Panic and futility
Mavis was late coming back with Pav today. She takes the hellhounds out first and then Pav. Usually I’m not there—at the cottage—so I wouldn’t notice, but Oisin is on holiday so I was at home doing laundry and scowling at the rain gauge* and shovelling out the sitting room in preparation for handbells. I noticed.
It’s almost worth finding something to do in Dorset or Berkshire so I’m not home counting the minutes before Mavis brings my hellcritters back again. I don’t like cancelling her too often, even on days I don’t need her, because I think I lost my previous dog minder by not using her often or regularly enough and I don’t want this to happen with Mavis.**
My sense of time is mostly pretty rough. Bedtime was two hours ago?*** Oh. Gee. Unfortunately, however, I tend to know how long half an hour is since it’s a standard short hurtle. I don’t mean to turn on the Hurtle Timer on those occasions when I’m home when Mavis leaves, but it turns itself on. I don’t notice that either . . . unless she’s late.
She was nearly fifteen minutes late back. I had gone beyond hysteria and moved into eerie detached calm. I was just putting the finishing touches on my creative and exhaustive list of crises responses when she came burbling through the door saying, oh, I’m sorry we’re late, but we had to stop and talk to so many people who wanted to admire Pav!†
Ah. Oh, well, okay then.
Pav and I were making our way through the crowded pavements of New Arcadia with difficulty a few days ago, the difficulty in part due to Pav’s many fans, when an embroidered cushion for sale in a shop window caught my eye: I don’t do calm, it said. I laughed. I didn’t have time to stop but I went back a day or two later, critterless, and with my newly refurbished and eager for action credit card at the ready†† and asked about the pillow.
Now, aside from the fact that it was clearly meant for me, it’s one of those little rectangular dealies that are half the size of a standard square sofa cushion. I had one that had originally been Peter’s††† and which fit perfectly into the small of my back when I drove Wolfgang. I managed to lose it a few months ago—and I still don’t know how, even if, as I assume is what happened, I managed to brush it out of the car onto the ground, who is going to STEAL a small rather worn and beat up back pillow? But it wasn’t there when I wanted to drive home—and nothing works as well. So I went into the shop totally expecting to buy this shiny new one.
No. Wrong. It cost FORTY FIVE QUID. Are you frelling kidding me? So here’s my question. With my copious free time for handcrafts and all‡ I thought I’ll frelling make my own. In my remote youth, embroidery was my chosen eyestrain. But I mostly attacked clothing and pillow cases—this was also forty and fifty years ago in America. I’ve had a little google and I can’t find a plain, cotton canvas for preference, half-size cushion cover for embroidery purposes. It’s all frelling predesigned kits, or loose swatches of fabric. Does anyone out there reading this in the UK know of a source?
Did you realise you’ve got your pegs in back-to-front? Looks like they should be curved side outwards, to hold the skein better
Sigh. This didn’t occur to me till I was looking at the swift site again before I posted the link. Oh. Yes. I put them curved side in because I thought they looked prettier that way. Duuuuuh.
* * *
* We were supposed to have RAIN last night. We got just about enough that since I’m a lazy slut I managed to convince myself I didn’t have to water the garden today. It’s supposed to rain tomorrow too. I’ll believe it when the hellhounds and I get caught in it. It’ll be the hellhounds because the hellterror doesn’t care.
** Although I may have to take out another mortgage to pay for her covering critter needs while I’m taking my Street Pastor training, which begins next Friday. Supposing that my potential ride and I can stop playing tech-tag^ and figure out if it’s going to work. Oh God I have to get in practise for getting up in the morning. EARLY in the morning. Moan. Am I sure this is worth it?^^
^ Choose your comm gadget
^^ God: Yes. Focus on the fact of having a legitimate reason to stay up till four or five (or six) o’clock in the morning once a month.
*** . . . You see my problem
† I picked her up again today when we were out this morning merely because there were a few too many other critters being hurtled in the immediate vicinity and I didn’t want any setbacks to the recovery of her positive attitude. As we strode past someone with a cocker spaniel, the woman said, Oh, is that Iris? No it’s not frelling Iris, Iris is three times Pav’s size, white, and has a head like the back end of a bus. All bull terriers do not look alike. Grrrr.
†† I don’t think I described in vivid detail what happened in the aftermath of my abortive visit to the yarn store with Fiona the other week. I finally got someone on the phone at the credit card company. He informed me blandly that my direct debit instructions hadn’t gone through till the day after they’d tried to pay themselves and since they wouldn’t try to collect again till next month they’d put a block on the card till I came up with some alternative method of payment. Or until next month happened. THEY COULDN’T HAVE FRELLING TOLD ME THIS? THEY COULDN’T HAVE, FOR EXAMPLE, SENT ME AN EMAIL SAYING THAT MY DIRECT DEBIT WOULD NOT BE IN PLACE TILL NEXT MONTH AND UNLESS I PAID THEM SOME OTHER HOW THE CARD WOULDN’T WORK? THEY COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THERE WAS A PROBLEM?
††† A gift from his fond wife. It said: I only play bridge on days ending with y.
‡ It was last Tuesday week that Fiona and I had our latest adventure, wasn’t it? That night I was idly cruising the web for the yarn I hadn’t bought and . . . oops . . . found a cheap final-three-skeins clearance for the one whose absence I was mourning worse. FRELL. One of the iPad’s features is that she saves any and all tabs open on the web when you close down—no muss, no fuss, no bother. So I’ve just left that page open and every time I fire up Astarte I refresh that page. I’ve been refreshing that page for eleven days.
Today I finally said, oh fumblebunny this for a lark, and BOUGHT THE THRICE BLASTED THREE SKEINS.^
^ Meanwhile . . . I’ve now attempted to knit the rose facecloth/potholder/thingy for the third time. It’s still a parallelogram. A sort of wobbly parallelogram. I’m going to have start a new skein. I don’t think this one is going to survive being frogged again.
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