Right At Home

It had been six years, I think, since we'd flown anywhere with Taz. I'm not too crazy about plane travel at any time, or about holiday travel with anyone, and Taz often reacts badly to a change of scene.


In this case, however, he got right into the spirit of things, in a downright elfin way. (Later, when he began to chew on the pompom, the hat went back to its perch out of his reach.)


Our field trip to the LYS was most excellent. There are some LYSs that make you afraid to touch the merchandise, and others where you can barely restrain yourself from throwing all the yummy yarn on the floor and rolling in it. (Maybe I had better just speak for myself here.) This was most definitely the second kind, and it was only Grant's having come along for the ride that prevented me from staggering out bent double under an immense bag of Malabrigo in every color of the rainbow. Or any other yarn, for that matter. Still, my journey was not in vain.


Ellen bought some sock yarn to make herself a pair of fingerless mermaid mitts, and three skeins of Ultra Alpaca in a lovely plum for a Gwynedd. Not that I enabled her or anything (mwahahaha). I promised to get her started on both projects, which will assuredly be trickier in the case of the gloves. And Miss B talked Grant into letting me buy her a skein of Malabrigo silk for a scarf that was hanging in the shop. I tried to persuade her to get purple instead of lime green, but one cannot have everything.


We emerged from the shop to see a parasailer gliding past the moon.


I discovered that Ellen still has an afghan I made for my in-laws more than 25 years ago. It's mended here and there, but I'm astounded that it still exists at all. Between the LYS jaunt and the unexpected detour down memory lane, I'm riding happy trails here.