Part of it is me dithering because the moment I add all those strands across that ribbing, there’s really no going back, only forward whether I like how it’s coming out or not. And I’m very good at going, after the fact, oh–that’s how I should have done it.

But part of it is, I really do need that hazelnut brown for the tree trunks. Once I got all the other colors together they showed me they needed their best friend. (As in, no not that brown.) And it’s not here yet.

USPS has been telling me for several days that it would be delivered today. It was not. And since it’s to be in the foreground of the picture, I can’t just run off without it.

Unless I move that boulder over here, and those trees over there, and…

Nah. I’m just not that good an artist, no matter how much I want to be. I can riff from my friend Steve’s photo; I can’t make up a new photo in my head.

So hurry up, yarn. The world’s on fire and I need the distraction of creation.

This is the thing that I really want to do next. I just want to start. It’ll happen.

So we were talking over dinner and he mentioned that time that his grandma had called him his freshman year of college; she was chuckling.

I’d never heard this story. I knew she lived in this very small town in the middle of nowhere and where everybody was Mormon.

Seems the restaurant–

Me: that town had a restaurant? Post office, general store, and a movie theater, I remember. (And lots and lots of cows.) How many restaurants did it have?

He thought about it and held up one finger–then a second, but wiggled it in hesitation, his face scrunching up; he wasn’t sure, but, definitely one, anyway.

So.

That restaurant had some pretty plants growing near the windows and on the tables for decoration, as one does.

It wasn’t till one of the young men in that town came home after two years from a mission for the alcohol-, tobacco-. and coffee- and tea-abstaining Mormon Church that there was anybody who recognized what those plants were.

And honey, they weren’t growing it for the hemp.

Earthquakes roll up and down and side to side, with the P waves and S waves going at different speeds: so the farther away you are from the epicenter, the weaker the shaking but also the longer it goes on.

And we know from the big Loma Prieta in ’89 that those waves can bounce back and forth off the hills to east and west of the Bay and amplify themselves back up.

Thus it is imperative to get the alarm out immediately when one goes off: it gives people time to move to safety and away from where things might fall on them.

But it also means you’d better get it right, and the reverse-911 system for quake alerts is new, as are some of the sensors.

So there was a drill planned for tomorrow for testing that system, and an announcement went out to our cellphones about it this morning so that come the time, people would know it was only a drill.

However. An actual quake went off at about the same time, and both alerts went out more or less together, to much confusion. This was not helped by the fact that a sensor was off.

So around 9:00 a.m. our phones buzzed loudly that a 5.7 had just gone off in Sacramento. That’s a pretty big quake! And that–wait, are they saying this is just a drill or wait that’s tomorrow–what!?

The next problem is, within seconds, they determined that one sensor was quite off. The other sensors downgraded it to a 4.1 very quickly, but the word was already out because seconds matter.

Even at 90 miles away, for a 5.7 we got a blast of noise and told to duck and cover.

Uh, what quake?

So they are still getting the bugs out of this new system. But now everybody knows there’s a system. And not to freak out at the drill tomorrow.

Unless the earth decides to have a sense of humor again because hey we could all use a good laugh right now, right?

10:19 a.m. here we come.

President Biden is en route to Israel as I type.

I can only pray that his statement of unwavering support after the Hamas attacks and his compassion for the innocents, so rightly spoken, will continue to resonate there as he makes a plea for other innocents: the children. Learn from America’s failures after 9/11–for the love, literally, of all things holy, don’t repeat them.

Also: Gym Jordan, accused by the Jan. 6th committee of helping mastermind the attack on the Capitol, lost his first try at getting elected Speaker of the House. I can only pray that that gives courage they didn’t have today to those Representatives who are still looking for a way not to vote for a man who actively worked to overthrow our democracy.

C’mon, people, do the right thing. Make your time in power something your descendants are proud of. This granddaughter of a Republican Senator who voted for the Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act can tell you, it’s just not that hard to do something you will feel great about for the rest of your life. They will, too.

(And I thought that was just a Little Orphan Annie reference.)

Mystery solved.

This afternoon I watched the lizard dash up the leg of this chair. It put up with my going outside with the camera–to a point, and then jumped to the wooden leg of the picnic table.

Where I saw it land the other day was on the far side of that same chair.

A hungry bird hadn’t dropped its meal, our little guy had just taken a shortcut to get to its favorite sunbeam.

Movement caught the corner of my eye yesterday as of a bird landing but then it was moving very unbirdlike and I turned to see.

What had apparently dropped out of the sky was a lizard. Dunno if it was my usual one, but definitely that size and type.

