solidly mastered either the skills necessary for decoding nonsense words or being able to "read around" them.  Due to the nature of the story, there is some use of invented language.  It would be illogical for the average alien invader to be named Bob, after all.  However, as I stated previously, all children are different in their approach to reading material.  One never really knows to what challenges they will rise in the interest of enjoying a good book.  Use what you know about your child and his own approach to reading material.  

As of this writing, this book has not been included in the Lexile database.  If this is information you would like to have on your child's behalf, I would suggest checking the website regularly.  I would anticipate that it will be included fairly soon given the distribution of the book.

As one who has often worked with children who have run across some challenges in life, I like to be aware of potential emotional land mines in a story.  I have frequently used literature as a means for helping kids process the negative experiences they have had in their lives but one doesn't want to bring them up without a little forewarning.  For those of you considering this novel for more sensitive children, here are a few of the themes that might prove tricky or need some support:

*Death/Loss

*Contextually appropriate violence.  Not extreme, but could be hard for some kids to process

*Betrayal

*Social difficulties, particularly the early exploration of male/female relationships.  Innocently handled, not a huge concern for parents unless there are extenuating circumstances

*Parentification of children due to loss or abandonment

The Dangerous Days Of Daniel X most certainly hits the mark in terms of its ability to engage the young male reader.  It combines the appeal of an highly likable main character with a fast-paced and action-packed story line.  I would recommend it to readers of all ages who like a good tale and love it when the bad guys get a little of what's coming to 'em!  Further, it allows a male character to be sensitive and to reflect on his life in such a way as to model the behavior for other young boys but still do it in an authentic and believable manner.  

However, I'd suggest you make your move quickly on this one.  According to the promotional information I received with my review copy, the movie is soon to be in the making.  Please don't misunderstand me.  I'm a huge fan of books being made into films and always enjoy seeing how the makers translate the text into a visual medium.  I've also been grading book reports long enough to know that many young readers do not understand the difference between those two experiences.  I have also noted a stronger tendency in boys to set aside the book in favor of the movie ticket.  I think it would be a shame for kids to miss out on experiencing this novel in print.  

That said...the movie will probably be pretty cool!

Well, there you go!  Sheepie uses a book review as a means for reminding herself that she needs to be thinking more like a teacherly sort of person instead of as a lady of leisure.  It didn't really work all that well...but I got to read a pretty good book so I guess it all evens out!  Maybe tomorrow I'll organize the bookbag and see if I can't find my grown-up shoes!

Or not...

SA

Bullets. No Vegetables. Cat In The Knitting Basket.

Well, the TV viewing schedule seems to indicate that it is Wednesday.  My computer calendar is saying the same thing, so I suppose it must be true.  I guess that means it's time for your Wednesday Night Bullet Post:

*I got up and did my workout this morning in spite of the fact that I have knit a sweater, am a world-renown Blog Sweater Curse Breaker and should be above this sort of thing.  

*I even almost sort of got up when the alarm went off.

*But I didn't like it.  It didn't seem right.  All the other superheroes get to do whatever they want...

*The other superheroes most likely don't hurt their shoulders taking out the trash so I guess I probably shouldn't be aligning myself with them in the first place.

*I didn't do the second half of the workout this afternoon because I was depressed about not being a superhero.  And my shoulder hurt.

*Remember yesterday when I mentioned my amazing ability to come up with an excuse for just about anything?  

*Maybe that's my super power...

*I did not go to the Farmer's Market today like I said I would every week.  I still haven't eaten last week's eggplant nor have I finished the potatoes and there is a good deal of garlic left to consume.  Plus, I don't get paid until later in the week.

*See what I mean about the excuses?

*I'm still crocheting that single row strip of something that will probably end up being really long and maybe could even be a stole of some sort if I don't get bored with it or set it down and forget where I put it any time soon.

*Prometheus The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty is a very, very brave boy.  He makes a point of keeping the females of the house safe from dangers both real and imagined.  There is not a bug around that would dare attack this house!

*When we went to visit the vet (aka The Cat Whisperer) all were heard to marvel over the fact that his heart rate never once left off its slow and steady pace.

*All of this goes right out the window when the vacuum cleaner comes out.  There is hissing and running.  

*So you can imagine how the AGK felt about today's scheduled vacuuming.  Which I predicted to him three days in advance.  I further predicted that I was going to be shampooing the carpets.

*He still looked really, really shocked.  Even a little betrayed...

*If you look up "irony" in the dictionary, you will see a picture of a cat alongside a picture of a vacuum cleaner.  If you have one, you need the other.  But it is not a pretty combination.

*I need to vacuum because the AGK likes to play and play.  And play.  Playing means rolling around on the carpet.

*Big, Fluffy Kitties play sometimes, too.  Mostly, though, they just look on while AGKs romp around and mess up the carpet with all the shedding.

*The AGK has managed to break off another piece of the automated kitty toy that serves as my only hope of redirection and distraction when he wants to play and I wish to do other stuff.  

*He is now batting at a piece of mono filament line that no longer has a feather attached and which is held precariously in place with duct tape.  The whole contraption makes a very disturbing clicky sound and I don't know how much longer it will hang in there.

*For the record, he managed to tear this thing almost to pieces in just under two months.

*He is absurdly gi-normous.

*I told him that Uncle Dr. Mel said that he would calm down soon and that I just needed to be patient.  Uncle Dr. Mel knows about this stuff and I have absolutely no doubt that he is correct.  I told the AGK this as well.

*I further pointed out to the AGK that I got to visit with Tuck The Sweetest Doggie In The World last night because Mel brought him along to knit with us and that he was very, very well behaved.  Gentle.  Polite.  Kind to his fellow knitters.  An example to animals everywhere.

*He listened.  He smiled. That is quite disarming since the AGK has that sweet, jowly face and all.   Then he cleared all the magnets off the refrigerator.

*I am assuming that his next target is the vacuum cleaner.  

*I don't really like to vacuum anyway, I suppose.  That isn't one of my super powers and my shoulder is acting up and all...

