Let’s start at the very beginning.
A very good place to start.
When you read you begin with A-B-C
When you sing you begin with do-re-mi
BUT HOW DO YOU START WHEN YOU HAVEN’T BLOGGED FOR SIX WEEKS AND THERE’S A WHOLE LOT OF WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE AND EVERY TIME YOU MAKE A START IT ALL COMES OUT IN A JUMBLE AND IT’S NOT ALL BRIGHT AND SHINY SKIPPING THROUGH THE FLOWERY FIELDS AND IN FACT LIFE HAS BEEN EVERYTHING FROM DOWNRIGHT SHITTY TO JUST BLOOMING BRILLIANT AND I’M ALREADY SOUNDING LIKE A BIT OF A NUTTER AND AFTER ALL THAT GEEZ I’M A BIT EXHAUSTED AND NOT QUITE MYSELF AND HAS ANYONE SEEN MY GROOVE OR EVEN THAT SPARE BIT OF ZEN I’D PACKED AWAY FOR A RAINY DAY?
Lower your voice (use lowercase).
Start at the very beginning(s).
Two days after I last posted and my kid and I took her shoes on their outing, there were revelations of the startling kind. Confessions of bullying by classmates, the kind that sent the Mr and I reeling, as we finally, belatedly, truly, guiltily, comprehended the path our eldest kid has trod for the last year. The School requested our silence as they handled things and while I held my tongue and observed two adults behave like children, a grief-stricken scream built up inside me that sits, still firmly lodged in my throat.
The Mr would say I achieved great bang for my knitty buck. I finished my 2ply cardi and well, there’s a lot of knitting in a 2ply cardigan but I crafted the whole affair in a smidgeon under one skein and in so doing, won a $2 bet against my eldest. Playing yarn chicken finally paid off.
Except that I chickened out halfway through and purchased the back-up skein.
Modelled, gazing-off-into-middle-distance-while-pondering-use-for-second-skein, cardigan shots pending...
Christmas flew by in a flurry of typical last-minute-ness and early-morning, crack-of-dawn-ness, an unconventional surfing day, followed by a festive dinner and sleepover at friends. Lovely but without photographic evidence.
Still counting my blessings but not entirely enamoured with 2011, the New Year was welcomed with open arms. A barbecue, at home, with the usual, fabulous, visiting-from-London pals, a nice bottle of bubbles and sparklers. Ditto, (lovely) but without photographic evidence.
Assuming anyone is still reading this blog-let(?) one or two of you may recall a certain angst associated with this little crocheted number. On New Years Day I made a startling and unexpected commitment to weave in all those ends. I shan’t bore you further. Here, simply, is the finished, celebratory
Do you reckon the tying up of a few million loose ends, makes for a beginning of sorts?