December 23, 2011 will be noted as an auspicious day in my family's history. On that day, Luke reached 40" tall.
Height was a big thing in my family growing up. The Byrne clan from which I harken are not, on the whole, large folk. Most my aunts never cleared five feet. When they would call and talk to me when I was still a little girl, the standard adult-to-child question was not the standard, "What grade are you in now?" but rather "How tall are you?"
My kid has a lego Star Wars advent calendar (thank you Grandma and Grandpa) and every morning he announces the date over breakfast and then runs off to build his little ship or droid for the day under the lights of Christmas tree. It's like a tiny little empire is marching me closer and closer to Sunday.
That's no moon; it's a space station.
It's almost Thanksgiving, and at my folks’ house that means a couple of things. It means family, it means turkey and Dad's smashed potatoes, and it means Arlo Guthrie. We'll tune the radio to KFOG and wait for Alice's Restaurant to come around on the guitar so we can sing along. Can you imagine? Can you imagine a dozen people sitting around the table singing a bar of Alice's Restaurant? You might think it was a family. And that’s what it is.
Happy Halloween from us to you. Hope you found more treats than tricks. The DeArmond Halloween photo garden is here.
Just in time for Halloween, meet my Immortal Soles. I’m breeding a legion of undead socks to avenge my lost Cookie A’s. They’re out for blood.
Tech specs available on my rav page.
Alright, I have pinkeye. Go ahead and lay out all your zombie jokes a la South Park. Shawn and I have been doing it all morning. He’s got it too so at least I’m in good company. Good, puffy, gooey company.
Today was Shannon Day. It should be declared.
Actually it's Indigenous Peoples Day. I work for archaeologists. Archaeologists do not celebrate Columbus Day. There are a myriad of good reasons for this. And in addition to anything else the man did, as a geographer I can't really support a navigator who steps off a boat in South America, looks around, and thinks, "Huh. India."
The point of this little side trip is that today I had the day off. And my family did not.
“Honey, I need your advice on my knitting project.”
My husband looks up from his computer, reasonable intrigued.
I hold out a baby hat.
A fellow I work with just had a baby, and I like to knit for the office babies. I’ve done sweater sets for twins and one of my buddies in production got a Loch Ness monster for his newborn. Just a little one. This little one is a brand new baby girl, and I had just the right amount of some self-striping yarn left for a nice little hat. I picked out one of my favorite hat patterns and knit along.
Actually, I dyed this weekend.
Way more fun.
Prior to a recent knitting event, a pair of friends mysteriously announced, “We’re bringing a project. It will take three hours.”
We all speculated as to the nature of the secret project. Ideas were tossed. Needle-felting? “No way. We’d have to drive to the E.R. if someone got clumsy and stabbed themselves.” And everyone looked at me. Sigh.
So mystery it remained. You can imagine my surprise when a gift bag was thrust upon me and I opened it to find a pair of latex gloves.
Huh.
My cookies are missing.
I considered calling the cops, but I don't think they'd get it.
I wasn't expecting much in the fair this year. I entered items that were favorites of mine but were either simply constructed or minorly flawed. Not the kind of stuff that places, necessarily. "Except your socks," Shawn says. My husband doesn't knit, but long practice has taught him to converse intelligently on the topics of toes and heels and stitch patterns.