*Oh great.  Now he's back in the knitting basket.  I gotta go...

I'll see you tomorrow.  I have to go rescue a strip of crochet that may or may not end up long enough to be a stole of some sort.  Or a snack for an absurdly gi-normous kitty...

SA

License To Chill

It is a sad fact, but I am just about the laziest person ever put on this earth.  I know, I know...you're all thinking, "Oh, that Sheepie!  So delightfully self-deprecating!  She's a treasure, that one!"

OK...so maybe you didn't make to the "treasure" part, but I'm certain that you would have had you been given time to pursue that train of thought for any length of time.  

Sadly, I really do have a lazy streak about a mile wide.  I'm aware of this tendency and not at all proud of it.  I'd try to do something about it, but that seems like an awful lot of work.  So I live with it.  You may think I'm kidding, but I really am not.  If there is something I don't want to do, I simply ignore it.  Or, if I am unable to successfully pretend that the task does not exist, then I will put it off until threatening letters or people in authority start arriving.  Worse, I might find someone else upon which to foist the unwanted duty.  There are weaker souls out there who can easily be convinced to take over these sorts of things and who usually don't get all high and mighty over my taking the credit either.

In fact, while I was at my Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization (S.O.C.K.S) program tonight, I dazzled the masses with my amazing ability to come up with an excuse for pretty much anything that doesn't get done.  Or did get done but shouldn't have which is often a worse situation but one I have learned to handle quite deftly.  

Years of practice.  That's what it takes.

Today, I seem to be working my triumph over the Now Not So Scary Blog Sweater Curse.  With a sweater of adult size now in the "Finished" column, I feel that I no longer need to be concerned with the petty matters which plague mere mortals.  I turned off the alarm this morning, in full defiance of my decision to start getting up earlier because school will be starting soon and I need the practice.  I listened to it for a moment and then said, "Feh...I knit a sweater!  I can sleep a little bit later!"

Once up, I blew off the morning workout because sweater knitters such as myself don't need to do crunches or bicep curls.  We just knit bigger sweaters, by God!  

I cooked up an extra baby potato for dinner using the same logic.

I was planning on cleaning the bedroom today because that was on the Index Cards Of Summer Organization and I haven't exactly gotten to it yet.  Given the preceding examples, I'm certain that you can predict how that plan worked out.  I pretty much just cleared a spot for the new sweater and called it good.

I'll probably continue with this shameful behavior for the rest of the week.  I sincerely hope that all those people who sent me bills recently weren't expecting a speedy response.  Sweater knitters don't pay their own bills.  We are sort of like the Queen of England.  Money does not sully our hands.  We have "people" to take care of that.  The fact that I can't seem to locate any of these people at the moment is going to further complicate matters so they are going to have to wait even longer, I fear.  

Just be glad that I am here and you are there.  I can't imagine that my attitude is really all that pleasant for the rest of the world right now.  But there is little I can do about it.  We are simply going to have to ride it out.  I'll probably just lay down on the couch for a while and wait for it to pass.  

The good news is that my current project is a one-row crochet thingie that is pretty much just a strip which will grow until I get bored with it.  That's probably not going to work as an excuse for much of anything.

I don't suppose there is anyone out there who'd like to just do it for me?

SA

Suddenly...The Air Is Lighter

I suppose I could keep you all in suspense today and maybe drag out this whole business with my trying to break the Blog Sweater Curse for the past month.  It's been good for quite a few posts, after all.  But I just can't seem to bring myself to do that.  You guys have been troupers about this whole thing and so darned encouraging that I'd feel like an absolute heel if I tried it.  So, without further ado, I give you....

The Blog Buster!!!!!

There are a few (thousand) ends wriggling around inside there that probably should be corralled, but I'm still calling it, "Done."  This is one curse that has been well and truly broken.  For the first time since starting this blog, I have managed to finish an adult sweater.  

Say my name!!!!!!!!

Now, since I was so darned good about the whole suspense thing, I am now going to bore you with the excruciating details regarding my amazing victory over the forces of evil.  That's just how these things work.  I don't make the rules.  I simply play by them.  

Chapter One:  It Started With An Embolism

Last spring, I found myself with a gift certificate and time to kill so I went ahead and got myself a copy of Elizabeth Zimmerman's Knitter's Almanac.  It arrived.  I read it.  I made all kinds of "Oh, I see..." and "Isn't that interesting!" types of noises and nodded sagely several times.  

Then I had some sort of cerebral accident that involved bleeding from the ears and I forgot a lot of very important things like my social security number and where I put the waffle maker.  EZ was kind of...a differentiated thinker.

Once I recovered, though, I happened to pick up the book again and started seeing some sense to what EZ was saying.  I also noted a few things about knitting that she and I had in common.  Not that whole devotion to gauge business, mind you...but some other stuff.

So, when I found myself with a summer vacation on my hands and yet another gift certificate, I went ahead and snagged a copy of Knitting Without Tears.  

Chapter Two:  It's Not Like I'm Actually Going To Finish It Or Anything...

Again, I found myself seeing some interesting parallels.  In fact, when I read the rather meandering words of wisdom around the yoke sweater thingie EZ wrote about, it actually sort of made sense.  I figured it couldn't hurt if I just tried it.  I knew from bitter experience that I wasn't going to actually make a sweater.  The Blog Sweater Curse would not allow it.  But the lessons learned might be good ones and it's always fun when things go really badly because that makes for really good blogging.  

I then did things that are so foreign to me that I feared I'd been possessed.  There was swatching.  There was measuring of an old sweater that used to belong to my grandfather and which is the perfect shape for lolling about on the weekends.  I broke out the calculator and did all sorts of mathematical kinds of things, the likes of which have not been seen around here, well...ever.

If someone could just shoot over and check on Daddy Sheep right about now, that'd be super.  He's not a weakly man or anything, but it is entirely possible he may need some help getting up off the floor.  I'm sure he's fine, but you never know.  He was, after all, the Assistant Principal at my high school and the one who had to deal with my math teachers, most of whom questioned at least three times per semester whether or not I had been dropped on my head repeatedly during the "soft of head" years.  You can see how this all might be a little shocking for him...

