Fingerless glove

looking for what's missing... I'm a knitting, spinning, mother of teenagers with a big dog, a small cat, minus the lovely rabbit Meliflua.

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Location: Virginia, United States

Right now I'm listening to "An Irish Country Village" by Patrick Taylor, reading "Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake" by Anna Quindlen and knitting Wisconsin Wintersocks. And casting off the lace shawl I've been working on since I last posted.

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Reading Tom Sawyer

I just came in from stacking firewood and was scratching mosquito bites & feeling sorry for myself, when I discovered you can check the mosquito forecast! Isn't that convenient? Yahoo's weather page offers it. Just plug in a zip code and it gives you a very serious and professional looking graph as if that's of any use whatsoever. I popped in my zip code and found out -- as sorry as I was feeling for myself -- we only have moderate mosquito levels. Rank amateurs on the mosquito front. The bunny hill. Training wheels. The shallow end. Worse yet, the baby pool.

Still, I enjoyed stacking the firewood. Once the smoke-belching, racket-raising chainsaws & splitters are quiet, I enjoy making a neat orderly stack out of the chaos. I'm good at it. Actually, I'm the best in the house. It takes a developed sense of spatial relationships to make the stack come out nicely balanced so next winter when you pull out a chunk, it doesn't all land on your foot. It takes careful attention to the wood species & sizes, blending big & little, the hot burning maple with the slower burning oak so your fire doesn't get too hot, or too cold, but just right. It takes a keen eye to watch for snakes (to avoid) & toads (not to squash), all the while quietly singing Rolling Stones songs to myself. It is a Zen-like art.

Then there's the anticipation of those cheerful fires when the weather turns nasty, a cozy glow to toast your tootsies. All in all, stacking firewood is satisfying -- a delight even.

Do I sound convincing? Do you think the kids will buy it?

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