On Thanksgiving, I learned how to knit. It took me pretty much all day because (A) I’m not really very good at things like this and (B) my teacher, my daughter, is left-handed, and I am not. I’ve been crocheting for about two years, I think, maybe longer. I know I’m not good at it because I see people who learned after me surpass me in skill by a long shot. Of course the pesky job I’m still expected to do Monday through Friday gets in the way of my fiber arts, novel-writing and learning to play the guitar. I’m almost finished with what I will have ready to give for Christmas and then I will seriously try to knit a rectangle.
I took my mother to the airport this morning and now it’s back to just me and Carole. The house is a wreck from Thanksgiving, me learning to knit, Christmas present wrapping, cooking, and multiple cat visits. Carole and I are giving each other half a Roomba for Christmas, and it is charging in the corner right now. Since the addition of our very long-haired cat (named for Ebby Thatcher), the living room carpet can be furry, seriously, an hour after it’s vacuumed.
I finished my 50,000 words for Nanowrimo and, as I sit here, Carole is reaching her 50 thousand before midnight, she thinks. I could not stand that pressure! My “novel” is terrible but I had fun. I think I will keep going with it for a little while, then take a look at what I’ve written over the past two years in terms of making a decent, stomachable story. Again, the pesky job limits my time.
I get to tell my whole entire story Friday at a meeting. Saturday is my home group, and Sunday our puppy sitter is coming over for pizza. And some time before then, we will try the Roomba.