Armed with approximately eight billion sticky notes, my trusty copy of KWT and the knowledge of certain failure firmly lodged in my brain, I cast on.  

Chapter Three:  Things Start To Get A Little Too Real  

After a while, I began to realize that things were a bit off.  And when I say, "off" I mean that nothing had gone wrong.  Something should have gone wrong by that point.  I had a body.  I had sleeves.  They even somehow connected to one another.  A stark realization hit me:  Without even knowing it, I had challenged the dark forces.  I was now battling the Blog Sweater Curse and I hadn't even meant to.  I stopped sleeping and developed a stutter that I'd never had before.  I periodically broke out in a cold sweat, even when I wasn't doing anything remotely connected to the project.  But I knit on.  

Chapter Four:  The Final Push

There were questions every step of the way.  But I trusted in my percentages and kept the calculator close to hand just in case.  My greatest fears were around size, frankly.  At points, this thing looked big enough to slipcover my car with enough left over should I desired a moped cozy of some sort.  But these fears were all for naught.  The math held true and the shaping (haphazardly applied through the yoke at best) seemed to force the thing into a more manageable size.

Today, the neckline ribbing was completed and the final grafting grafted.  If there are any real issues to report, they are with these.  The neckline is a little sloppy even by my flexible standards and I shall, someday, reknit it.  I know what I could have done differently, but just don't feel like doing it right now.  I'm also thinking that my weaving at the underarms is a little too tight.  I blame the sock knitting.  I graft toes for wear not aesthetics.  I think sleeves might need less of the iron in their backbone.  There is also a bit of the sloppy going on where the arms connect to the body and I'll be a little more careful with that in the future.

But it is still a sweater, it fits and if you need me, I'll be over here thumbing my nose at the Curse Formerly Known As Blog/Sweater.  I just won't raise my arms too high when I do it because that's really hard when you've grafted your sweater pits so tightly they squeak a bit.

Afterword:  Confessions Of A Weak Knitter

Now, here's where it gets a little hard.  I'm going to lose some readers today and I shall mourn their departure.  But I feel that the truth is the way to go.  Please try to find it in your hearts to forgive me.

The yarn for this project is acrylic.  Not such a big deal, really.  I actually don't hate acrylic and use it for stuff all the time.  Besides, it wasn't like I was actually going to finish this sweater anyway so I figured it didn't matter.  But that's not my confession.  I'd proudly knit with acrylic because sometimes you just need that sweet, sweet feeling of plastic between your fingers.  

No.  There is more.  The thing I have to tell you is...God this is hard.  I'm just gonna do it.  Like ripping off a bandage.  Quick-like...  My confession is this:

I bought the yarn at the Dollar Store.

Yup.  Not even a brand I can identify.  Buck a skein.  In fact, at least three of the circular needles of the five million I purchased to finish this project came from the shelf next to the yarn at the Dollar Store.  I've pretty much got a ten dollar sweater here and that's counting the gas it took to get to the store.

Please don't hate me.  It was the Curse!  It made me buy Dollar Store yarn!  I got all crazy and stuff...I wasn't myself.  Forgive me.  I beg of you.

So there you go.  The story (saga, really) of The Blog Buster Sweater.  And now it is done.  You may all go back to your lives knowing that I fought the good fight and that all is now right with the world.  Enjoy the light, my friends!  We can all breathe just a little bit easier.

Actually, I'm thinking of starting another one.  This wasn't really so hard...

SA

Quivering Like Jello Over Here...

Well, we are into the thick of it now, folks.  The moment is upon me.  If it's going to happen, it'll be any minute.  The stress and anxiety are just about killing me and, for the first time in years, I'm wondering if I might need to go back to taking those blood pressure pills.  

As if in sympathy with the dark forces gathering around me, the skies have gone from sunny and bright to grey and foreboding.  A storm trembles just along the edges of my roofline.  I can feel the electrical charges from lightening not yet born.  They are whispering my name, those little bits of snaps and sparks...

The birds stopped singing about an hour ago.  Most of my neighbors seem to have found cause to go out for the evening.  The only people left besides myself are those too infirm to take themselves to safety and that crazy guy from downstairs who likes to stick forks in the toaster just to see what will happen.  As those with the sense to do so fled, they did not speak.  It was a silent exodus but everyone seemed to have reached some tacit form of agreement.  It was time to go even if no one was really sure just why flight was necessary.  

We are nothing if not creatures born of the ages.  Our decedents knew how to scent danger in the air and we still have a lingering touch of that ability even in this most modern of ages.

And here I sit, right smack at ground zero.  It all comes down to the next few steps.  I will either emerge unscathed and victorious or broken and beaten.  The guy downstairs offered to make me some toast because I think he feels sort of sorry for me even as he gleefully anticipates the carnage.  

I took a pass on the burnt bread.  Neither one of us had any peanut butter on hand and it just didn't seem worth it.  I couldn't tell if he was offended or impressed by that...

Thanks to a couple of highly watchable downloads from Itunes, I was able to settle on the couch and knit today.  In fact, I knit quite a bit.  More than I thought, if you want the truth.  And now I am at the point where The Dishcloth That Is So Totally Not A Sweater And Let's Just Keep Saying That Because The Blog Sweater Curse Has Never Been Closer Nor More Menacing needs nothing more than a neck band and some weaving at the underarms.  Seriously.  I am that close.  In fact, I am so close that I have stuffed the thing back into the knitting bag because it has me a little bit terrified.  

Up to this point, very little has gone wrong.  Very, very little.  I'm still not totally convinced that the neck isn't a bit big but I'm leaving things as they are.  Thus far, every time I've panicked over sizing the "dishcloth" has somehow miraculously managed to morph itself back into something resembling the size I was imagining in the first place and I can't help but think it might happen again if I just leave well enough alone.  Besides, I have a long-standing hatred of tight necklines so bigger is better as far as I'm concerned.  I don't care if the thing extends to my shoulders so long as it's not trying to choke me to death.  I'm also not entirely certain that I've got the thing centered just right for the shaping, but I guess that there are worse things than reknitting a neckband.  

