Big Sighs of Relief

Em is done. She's resting and recovering, and there is nothing for her to do but get better. Thank god.
I went up with my parents to see her on Tuesday, and the Morphine was making her doze off every couple of minutes. Her text messages are usually only half there when you get them because she falls asleep and then when she wakes up she can't remember what she was saying, so she just sends it as-is. She says it's strange to have people come visit and watch her sleep, but we came with things to do, and we didn't expect her to entertain us. Though, watching her start awake with her eyes wide and a look on her face like, "No, I wasn't asleep," is entertaining.

I nixed the Irish Diamond Shawl because the pattern and the yarn weren't meant to be. Instead, I've introduced the Domovoi shawl (not my pic) to the alpaca held and held it double to give it a little more weight. They're getting along splendidly. I might not do the lace edging, though, as I'm not sure I like it. Domovoi might end up with some tassles on the short ends to give it a little decoration. It's a simple lace pattern, easy to memorize, and you can do a short or long version, depending on your tastes. I'm probably going to do the short version, since I don't think I have enough for the long. Or, if I do, I certainly won't have enough to do the edging afterwards.
Kelly's first sock is almost done, and I think she's going to love it. I have a secret project in mind for when I finish one of these, but I can't say anything because if I do, I'm going to ruin it for myself. Too much planning ahead of time makes me lose my love of a project. I'm very much a polyganol, spur-of-the-moment knitter. If I let the idea float there in my mind and develop without my help, I'll love it. If I try to add to or change it, I'll break the bubble and the idea will fall out of favor.
My brain works strangely, I know.

Well, it's time for me to go wake up Patrick and get ready for work. I hope the end of your week goes well!

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You'd sail on water as blue as air,
And you'd see me here in the fields and say:
"Doesn't the sky look green today?"

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
"It's awful fun to be born at all."
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
"We do have beautiful things to do."

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You'd say to the wind when it took you away:
"That's where I wanted to go today!"

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

~A. A. Milne "Spring Morning"

1 comment:

Donna Lee said...

lovely poem. Polygonal? Like a polygon?