We saw the Pirate movie last night. Good music as usual, but the movie is almost
too long to go without a trip to the bathroom three hours long. There were four of us sitting by the aisle, and four people sitting in our row closer to the other aisle. You’ d think that when they had to make their many trips to the bathroom and the concession, they would just go out to the right where they wouldn’t have to walk in front of anyone, step on any feet, kick any popcorn or drinks over (okay, that last one is our own fault for stocking up more that would fit in the holders on the seats or in our laps.), but you’d be wrong. They walked in front of us, stepped on our feet, and kicked over whatever we had set on the floor. Perhaps the aisle on the other side was closed? Nah, they were just braindead. I found the ending of the movie unsatisfying, but on the whole it was fun. If you liked the first two movies, you’ll like this one. It “buckled my swash”. I leave you to form your own conclusions.
A while back, Ruth posted a question about names; who we are to ourselves and who we are to others, and this morning I had a reminder of childhood names. Andy has chosen to wait until the last term of grade twelve to get involved in school activities, and today at school has been declared that ultimate “pick your own name” occasion; Hallowe’en 2 Day. All of the fun of changing your identity without the dental issues of the traditional October celebration. While my children were young and growing up in the suburbs, I dreaded Hallowe’en. No one wanted to dress as any of the cast of characters from my youth; goblins, witches, ghosts, cowboys. (Aside: Due to our geographic location, costumes either had to integrate or cover our foulest-weather gear; many years the boys would only make it halfway up one side of the street and down the other before giving in to impending frostbite.) There was always the perfect mother on the street who had time, money and a sewing machine and could whip up the latest Disney character or superhero in the blink of an eye, or someone whose children were pliable enough to be convinced that going as an Eskimo (dreadfully not P.C. now, is it?) or something involving Dad’s clothes (and therefore roomy enough for the snowmobile suit underneath) was a brilliant idea. My children always wanted to go as the same thing as all of their friends. It always involved more money, time, ingenuity, materials and maternal sacrifice than I budgeted for. I was very thankful when the whole thing faded into the mists of time.
It’s baaaacccckk! Andy has finally taken my advice! Advice borne of maternal laziness, but advice nonetheless.
A sheet has been sacrificed. I can’t help but think that if we’d done this for 14 years for two boys, wearing the same sheet for 4 or 5 years, we could have done the whole shebang for 6 sheets. Think of the money I could have saved and put towards yarn. I feel faint.
Hey, look. A seque! The Magallanes is coming along nicely.
The fronts. Three cheers for me for casting on both fronts and working the increases the same on each. We shall have symmetry! (At least that is the theory.)
I will be trying to finish it in the next week or so, as I’ve ordered some mauve cotton from Glenda to attempt a project from Victorian Lace Today. Mike’s Mom and Dad are celebrating their 50th this summer, and I bought a new frock. It’s sleeveless and I wanted just a little something for my shoulders. This is where I’m going with it:
Page 121, Victorian Lace Today (Sowerby)
and I have until July 5th to do it. The pattern looks fairly straight forward, and barring any unforseen circumstances that cut into my knitting time, I should be able to have it done. Then, I shall wear it and lean on the railing and look dreamily off into the distance, and everyone who sees me will say “I wonder what she’s thinking about?” while unbeknownst to all, I will be contemplating how much dessert I can eat before I pop the buttons on the dress. I can hardly wait.
Enough planning. I shall now go and execute.
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