Yet I cannot relax.  I cannot let my guard down.  The Blog Sweater Curse is close.  Very close.  I can feel it.  It's like it's breathing right down my neck. (That would be one of the drawbacks to a looser neckband, I suppose...) I must be brave.  This is going to require a great deal of concentration, chocolate and Mountain Dew.  Those, I do believe are the traditional strategies one uses in the face of dark and foreboding curses.  

Meanwhile, just to lighten the mood a bit, I have decided that the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty has behaved well enough to have earned a blog mention today.  He let his sister and me sleep all night long and even allowed us to remain in bed a bit later than was usual this morning.  Other than his little freak-out involving the vacuum cleaner later in the day, an event so bizarre and scary that it doesn't bear mentioning, he was the model of purrrrr-fect kittyhood.

Here he is doing That Thing Where He Lays Down, Sinks His Claws Into The Recliner And Then "Runs" Around It:

There was a time when that sort of thing might have scared me a little bit.  No more.  I now know the true dread that comes from fighting a very mean Blog Sweater Curse so this stuff doesn't even cause a ripple in my calm any more.

See you on the other side...

SA

Worthy

Oh no...there will be none of this today, thankyouverymuch!!!

There are any number of things that have shown behavior appropriate enough to be rewarded with blog mention today.  I have oodles and scads of stuff from which to choose.  I'm not limited in any way, shape or form.  No desperate grasping at straws here.  

For example, Big, Fluffy Kitties are very good and they get to be on the blog today.  BFKs understand what it takes to make it to the big time.  

Even if they are just sitting and watching the raindrops and aren't being particularly interesting.

Oh, and what about Dishcloths That Are Not At All Anything Like Sweaters So There Is No Need For The Blog Sweater Curse To Sit Up And Take Note?  "Dishcloths" are extremely well behaved.  They get to be on the blog.  

I'm as surprised as anyone at this turn of events.  If anything was going to give me trouble today, I would have bet everything I owned on the "dishcloth."

Cookie mix is also very blog worthy.  Especially cookie mix that has triple Boxtops For Education thingies on it and which I need to bake up quickly so I can cut off the boxtops and send them off to Trek before education becomes obsolete or something.  Further, should I be feeling particularly lazy and not all that willing to deal with the time and effort it takes to make individual cookies, it also helps that the mix is OK with the idea of being baked into bars.

I wasn't eating them.  I was "taste testing" them to be sure that the bar method was safe.  It's just something I like to do for my fellow man and woman.  You're welcome.

Heck, even that big block of beeswax I found in the cupboard today that I decided to melt down into an old canning jar so I'd have an extra candle was cooperative.  Not so much at first.  But after some "thinking time" in the microwave, it consented to being chopped up into appropriately sized blocks and the finished candle is setting up even as I type.  If hard, unyielding wax can find it in its heart to be a team player, then you just gotta know that anyone can do it.

And what, pray tell, might be an example of something that doesn't get to be on the blog today, you may ask.  Oh, lots of things, I suppose.  A prime specimen, however, might be something along the lines of an Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty.  AGKs don't always understand how things work around here.  AGKs like to start rearranging the kitchen at 2:00 in the morning and they don't feel the need to be quiet about it.  AGKs don't much care that Mommy and the Big, Fluffy Kitty are sleeping and that they don't wish to hear all the pots and pans being removed from the cupboards or that the stuff on the counter is there for a reason.  AGKs may not have a full grasp on the intricacies of condo living and how it isn't nice to throw stuff on the floor because that also happens to be someone else's ceiling.  

Not that I really care because the people who live under that ceiling didn't take the time to consider my needs when they installed their super, high quality speakers on the wall about a foot beneath my sofa, but still...

 AGKs will continue with their kitchen antics until Mommy stumbles out of bed and agrees to sit up with them while they wait to feel tired because they don't understand that this will affect their blog status.

AGKs are very, very cute.  And when you kiss their heads they get all smushy-faced and purr a lot.  This can make you forget all about the bad stuff.  But you have to stand firm in the face of the cuteness.  It's in all the books.  So that's that, then.  The AGK is off the blog today.  I'm certain that he is thinking about the consequences of his actions most thoroughly and that he is making plans for better behavior in the future.

That or he is napping.  Because a boy needs his rest if he is going to do it all over again tonight...

SA

Doesn't Make For A Good Story...

I awoke this morning ready for battle.  I drank extra coffee because I figured that the caffeine couldn't hurt and the extra pressure on the bladder might give me more of an irritated sort of demeanor.  I wore my "good" jeans.

And, in the end, none of it was really necessary.  Not really.  

The recent situation involving my new car and its suddenly showing tire wear consistent with a '75 Chevette that had never seen the inside of a garage in its entire life had me just about crazy.  I was further irked to receive an estimate for repairs given that I have already put several people's kids through at least a semester of college at the service center and thought it was high time they ate the cost of their "workmanship."  I stated clearly and without reservation that I would not be paying for their recommended tire replacement and alignment and that was that.

They, in turn, agreed to "take a look at it."  Given that, when the cost was coming out of my account the tires were deadly weapons which might take me out at highway speeds but were now merely worthy of "a look," I figured I'd need my best grumpy face.  And good knitting.  I grabbed some sock yarn and the sharpest dpns I could find and headed out.

Frankly, I was a little disappointed.  We only came close to the scene I was planning on having in the middle of the showroom twice.  The first tense moment occurred when I, despite having agreed to ask for a specific person when I arrived (we'll call her A), did not do that.  A is a former student of mine and I dreaded putting her in a situation that might lead to her reliving middle school due to my shrieking.  That's therapy just waiting to happen.  I was pleased to see that N was there.  She's treated me fairly over the years and I knew she'd do the same this time.  I thought I was doing a good thing when I bypassed A.  What actually happened was a sniping match between N and A due to N not knowing the situation and "feeling stupid" because A failed to put it in the computer.  This is probably why she said, in response to my questioning why they were only going to "take a look" at my car something along the lines of how this was just procedure and nothing I really needed to know about.