Was it okay?! I went to the window and had another moment of me looking at it while it looked at me. It seemed perfectly fine; after awhile it scooted to the edge of a leaf’s shadow but not quite under it, ready to dart into a gap below the patio if need be. No bird came after it. It sunned itself.

No blood and no injury, as far as I could tell, just a good, whoa.

While I silently sent out an ‘if only’ towards the hearts all the people facing war in this world of ours.

Hanked, washed, dried, and now the seven new cones are wound into balls and ready to go.

I spent a fair amount of time studying the picture I want to knit. The person who took it was delighted when I asked permission to–which gives me incentive to get going.

So. Do I put the moss on the boulder in the foreground, or not? Or even put the boulder in? So many decisions to make.

I think I need two things: to study the picture at longer length, and to sleep on it, now that I know exactly what the colors of my scoured yarns are, because things are always clearer if you give it a little time to think about. Just not too much.

Spoon Theory is the most brilliant description I’ve ever come across of what it’s like to live with chronic illness.

That said, it’s not an analogy I’ve needed to use in awhile. I still have lupus, but the fatigue is not what it was and the pain is mostly gone from me.

It was possibly wildfire smoke that caused my shortness of breath and got me in the cardiologist’s office July 18; this afternoon I finally had the stress EKG test for it. Covid has created many many new cardiology patients, the office is swamped, and I just didn’t seem to be an emergency. But he did want to follow up on that.

I made pumpkin almond muffins in the morning. Comfort food. Healthy. Ready.

The rare drycleaning order had to be picked up after 4:00. My daughter needed a package mailed to her. The post office was in the direction of the dry cleaner, oh, and I had to go to the grocery store afterwards because you can’t have the food sitting in the car.

Heart ultrasound, race uphill with your wires as fast as you can as long as you can hold out and then more ultrasound, while remembering the doctor’s surprise last time–he didn’t think I could do it anywhere near that long but I did so I was determined to do it again. I came a half minute short. I can live with that.

Got through rush hour, got to the post office, hoped the ultrasound gel I could feel (oops) didn’t show through my shirt, fought more traffic, got to the dry cleaner, dashed into the Safeway, got some groceries including some throw it in the oven and call it done for dinner, made it home.

Man. Spoons? More like that silverware drawer got ripped right off its rollers and out of the cabinet, flipped, and dumped on the floor with a crash.

Go eat a pumpkin muffin, Richard said, looking at my face as I walked in the door.

Dinner and time and rest and now I’m only having to remember how utterly wiped I felt: while so grateful that it’s not like that all day every day these days, not even any day, usually.

It was, once.

Well, I had plenty of earth tones but almost no water tones and so the water tones arrived yesterday to, y’know, help me use up those earth tones and I wound and scoured all six new cones today and they came out so soft and I was going to show them off, all lined up in order.

Hopefully tomorrow my creaky old iPhone will let the photo escape. (It did, here you go.) Anyway, I have a good idea/I have no bleeping idea how I’m going to pull this next big project off but it is absolutely demanding that I do so and chomping at the bit.

And who am I to argue with a good yarn.

Speckles, he said, a little surprised. You don’t normally like speckles.

I looked at him funny, and answered, Since when?

It was just a thing he thought I didn’t like.

Now, for a little context, there was a beaded gerdan by a Ukrainian artist I adore where she made the water lapping the shore below the lighthouse and seagull become the hair of the Lady of the Sea, sunflowers alongside. Gorgeous (and very expensive, as an original work of art should be. Look at the detail on that beadweaving!) I couldn’t quite place what it was but something about it didn’t quite…

…Till I mentioned about it to him. To which he said, You never wear a face.

He was right. I had never quite put my finger on that feeling but he totally had and it was one of those moments where he knew me better than I did. He was right. He was right. It kind of blew me away.

Clearly he expected to nail this one as successfully but I was like, Nope nope nope nope nope.

And ever since that conversation at dinner my brain’s been going, I mean, you’ll never see me wearing calico, and canvasing the inner opinion I’d say Jackson Pollock neither for that matter, but a hat? Honey. As the late great Elizabeth Zimmerman said (and it is proven especially true the last day of this month every year), People will put anything on their heads.

I can handle speckles. Granted, I do plan to fob it off on the first victim to willingly cross its path.

Actually, I still adore that gerdan. If I were ever to change my feelings on the face thing, at least as a one-timer, that would be why. My art dealer dad would totally have understood.

—

I’m going to add a note here that I’m following the war in Israel carefully, in addition now to the one in Ukraine, and praying hard.

I found it! The yarn that I bought at Stitches West 2019 from this vendor! Slightly darker than mine. It would make a fabulous pair of socks at $20 on closeout. I used the first half of Ostrich Plumes lace for my rainbow effect, because as a lace stole what else could it be.

