If a person has two left feet...
...might they have two right hands? If only that were true, the little knitting that was accomplished at Chez Knitorious over the weekend might have been worth keeping. Instead, after discovering (half-way through the thumb gusset) that I was making a second right-hand mitten, it was recovery mode knitting. Had it not been for the frogging, I might soon have a finished mitten. In a pathetic and pitiful attempt at defense, I'm just going to say that there has been very little difference between left and right in any of the other mittens I've made so far. I'm thinking (hoping) that it's one of those make it once and you'll never forget again mistakes.
Scamp and Duncan were nearby as I took down the tree on Saturday afternoon. The new toilet came in two great new boxes with cut-out handles that I decided to use for holiday decor, so the box that Scamp found so comfy is not really needed anymore. There are a few things under all the tissue that I still need to rescue -- like the preschool "Angel Ai" gift where her "wings" are her handprints in gold paint and her picture is pasted atop a gold paper "dress," and it's the funniest and sweetest thing ever because she has the most sour grapes look on her face! Duncan was curled up on the skirt, right under the tree, the whole time. I found a fair number of
cat toys ornaments rolling around on the floor behind the tree, but all were intact.
I continue to be absolutely astounded at how well Duncan has been accepted into our family -- especially by the other cats. Scamp's "spot" is atop my wingback recliner* in the living room. He was perched up there last night watching while I was trying to discourage Duncan from using my chair as a scratching post. Smart little kitty that he is, he went 'round back where my foot couldn't reach and I heard him claw his way all the way up -- right next to Scamp! There was barely a reaction.
*Once upon a time, several years ago, DH went out of town on business for a few weeks. I don't think he'd even made it to the corner before I embarked on a sudden mission to clean and rearrange the living room. I had a wingback recliner then, too, that DH had given me for Christmas some years before. That's where I'd sit while nursing Mdd, and 4-year-old Ai would use the wing as leverage to swing in and say, "Hi," eventually crippling the wing. DH "fixed" the gimpy wing by driving in two long, black screws -- right into the side of a chair with very light-colored upholstery. The chair had other problems, too, having to do with toddlers, grape juice, Silly Putty... It took me a split-second to decide that if I was going to move it at all, the only place for it was the curb. In a heartbeat, I was on my way to a nearby furniture outlet where I bought a new recliner. In an "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar" moment, I also bought a second chair. And an oak entertainment center. And I could not wait a day or two for delivery -- no adrenalitis here -- so arranged a truck from work to go pick it up and bring it over. When it arrived at my doorstep, the roar turned into a "What have I done? What got into me?" wimper and the realization that it was too late to turn back and I'd have to tell DH that I not only bought a chair without even giving him a clue, but two other pieces of furniture besides. Even at an outlet center, three pieces of fabulously priced furniture does not equal chump change! I did not fear DH or his reaction, and I did not incur debt, but had never done anything quite like that before and was rather embarrassed to have to admit that I'd gone off like a loose cannon. Okay, sorry; I'm foaming at the fingertips. I guess there should be a moral to this story. Hm, quite a few, but chief is that this was like being high -- and that recliner, so enjoyed by members of my household, serves as a daily reminder of how quickly I can be swept away, almost unaware.