I said that I believed I had the right to know everything so she told me... and you know what?  She was right.  I concede the point.  The theory behind looking at the car was just about the most boring procedural event in recorded history and nothing I cared about.  Not even one little bit.  And I admitted my fault to N without reservation.  I like N.  She's cool.  I can admit fault.

My terms were agreed to without incident, however the tires were not available right away.  I was prepared to start fussing because I was all geared up for fussing and the coffee was starting to kick in, but A was already grabbing her purse and keys to drive me home personally.  

(And, if you don't think that it is weird being chauffeured home by a kid you last saw at age twelve and having to hear all about her upcoming vacation with her husband then you just can't appreciate weird.)

I spent a leisurely day at home napping, watching TV and making chocolate sorbet.

I can't believe I'm going to say this...but it is actually too chocolaty.  Crazy, I know!

The second incident almost occurred when I went to pick up my car.  The trusty staff finished washing it and then came in with my keys.  They were presented to me with the words, "Here you go, Honey."  Having had little else to complain about today, I figured I could launch into a nice feminist-rage based tantrum just so the whole morning of preparation wasn't wasted.

Then I happened to take a closer look at the Key Master and decided that I'd suffer through the whole "honey" thing.  I guess there are worse things than taking the Honey Bullet under certain circumstances.  I'll be OK.  Honey is fine.  I like honey.  

(And anyone who cares to point out that the Key Master is young enough to be my son can expect a sound beating about the head and shoulders.  You will also not be invited to the wedding.  And you'll be really sorry when that happens because I'm pretty sure that his mom is going to let us bring his X-Box to the reception and that's gonna be wicked cool. ) 

So I got my car fixed for free, had it washed, got called honey under acceptable circumstances and now I don't know what to do.  All that preparation.  All that pent up rage.  All that coffee.  I'm not quite sure just where to expend all my righteous indignation.

Maybe it's time to start a new lace project.  That always seems to bring up some rage.  I dunno.  I'm sort of at a loss here...

SA

Just Another Rainy Day WNBP

I can't recall the last time I saw a summer so soggy, windy and puddle-laden.  Since I'm not much of a sun worshipper and don't really enjoy the heat, I suppose it doesn't bother me all that much.  I'm a little concerned about my vitamin D situation, though.  Being so low on the stuff (according to the last report from the doc anyway) I really should be seeking out one or two rays of the bright stuff soon.  I fear I may become the latest poster child for Rickets prevention.  

But we're not here to talk about that now are we?  Nope.  It's Wednesday and that means it's time for the Wednesday Night Bullet Post!  Here's the highlights...or low lights what with the lack of sun situation and all:

*Wednesday is Farmer's Market day here at Sheep Central.  It is the day that I venture out and diligently purchase produce because it is good for me and there is no getting around that fact no matter how much I try to deny it.

*With August upon me, the time has come to start setting the alarm a bit earlier.  I'd hate for the first day of school to arrive and for me to not be physically able to remove myself from the comfort of the bed.  I'm very responsible, you know.  I need to get ready for grown-up scheduling.

*Since initiating this responsible sort of behavior, I have successfully managed to oversleep every single day.  Haven't missed a one.  

*At least I'm consistent...

*I was horrifically behind schedule this morning, late finishing the morning workout and beyond all hope regarding the ingestion of coffee in a timely manner.  This left me even further behind schedule getting out the door to the Market Where The Vegetables Live.

*In my mind, I thought that this might actually work out for me as I'd miss the morning traffic.

*For the record, all it accomplished was me heading out in the now-driving rain and having to deal with the Oh-My-God-It-Is-Raining-We-Need-To-Leave-The-Beach-Or-Our-Vacation-Will-Fall-Into-Utter-Ruin traffic.

*I persevered.  Produce was purchased.  I stood in a lot of puddles, but the lines were pretty short.

Wet Produce And Soggy Butter

Cute Little Rosemary Plant Which I Will Probably Kill In Short Order

*When I stopped at The Convenience Store Where They Call You Honey And Sweetie And You Sort Of Like That, I noticed a Hummer with Quebec plates.

*You notice that kind of thing at the gas pumps.  You can't help it.  You think things like, "I wonder how many times they had to stop to fill up a Hummer between Quebec and here..."

*While I was purchasing my morning Mountain Dew, the driver came in to prepay for his gas.  The clerk helpfully asked him in French which pump he was using.

*Lots of people speak French around here.  It is useful.  It also helps that the clerk happens to be French/Canadian, but it's not required or anything.  You can speak French anytime you feel like it.

* I don't speak French.  When I was a kid, I learned some pretty cool swear words from my friends memeres...but I don't remember them anymore.  

*That's kind of sad in a way, but probably for the best when you consider my lack of impulse control and the need for a good tourist economy these days.

*When the clerk asked the guy which pump he was using, he looked very confused.  She had to repeat the question in English.

*He responded in French.  This is the sort of thing that just amuses the heck out of me for no real reason...

*Maybe I needed a hit of the Mountain Dew.

*I picked up a fresh supply of Greenies treats at the local pet store while I was out and about.  

*I have found that the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty gets a little over-excited when being brushed.  He purrs and smiles all over the place.

*Then proceeds to attack me most viciously.  I do not enjoy this, but the vet says he is prone to matting and that I should brush him.

*I've tried lots of stuff, but I am running out of antibiotic cream.  Since I don't want to shave the cat, I picked up one of those "self-groomers" you mount on the wall.  It won't solve the whole problem, but I figured it might help.

*I put it together, loaded the catnip trays and told the AGK to "go love on it!"

*He did.  I tried to get pictures.  But this was the best I could do:

*I think he likes it.  

*I just finished the second neck decrease on the "dishcloth" that I am knitting because I can't knit a sweater lest the dreaded Blog Sweater Curse find out and rear its ugly head.  One more to go.  Then my dishcloth will need a collar of some sort.

*I have little to no optimism regarding size at this point.  It is a large sweater.  Very large.

