Remembrance of Things Past

Today was an oxymoron…lazy but productive. I spent the day hanging out with my mother, knitting. The conversation meandered, twisting this way and that, and eventually circling back to the original topic. I learned that I do not have mad crochet skills. Heck, I can't even crochet a chain for a provisional cast on without screwing it up! Nonetheless, I made a good start on the toe on a sock for my husband. And I ripped back the Amberwell shawl and reknit most of it. It was sheer bliss to spend most of the day knitting. My brother and his son dropped by and they helped my father finish putting plastic over the back porch screens and Tom and my brother installed a new faucet in the bathroom.

Over dinner, we talked about my parents' families while they were growing up. It was interesting to hear the stories and make the connections with my memories from childhood. I never knew that my father had scarlet fever. And that the house that I remember was originally a burned-out shell my father and his siblings and friends played in that my grandfather bought and refurbished.

I have more that I'd like to write but the thoughts are not well-formed and the television is distracting (some show where entrepreneurs are trying to get investors to buy their idea; the way the investors are treating the entrepreneurs is awful). I'm finding I have a deep aversion to television. It mostly wants to make me run, screaming, out of the room. Too much noise, too much dissonance, too much conflict. It seriously harshes on my mellow.

Tomorrow is the last day of NaBloPoMo. It's hard to believe that November is almost over. And then December starts NaDaYoPraMo! And that will be way harder than NaBloPoMo.