Strife of Life Miscellany

One

Sunday I cleaned my patient's large combination bedroom and den. It was quite an undertaking as he is allergic to dust mites and everything, walls, ceiling, bottoms of chairs, everything has to be vacuum. I heaved and hauled and shoved furniture, stooped and crawled to get to nooks and crannies, took down drapes, and finished up ready for a nap. An odd quirk in my constitution won't allow me to relax after I get really tired--I tried to nap but gave up and pitter-pottered around in the kitchen, hit the computer, and rehung the drapes after they were dry. I was very glad to go downstairs to my part of the house at eight that evening. I decided to color my hair and while the dye was on the old bean I started separating the plies of a White Buffalo puck. It was time consuming but I found it soothing and felt very fiber-ish. Well, of course I left the color on too long which would not have been too bad in itself, however, in my mad dash through Wally World I picked up the wrong flavor dye and didn't read the box before I applied it. ("Done it before, hadn't I? Why read?" says I.) Now...picture a face...round as a moon-pie, with a redhead's pale complexion complete with freckles. Now hang a whole lot of dark, dark, brown hair on top ot it, oh, and I dyed my eyebrows too so throw some Brook Shield's wannabe brows in there too. Ah, yes, I was a sight to behold.

Monday morning I discovered that I actually have muscles in my arse. You've heard of buns of steel? I had what felt like buns with burning steel in them. The buns of burning cramps. My thighs and shoulders were stiff but not as bad as the rear end. When I started up the stairs I got a cramp in my left ass that would have killed a lesser woman. Definitely overdid it Sunday. I hobbled around looking quite like a diapered toddler carrying a load. I must have been an entertaining sight--perked up my patient no end to watch me walk. He said I was listing to starboard. I made it though the day by eating Motrin and seating on one heating pad while draping another, shawl-like, around my shoulders.

Two

You may remember from a previous epidisode that my cell phone had a brief sojourn in the dish water. I took it apart and dried what I could and left its innards scattered on a table with a fan to help finish airing it out. Unlike a Timex, it did not take a dipping and keep on ticking. I now have the cell phone equivalent of an old hoopy with no hood, a couple of primer-gray fenders, and four flats. The plastic thingy with the numbers on it won't work so I left it off. I now use a pen or DPN to put in the holes to mash the numbers. The downside of this is that I now need two hands to dial or answer a call so I must steer my car with my knee. Also the three and the six don't work at all and it's a tad limiting since all the local numbers here start with a three. But, hey, speed-dial's a wonderful invention--don't know what I would do without it.

Three

I print out a lot of patterns. Often the same pattern, clapotis, for instance, I have no idea how many copies and partial copies are floating around the house. I have a "Recycle" box for paper with copy on one side only--saving money? No. Saving trips to the far away store. Anyone with half a brain would know to lightly X out the printed side before reusing the paper. Evidently I don't have half a brain and did no X-ing and thereby created the French Market/ Hallowig bag hybrid. The half of my brain I still have made sure I didn't get too far into it before frogging.

Four

And, finally, here is my experimental bag design--from a previous episode--and after felting. I worked long and hard on this pattern. I made charts. I Fairisled, I intarsia-ed, I may have entrelac-ed, I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that I forgot to make it with two straps. There are two straps in the pattern. Since I made the pattern I thought I had memorized it which I had not. Here is a picture. Squint or you might go blind.

Before

After. Note that the single strap is off center.

I cut the strap and I'm going to trim both pieces and see if I can refelt, block and then sew the ends to the bag. Perhaps it will turn out to be carry-able.

I'm always afraid my employer will run across the drivel I post here and wonder how my patient has survived my tender mercies. But I am really a good nurse. Really.