New skill

We made a long-overdue visit with my mom a few days after Christmas, finishing up the year in a special way.

My brother and sister-in-law (is she really my sil? She's been part of the family for so long that I think of her as a sister) from Idaho and three of their children visited as well. Oh the fun we had! Howling with laughter over Winnie-the-Pooh, telling old stories again, the lunch where everyone seemed to have solid wax in their ears and so couldn't understand what anyone said the first time around, my deep embarrassment at sleeping in until 8:30 (!), experiencing a headache easing after an application of an essential oil called Valor (of all names!), and seeing Mike and Clint wearing glitter.

Okay, let me explain the glitter part first. Mom has three strips of recessed lighting in her kitchen ceiling. I don't know how long the strips are, not being possessed of the ability to cast a casual eye across an expanse and gauge the distance to within three inches but I do know they're long enough to seat two pairs of standard fluorescent tubes end for end. These strips were fit with ceiling panels of a silvery plastic open waffle-weave design that could not be removed without breaking them. How dumb can a contractor be? Putting ceiling panels up in front of the stove that cannot be removed for cleaning? Both Mike and Clint tried nine ways to Sunday to get those panels out with no success. So we went took Mom to the store so she could pick out the panels she would be happy with and they got what was needed. Then they CUT the old panels out with a circular saw. I did mention that they were a silvery color, didn't I? There was glitter all over the kitchen and all over them. Clint even managed to get some in his eye despite the safety glasses and as he was washing it out Mike said, "Clint, you seem to have a glint in your eye and I don't think it has anything to do with anticipation."

We love the Winnie-the-Pooh stories and we even have one book here at home but it's become the tradition to read these stories at Grandma's house, usually as a bedtime story. Mom isn't a reader, preferring to knit, crochet, sew, bake, or work the occasional crossword in her leisure time. However, she isn't opposed to listening when I read to the kids. In fact, when she hears us settling down for a story, she usually finishes whatever she's doing and joins us in the front room with her knitting in hand. Everyone should read Winnie-the-Pooh at least once each year. That Bear of Very Little Brain is good for what ails you. This time I had not just Richelle and Mom as audience but my nephew, niece, and sister-in-law, as well. I don't remember how many times I had to swallow my own laughter so I could get the story read.

But I went to visit Mom with a purpose in my heart to learn how to knit. I'd learned how to do the knitting stitch but never had learned how to cast on, purl, bind off, or read a pattern. Richelle and I learned it all in those few days thanks to Mom's expert teaching and example and I am now working on a...um...well...a something. Haven't figured out yet if it's a potholder, washcloth, scarf, or a really big coaster for water glasses on the coffee table. I don't feel like getting up, locating the camera, taking a picture of it and uploading it to the computer and then to here so you can see it. Actually, what I don't feel like doing is letting you see the uneven hem, the knits where they should have been purls and vice versa, and the *ahem* hole where I dropped a stitch and didn't see it until four rows later and didn't want to unravel that far to fix it so justtieditupwithasmallpieceofyarn(gulp!)

The kids spent quite a lot of time outside walking the dogs several times each day, playing on the swing, and getting the mail for Grandma. I love these times together - these "memory-making times" as my cousin's wife calls it.