*Big Fluffy Kitties really like to be brushed and don't attack at all when you try it.  They just roll around and purr happily.  

Which is good since I think she might need it right about now...

Unless you want to hear about how the soothing sound of the rain led to a rather impressive nap this afternoon following the lunchtime Hot Pocket, I guess that should just about cover it.  Tomorrow, I head out to the dealership to deal with the tire situation on my new car that I've had for all of four months and which should not need new tires at this point.  Thanks for all the words of support as I go into this battle with Those Who Wish to Separate Me From My Money And My Sanity.  I shall sally forth with great courage as a result and free tires shall be mine!

Or I will make a horrible scene in the showroom, be dragged away by the local police department and some of you will be receiving calls asking for bail money.  It'll be one of those things...

SA

Fate S.O.C.K.S. It To Me...

My Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization (S.O.C.K.S.) Program has hit yet another snag in its overall implementation.  This time the problem is not allergy-related, although I must admit to being a little on the congested side today.  Still...that wasn't going to be enough to hold me back.  I'd already taken a sick day and didn't feel that I'd meet the program graduation requirements if I took another so soon.  

(Just because I invented the program, and pretty much control the final grades [which are really just figments of my overactive imagination anyway] doesn't mean I'm not accountable, right?)

This time, though, we have a new contender for the right to claim the title of Greatest Of Annoying Interferences.  Those of you who have missed my stories of vehicular mishap, please take note.  This one's for you.

Towards the end of July, I had an oil change done at the dealership and partook of their complementary vehicle inspection just for snorts and giggles.  They also washed my car for me as part of the service and, since that is the sort of thing that I will certainly never do, it seemed like a nice treat for the car.  When I picked up my keys, the nice little girl (a former student of mine so I can call her a little girl if I want to) said that they noticed some wear on the front tires and suggested that I think about replacing them and doing an alignment.  

I'll admit I was only half listening.  I'd only had the car for three months.  How bad could it be?  Tires, at least to my knowledge, usually hang in there for longer than three months.  For that matter, wouldn't it have been the responsibility of the salesman to mention to me that this car featured those new-fangled "disposable" tires when I bought it?  I figured I was OK for a bit.

Today, though, I received a call from the service department.  They were greatly concerned by my lack of attention to my tires and feared for my very safety.  Phrases like "in the red zone" and "maybe fifteen percent of wear left" were being thrown about all willy nilly.  Prices were quoted just like they thought I was going to actually pay for this tire replacement...

I am most certainly not.  

I shall spare you the details and not quote the conversations that have gone on today regarding just whom is really responsible for this.  (as well as my sincere attempts at keeping the nice little girl out of the middle of it all what with her being a former student and a nice kid...)  The dealership is one of many under the same ownership and my particular car came from a different lot.  The thinking at this point is that they are the ones who will be underwriting this little enterprise.  I don't care.  My only input on the matter was that they let go of the past.  Perhaps they could pull up my lengthy, unhappy and very expensive record of purchases and repairs, look it over, relive the good times, revel in the memories from happier days when I just shut up and wrote the checks...live, love, laugh, as it were.  Then use that as part of the process for letting go.  We have entered into a new stage of our relationship and it is the one where I start getting as good as I've given.  

Now, because they care so deeply about me (and, quite possibly my future contributions to the company bonuses) they are suggesting that I drive with caution.  At any moment, it seems, my poor fragile, disposable tires could just give up on life and maybe try to take me with them in the process.  Or not.  Who knows with these things, really?  

(They said the same thing about my dearly departed truck a few months ago.  Maybe the engine will keep running.  Maybe it won't.  Maybe it will explode.  Maybe a genie will pop out and grant you all your fondest wishes.  Anything is possible...you just have to believe!)

I'll be knitting at home tonight.  I shall let my depressed tires rest and think about what they want to do.  They have until Thursday to make a decision because that's the day I'm taking them back to the dealership where someone will "take a look" at them.  Their fate will be decided at that point as will that of the lamebrain who is going to be paying for this.  

I'm currently reviewing the knitting basket for appropriate WIPs to take with.  I'm thinking lace.  Not because I can really knit lace under those circumstances, mind you...

It's just that the needles are sharper.

SA

The Aftermath

We seem to have moved past yesterday's drama involving Hysterical Mind and her belief that we needed to perform ancient and mystical rites (somewhat loosely interpreted from "Curse Breaking For Dummies") in order that we might banish the dark forces at work against the current knitting project.  She goes into these things with all good intentions but, quite frankly, doesn't have the attention span to really finish what she starts.  More often than not, she will  find her focus drifting off to parts unknown.  Eventually she will begin thinking about how it would be cool to raise our own dairy cows or whether or not the bees are really dying off.  At that point, she will wander away from whatever she is doing, leaving behind any bits and pieces that might have been used in the process.

Since Rational Mind usually needs to be fully available to keep her less stable counterpart from attracting the attention of People In Authority, it is generally left to me to clean up the mess.  And this one was a doozy, lemme tellya!  HM's method of curse-busting involved the use of any number of yucky things and I hate, hate, hate having to scrape that kind of stuff out of the carpet or off the walls.  Bleh...

But you gotta do what you gotta do.  While I don't think that HM's thoughts around dealing with the raging Blog Sweater Curse and its impact on my current project were really all that helpful, I certainly appreciate the thought that went into it.  Frankly, though, it seemed better to maybe back off the knitting for today.  It's not that yesterday was a disaster for the thing we are still calling a "dishcloth" in deference to any lingering Curses.  Actually, things look pretty good in spite of the fact that the "dishcloth" is still really kind of huge and that a number of stitches tried to escape during a poorly executed attempt at trying it on to check the fit.  But, when you are living under the constant threat of a Blog Sweater (except we're calling it a dishcloth for now) Curse, you don't take chances when you see a few little things start to go awry.

In addition, you never know when Rational Mind will lose her grip on Hysterical Mind and then we've got chicken parts all over the living room again.  I don't need that today.

