Harassment by any other name.....

is just another way to say I love you, right, Miss A.? Here’s your D@&%n update. :0D

Who could resist this little beak-face, I ask you? The love of my life.



I have been able to get some work done on Luskentyre this weekend. Just 21 more rows to neck shaping…whooohooo! Then on to the tortuous arms. Marina recently confessed to hating arms. I do, too.It is definitely the faster switching of colors and also the decreases. It isn’t as mindless as the body for me. I think that is why I have stalled on Rhinegold. BUT! I will pick it up later in the week. I am determined to get these two done so I can start some other ventures. Maybe Norsk Strikkedesign sweater……maybe another Fair Isle? I don’t know yet. I have my eye on several and have the yarn for several already at the wait.





Now, since the alligators in Florida are in the media so much…I will give you a gator story.
One of my best friends in high school, S. and I used to go out to her god-father’s lake home and swim almost every day in the summer. He lived in a wonderful cove next to the highway on a private lake in East Texas. There was also an indoor/outdoor carpeted rafty thing that we could lie on and float around on in the cove. It was about 4x4 and made of wood but had something that kept it afloat. We didn’t ask, we were in high school. One of us would jump in, swim the rafty thing out and off we would go into sunshining-wrinkle-obtaining bliss. It was the life........until one day.
It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon when your body has had too much sun and you aren’t sure if what you are seeing is real or imagined. We had been sunning in silence for at least an hour. I looked at the log for quite and while and finally ventured a syllable to my friend.
“S.?” I said.
“I know, I see it. What is it?” she asked before I even had the syllable out.
“Do you think it’s a log?” I asked hoping.
We stood up. It went down. Oh crappola. We were in trouble. No way to get the rafty thing to shore without someone paddling from underneath the water. I wasn’t getting in. She wasn’t getting in. No one was around. You would think with all these houses around, someone would be outside. But, this WAS East Texas in summer. No one goes outside in 100 degree weather with 500 % humidity. No one except an idiot……
It came up again even closer. Sheeesh! No denying it now. We were being stared at by a large reptile. Oh-MY-GOD!
We were no girlie girls. We had been swimming in swamps, SWAMPS! for God’s sake! But there is a difference in thinking there may be water moccasins and alligators and KNOWING there are such creatures and that they KNOW about you.
We did the only thing that any self-respecting Southern girl would do under these circumstances. We screamed for help at each and every passing car.
Wait! Someone pulled over. It was a car full of cowboys in boots and hats and cowboy attire. No not a truck, a car FULL. They ran down the grassy shoulder ( it was not a grassy knoll, stop it!) and asked what our cotton pickin’ problem was? We screamed back. Alligator! Of course he was nowhere in sight. They laughed and made fun.
“A alligator!” they said in stupid girl voices. “Eeeeewww!”
He rose from the depths. They screamed.
One ran back to the car and our hero of the day lept back out of the car in, I kid you not, green jogging shorts with white piping, tube socks and cowboy boots. No shirt. No one ever claimed heros are all fashion conscious. Were those shorts under his jeans? We will never know.
He got to the edge of the lake, took off the boots and socks and dove in. He swam to us, pushed us to the boat house that we came from and let us get on the ground. We shyly said thank you and promptly ignored him when he thought he might ask one of us for a date. That’s high school gratitude for you.
We never sunbathed out there again. I still miss it.