This is how I seem to go about my life (to paraphrase Rita Mae Brown): I have a fit and fall in it. Then I climb out.
As I was peering up over the edge of my scheduling fit pit, things began to rearrange themselves. This one wanted to work an extra day, and that one’s plans for Sunday fell through. Before I knew it there I was, applying more white-out to the schedule book and giving myself Sunday off.
If you ever think about how nice it would be to run a bookstore, and if you imagine that it is all quaintness and reading and talking to nice people about Great Literature, stop yourself. One of the things you will do, week in and week out, is create a functional schedule that takes into account factors as diverse as the weather, Harry Potter, and the lives of up to a dozen people who make up your staff. This is how my fit came about. (By the way, another thing you will do in your bookstore is lots of heavy lifting.)
There. It’s over now. Back to my own life. I finished the first Go with the Flow sock. Nice, stretchy, easy pattern, all good. I cast on for the second, and (probably because I did it from my pit) had to re-do it four times. Five, really, because I have to do it again. I made all kinds of silly mistakes — too many stitches, too few stitches, joined the first row backwards (don’t ask how that works), and a plain old mistake two rows in that was just too much trouble to fix.
There are no Shoalwater shawl pictures yet. Blame it on my fit, or the weather, or whatever.
I’ve been trying to make a new banner for this bloggy thing, and all I need to do is figure out how to make the image big enough in the first place. I’ll get there sooner or later. I want to put something like this at the top:
I took this picture on my birthday weekend in late April, when my two sisters and my cousin came to visit. This is why I live here. The ocean isn’t exactly in my back yard, but it’s close enough that I can smell it in the early morning, and I can stand at its edge whenever I want. I never go to the ocean in the summer, though. There are too many people, and it loses its magic.
So on with the day. Errands, mostly — the stuff I hate to do on my Precious Sundays.