So, I decided to take a cue from my roommates.  They know how to deal with a rainy kind of day that may or may not be fraught with curses.

They nap.  They nap hard.  They nap 'til it hurts.

I couldn't quite doze off quite at their level, but I did the best I could considering that I am not a cat and designed to sleep for 3/4ths of my day.  I compensated by lolling around on the couch a lot.  That seemed to work quite nicely although I was rather disappointed in how the cable people seemed unwilling to help out with this endeavor.  There just wasn't much on the TV to stare at.  Otherwise, I did pretty well with my slothful self.

And the "dishcloth" napped in the knitting basket for the day.

We should all be rested up enough tomorrow to tackle this again.  This is key when doing battle against Evil Curses.  

And avoiding another round of "help" from Hysterical Mind.

SA

Hysterically Cursing

Things have been running fairly smoothly over here.  Of course, there have been the usual sorts of ups 'n downs that occur in a household run by a somewhat absent minded Sheepie...but nothing too horrific.  I guess that's why we haven't seen much of Hysterical Mind and Rational Mind of late.  There just hasn't been a need for them.  I only resort to allowing my brain to separate into these two diametrically opposed operators when things go haywire.  They are a last resort.  They make me tired.

Today, though, the brain has wrenched itself in half.  Hysterical Mind has broken free from the bonds of Rational Thought and there is just no stopping her.  She needs to have her say.  I'm just going to let her run with it and wait until she tires herself out.  Let's see what has her so distraught today:

We enter the scene to see Hysterical Mind in the middle of the living room.  She is wearing her usual Sunday attire of sweat pants and what might or might not be a clean t-shirt.  Over these pedestrian garments, she is wearing a skirt fashioned from a belt with strips of newspaper stuck into it.  On her head, she boasts a headdress of similar construction.  Her face is painted with oddly shaped swoops and swirls in some dark substance and she is enthusiastically shaking a milk carton which appears to have been partially filled with objects designed to rattle.  She is chanting, but not in a language known to any inhabitant of this earth.  Rational Mind, alerted to the possibility of a problem by the rattling and chanting, stalks into the room in short order.

Rational Mind:  What on earth?  Hey!!  Is that today's paper?  I haven't read that yet...

Hysterical Mind:  Sorry.  Sacrifices must be made in these dark days.  Had to be done.

RM:  When did we enter into "dark days?"  Did I miss a memo?

HM:  Where have you been?  Things have gone to heck in a handbasket and, frankly, I blame you!  (glares menacingly and meaningfully in HM's general direction then resumes chanting)

RM:  I beg your pardon?  What the heck did I do?  I don't think I...oh, my dear God!  What is that smell????

HM:  I think it might be the milk carton.  When I dumped out the milk to make my official and highly mystical rattle, a lot of chunky stuff came out.  It seems that we are pretty good about buying the milk, but maybe a little less committed to actually drinking it...

RM:  (sounding slightly nasal as she is holding her nostrils together tightly)  I'll make a note.  Meanwhile, I don't quite think that's what I'm smelling.  It's coming from the carpet...ACK!  Is that...?

HM:  That is so totally not my fault!  The book said I needed chicken bones but you keep making us buy those boneless chicken breasts without the skin so I had to improvise.

RM:  I don't think I want to know...and yet I find myself compelled to ask:  How exactly did you "improvise?"

HM:  I stuck some Popsicle sticks into the chicken and then tossed them on the floor like the book said.  If you squint and don't look too closely, it kind of looks like they have little legs...

RM:  Coloring in those little shoes with the magic marker really helps with the illusion, I must admit.

HM:  (beaming proudly)  Thanks!  But, don't think that lets you off the hook.  I've had to spend the better part of the day trying to appease the Dark Forces and it is all your fault.  I had other stuff to do today, you know.  Lots of stuff...like napping and counting the ibuprofen tablets to make sure we have enough if there is a sudden, unexpected quarantine.  But noooooo...instead I have to use my valuable time perusing this dark and mysterious tome in order that we might be saved from a horrible fate!

RM:  Lemme see that.  (grabs a brightly colored paperback from HM's hands)  "Curse Breaking For Dummies?"  When did we get this?  And how did you manage to buy it without my knowing?

HM:  I had a gift certificate.  And be careful with that!  I told you...it is a dark and mysterious tome!  

RM:  It's a paperback...

HM:  It's a tome!  A tome!  A tome!!!!!

RM:  Fine...it's a tome.  Now will you settle down and tell me why you needed to consult this "tome?"  

HM:  Well, it's because of the stupid Blog Sweater Curse that you won't have the sense to be scared of.  You make all these jokes about dishcloths and stuff and keep thinking that you are so ding-dong funny.  Well look where it got us!  Just look!!!

RM:  It's not that bad.  It's just a setback, is all.  I really don't see how...

HM:  Setback?  Puh-leeeeez!  We've been cursed mightily.  You mock the curse and now look at us!  We're all smitten!

RM:  Smitten?

HM:  Past participle of smite.  It's like bite=bitten.  Smite=smitten.  You gotta be careful with those irregular verbs.  But I powered through.

RM:  You are a master of conjugation.  Now, tell me more about how we got all "smitten."

HM:  I can't believe you aren't seeing the issues.  First, there is the size!  Once we got the thing off the one circular and onto two, it grew!  It is going to take over the living room any minute now if I don't do something!

RM:  Now wait a minute...it was your idea to make it big.  You said that you'd rather have a sweater that was too big and made you feel skinny instead of a little one because that might cause what you called, "The Spiral Of Despair."

HM:  I don't recall that.  You must be mistaken.  And then there were the dropped stitches.  Did you see all those dropped stitches???

RM:  I'll admit that trying it on after we got it onto the two circs was something of a judgement error.  But it did look kind of big.  I just wanted to see what the deal was, that's all.  And besides, I found all the dropped stitches and took care of them.  All you did was shriek and say bad words.  That wasn't helpful.

HM:  I am who I am.  I can't change that.  But, we are straying from the point here.  You are not taking this Blog Sweater Curse seriously and have forced me to take matters into my own hands.  I've got my tome and all the directions for driving the evil forces from our home.  You just go away and be all "rational."  I'll take care of it.  

