St. Brigid was officially baptized last night -- the only thing missing was actual Guinness, but it was enjoyed in spirit. At practically the last minute, I was offered a ticket to last night's performance by Gaelic Storm. Third row orchestra on the right; let's just say that my right ear is a tad hearing challenged this morning. 'Twas all worth it! We had a blast. The fiddle and pipes (oh, I love me some pipes) and that big, long, horn thing... Ya just can't sit still! I'd never seen them before, but judging by their tour schedule, they must like Wisconsin, and I don't doubt that I'll see them again. The grrs would love them!
There was not a single stitch knitted yesterday, even with all those projects vying for attention that I showed yesterday. The photography shoot was my only contact with fiber!
As of yesterday, most of the ice and snow had melted in the south-facing back yard (the north-facing driveway is still a skating rink). It's at this time every year that the brick paths are surveyed for damage. These are all locally salvaged building bricks, not originally intended for paths or landscape use, so I think they take a harder hit from the weather. Their aesthetic and history appeal to us much more than their endurance factor, but that means that there are annual casualties. One to three inches of new snow will cover these bricks today -- the repairs are still several weeks out.
I don't know what to call this. A pack of cigarettes, I guess. It's one of two that I bought on my way home last night, and hopefully it's among the last that I will ever buy. I read the lovely, oinkety, Purling Swine Ann's post yesterday and it struck a chord. Before I knew it, I was not only leaving a comment, but throwing my hat into the quitting ring. Oh, please, let me quit smoking with you! Misery loves company and all that junk. All I'm going to say right now is that I'm going to do it. I've been needing to do it and knowing that I should do it and, truthfully, the knowledge of this screams at me much more than knitting projects do -- every minute of every day -- and it's amazing how a person can just tune stuff out, along with the emails from QuitNet that I've been receiving (and ignoring) since I signed up for that months ago. I've been ignoring my own voice (and my husband's and mother's and kids', etc.) for years. It's time to snap-to!
I just know, no matter what, I'll never be as cute and funny with an oxygen tank as Maggie Smith in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I love her, but I remember thinking, while watching the movie, how very sad that was, too. I don't ever want the knitting of oxygen tank cozies in my project line-up.
I told DH this morning. You should have seen his face light up. He's never smoked; his chain-smoking mother took care of that. He said that he'd keep his trap shut and let me tell the kids. Kt will be the first to know since she reads my blog (Hi, Sweetie! You keep your trap shut, too! Love, Mom).
I'm just warning you: It might get bitchy and boring and whiny 'round here for a while. There might be tears at the drop of a stitch marker. I've got a week to lay in a supply of chocolate, gum, kleenex, patches and lollipops. Wish me luck. I'll take advice, encouragement, and love, too.