Posted on March 29, 2005 at 8:58 am
This is the chunk of the Antarctic Ice Shelf that landed in our backyard this winter. Sadly, the penguins abandoned it long before it made its way to the end of our driveway. It used to be almost six feet tall and fifteen feet wide. Two straight days of chilly rain have reduced it to half its size. I’m putting this here so that all of you who live south and west of New England can feel smug that spring has smiled on you while we poor schmucks are gathering a lynching party for that blasted groundhog.
On another cheery note, the Handrail Cold is now making its rounds at my house. We’re all down with it. DH and I are competitively sick. We play the "Whose voice is more messed up?" game, and try to out-pathos each other when the telephone rings so that the other of us will get it. The Wonder Boy seems almost human again, but still refuses to eat or drink anything because he suspects we’re continuing to spike his food with horrible things like decongestant and cough suppressant. What vile parents we be.
Feel free to lavish me with get well wishes. I thrive on pity.
I have been able to hold my head up long enough to make some progress on the ballet-neck cardigan. I am planning on being too clever and kitchener-stitching the shoulder seam down to the wrist because I think that a three needle bind-off as prescribed by the pattern will look clumsy (no offense, Annie, I understand you had to write that pattern for normal knitters not deluded by false grandeur). We’ll see how clever I really am when the delirium clears and I actually try to graft 120 stitches. Twice. I blame the Robitussin. I’m not to be trusted around farm machinery or the remote control, so why should complicated knitting maneuvers be any different?
Note to Juno: If I don’t post by Thursday, send orange juice and a nurse, preferably in the form of Jeremy Irons.