Any Time Now

I have been drinking coffee for…oh…let’s just say a while. One would think that after so much experience drinking coffee, one would know coffee often comes hot, and one should approach her cup with caution, or one might wind up slightly scalded.

I woke up with sinuses clogged with the promise of Spring. I put on my Spring earrings, Venetian millefiori, which (if my exceedingly tenuous grasp of Romance languages hasn’t failed me) translates to A Thousand Flowers, and that seemed appropriate for such a clear and promise filled morning. I wrapped up in my light weight hooded sweatshirt/jacket, and headed out the door, ready to breathe in the mild morning air.

It was 27 degrees.

Seriously?!? There are buds on the trees. Green little things are sprouting out of the ground. My sinuses SWEAR that it should have been more like 44 degrees. But no, it was below freezing. My poor blueberry bush was shivering in its pot on the back porch; the poor thing had to stare into the back door all night, being able to just see into the warmth of the house, but banished to the below freezing porch. Bad gardener, maybe no blueberries this summer.

Apparently I am just trying to bypass February altogether and get straight into March, which is probably pretty standard practice for me.

I am even letting go of my deep blue passion and searching out Spring and Summer colors lately. I have fallen head over heels in love with this roving. It is a merino silk blend in my colors. See, I may have a problem with blue, especially cobalt blue or blues blended with gray, white, and black (like this!), but green is still my one true color. I want this roving. I want it BAD. But I am cheap. Well, I am poor and being poor makes me cheap. I gaze into its pixels on my monitor, I contemplate what I would do with it. I imagine caressing its softness before splitting it into two 2 ounce bumps, drop spindling each one, plying them together on the wheel, and in the perfect world that is my imagination, I would achieve a stunning lace-weight or a perfect sock-weight yarn. Then, I would carefully knit it into some soft, wispy cowl or some gorgeous lace-pattern socks.

But in reality, I would spin up something slightly slubby with some too-thin spots, under-ply it, try and knit it, hate the pattern, and wind up hating myself for spending money we don’t have on a project that didn’t turn out.

That is, of course, me talking myself out of it, in an attempt to keep me from spending my little Pay-Pal stash of cash.

Hey Economy! You can turn yourself around anytime now!


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