I didn’t run the end in because I didn’t cut it off because I wanted to have the option of trying it on again and maybe adding just a few last repeats. Again. But at about 16×76″, I think that’ll do.

I was idly wondering: you know, I’ve never knit a hat entirely in ribbing from a skein of Mecha. Ribbing eats yardage (plus it’s twice the motion spent per stitch and I like doing stockinette more) and I was never jumping at the chance to spend two for the outcome of one.

My right hand is still requiring enough breaks in the knitting from that tumble that I only got this much done but I’m thinking the answer is yes, it will be enough.

Did some of this standing in line at the pharmacy; got a few “wish I could spend this waiting time getting something done, too” looks.

Still need to find out if there will be much of a fold to the brim.

Now that I have you totally on the edge of your seat I’ll just have to finish it tomorrow.

Scene: a Saturday at church about twenty-five years ago. Our son was playing basketball; the teams were a way of getting kids from different wards to meet each other.

I was cheering him on when I suddenly realized that I was, yes I was, I was actually seeing it: a teenage girl over there was watching the boys going up and down the court. She had a small gun in her hands pointed at the opposing team as they moved. Including my son.

She was big, I was not, and my immediate instinct was to note the tall older dad with the deep voice who was in the building and I quietly got up, ran once I was out of her sight, and explained what was going on.

I didn’t know him well but I knew enough to expect him to be unflappable but firm, and he was. Given that I’d just ratted her out I stayed well out of her sight so he came and found me to tell me how it had gone.

You cannot bring a gun in the church. It needs to leave.

It’s not a church! It’s a gym!

This is a private church and guns are not allowed. It needs to leave.

She huffed and puffed angrily as denied teens do and then left.

I have been grateful for his courage and help ever since.

When we were flying home from the funeral three weeks ago, who should be at the window seat of our row but him! Truly it was a delight.

Except, after 36 years of our being familiar faces, he clearly had no idea who we were.

I named his daughter, to his slow-motion recognition and then delight and we had a little bit of a conversation at last, but he seemed uncertain of himself and it seemed kinder to offer his family my regards and require no more of this good man in his (it surprised me) old age.

It had made him happy that a stranger spoke well of his daughter, and that is enough.

I started this at my daughter’s in April; it’s the one where Mathias looked over from his Legos at the first few inches and pronounced, That’s pretty, Grammy.

I worked on it a lot while waiting for some of the yarn to come for Carolyn’s afghan, knowing which one would take priority the moment it did–especially given the fact that slippery silk/merino laceweight is not my favorite to work with, though I love how it turns out.

I got back to it yesterday, and again some today. It’s ~65″ long.

I have more yarn. Part of me thinks, it’s past my fingertips and that’s long enough, call it my Aftober project now, done, and part of me thinks, why not use up the yarn, and part of me thinks maybe I settled the argument when I went sprawling on the pebbled walkway at 5:00 and a gallon of milk went flying left and another gallon flew right right out of my hands. (Somehow they didn’t burst. Go Trader Joe’s.)

Richard in his astonishment watching helplessly could only come up with an amazed, Did you cut the corner?! (There are azaleas in the way, you can’t.)

No, I took my eyes off my feet because I was looking at you and hit the wood edging at the corner and went sprawling.

Oh. Don’t do that.

The Etsy vendor in Washington State who’d just made the corduroy skirt I was wearing for the first time assured me she does have more of that fabric.

It does go nicely with that scarf.

Which is backing away slowly….

(Edited to add in the morning: I don’t know if the milk jugs took the initial impact? But my hands and wrists are fine. Yay!)

Two texts from me:

Your mail is here.

(There.)

She wasn’t home and was utterly baffled as to why I would be saying that. (She reassured me afterwards that the box was pretty safe where it had been left.)

First, as she opened the box, a pack of three soft thick wool socks with a post-it note attached: Toenail guards. Please use. (Yeah, they said Last One when I bought a set for me previous to that. They say men’s, but they’re not too big on my feet after running through the hand wash cycle on the machine so I knew they’d be okay, maybe even for both of them.)

Then a Lands End zipped medium tote bag, and inside that, a ziplocked…

And below all that, several sheets of paper from different stages of plotting how I was going to knit this with a post-it note on each describing the journey. Including one sketch I liked but didn’t use after discussing how to get the the angle of the side of the house within the stitch count I had: “Don’t try for perspective, Mom, do it head-on.” And so I had.

Carolyn was absolutely blown away. She told me she had never been so surprised in her life.

And later that of course I could use her picture.

It is finally, finally in its natural habitat, where it looks the best it ever has. It has at long last come home.