RM:  I still think you are being ridiculous.  But, as there is obviously no stopping this, I'll just go meditate like I always do when you lose it.  Before I do, though, I have to know.  What the heck is all over your face?

HM:  Chocolate pudding.  I needed to paint on some magical, mystical symbols to protect me from the evil.  I couldn't find the stuff the book said to use, but I figured this would work OK and then I could eat it.  I hate to be wasteful.   Don't worry, though.  I got this fresh from the store this morning.  I didn't want to use the stuff from the fridge after seeing what happened with the milk.  We really do have a wicked dairy situation going on in there.

RM:  Again, I'll make a note.  Carry on.  Call me when you're done.  We'll have some pudding.  It'll be nice.

HM:  (resumes whirling and chanting whilst shaking the stinky milk carton rattle)  'Kay.  See you then.  I'm just about done here.  Shouldn't be more than an hour.  Two if the chicken bone thing doesn't work out like I'd planned.

RM:  That's nice.

As is my wont, I'll just let them deal with it in their own way.  I still maintain that calling the project a "dishcloth" rather than admitting it is a sweater of some sort has really helped with keeping the dreaded Blog Sweater Curse at bay for as long as I have.  If Hysterical Mind wants to add a little chanting and stinky chicken bones to the mix, I don't suppose it will hurt.  

But she's gonna have to clean the carpet.  That's all I have to say...

SA

Carrying On

Progress on my handknit "dishcloth" continues unabated.  The So Totally Not Sleeves seem to be in the right places and even the improvised eyelet pattern I, in a moment of uncharacteristic whimsy, decided to use in the yoke is working out kind of nicely.  As I progress closer and closer to the neckline of said "dishcloth," I almost start to feel myself relax a bit.  Perhaps I can soon abandon all pretense and admit to the true nature of the project...

Yeah, right.  I'm not that whimsical.  The Blog Sweater Curse is lurking somewhere around here, just waiting for me to let my guard down.  Then it'll be Smackdown City and I'll be left clutching a few bedraggled strands of yarn whilst standing amidst a pile of hopelessly tangled circular needles.  No.  It is best that we all continue with the charade for a bit longer.  It's a "dishcloth."  A very large and somewhat uncomfortable to knit in humid weather "dishcloth."

So, I suppose this means I must continue to lie low.  This poses something of a problem since "dishcloth" knitting has consumed me for the last few days and I have little else upon which to rely as a topic.  I haven't really been anywhere or done anything.  There was the Dr. Who Season Finale last night...but I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about that just yet.  After what BBC America did to me during the Torchwood finale, I was despondent for weeks and feared that I would never recover.  I think it best if I just not dwell on the good Doctor for a few days.  

(But if anyone can tell me what the heck was going on with Rose Tyler's mouth and speaking voice, I'd love to know.  I can't be the only one to have noticed that she sounded like she was talking through a mouthful of unshucked clams...)

Oh...wait a minute!  I know!  I did go somewhere yesterday!  I did, I did!  I went to my most favoritest of places!  How could I forget?  I guess all the "dishcloth" knitting has done something weird to my brain.  

I went to The Dollar Store!!!!

I have always had a deep and abiding love of The Dollar Store.  So much stuff...all for a dollar...it's like a little piece of heaven for a girl who has always believed in the healing ability of Retail Therapy.  And now, in these tough financial times when certain people (not naming names here...) find themselves with a car payment that includes not only the vehicle they're driving but also the truck that just couldn't make it to the finish line on the loan, the lure of The Dollar Store is even stronger.  The need for curious goo-gaws and doo-dads can be satisfied without breaking the budget!

(Seriously, people.  I wasn't just "upside down" on that loan...I was inverted and had my head underground.  If I hadn't been dealing with a fifty-something car salesman with a newly minted and rather ugly divorce to his credit, I'm not sure I could have pulled off anything remotely close to a working vehicle.  He still has my stupid spare set of keys, though.  I haven't quite worked out a strategy for getting those back without giving up my hand in marriage.  And, if my recent trip to the dealership for an oil change is any indication,  I don't even want to think about how retrieving the headsets for the DVD player might factor into my future...)

But The Dollar Store is there to ease all pains, my friends.  There is nothing that can't be put back into perspective through the purchasing of Things You Don't Really Need But Which Amuse You To No End.  Take, for example, this little item:

A petite black sheep handbag

Now, c'mon!  How cute is that???  Of course, anyone who knows me is fully aware of the fact that I do not so much carry a handbag as I do actual luggage.  I have, over the years, developed a deep and paralyzing fear that I might find myself unprepared for some unforeseen situation and now carry a great deal of stuff just in case.  Laugh if you will...but the day you need first aid, a mint and chemical handwarmers, you'll thank me.  I won't even charge you for the stuff.  Your gratitude and appreciation will be enough.  

I'm still working on the actual function of the petite black sheep handbag.  Maybe I can use it to carry pepper spray or dental floss...

Here's another fun purchase that could be yours for a mere dollar should you be so inclined to part with those four quarters:

Very funky and so totally not at all creepy looking kitty kat kandle holder!

They had all sorts of these in a variety of shapes and sizes, but I decided on this one.  It says, "Perfectly Pampered."  It's like it describes both my cats and my own life aspirations!  For a dollar!!!!

There were other purchases as well, but they were more of a mundane nature.  I may be desperate to misdirect the steely gaze of The Blog Sweater Curse, but no so much so that I am willing to risk boring the readers.  Just know that I am in good shape in the cheesecloth and plastic container departments.  At least for the foreseeable future.  

And now, I must be off.  There is, of course, not a neck decrease awaiting my attention nor anything remotely like that.  Just more dishcloth knitting and viewing of the first season of Blood Ties which I recently discovered and am now downloading at a feverish and breakneck sort of pace.  That should keep me busy for a while and maybe even distract a certain curse from noticing what I am actually doing here.

Carry on.  Nothing to see here...that's my new motto these days.

SA