I’m eager to begin a scarf with the wool from those Québécois alpaca in the photo. The wool has the best wooly smell, and the pattern is sweet. I’m almost half way through my second gold and rust mitt, and loving the methodical colourwork. It’s just coming along so easily now. There is that Hazelhurst that I’m working on for Sonja, too, but I have to knit eight feet of that. (Anything for my girl!?!)
The phone rang this evening, and the voice on the other end asked what I was doing. I thought I should have recognized the number, and the female voice; but to buy myself some time, I just answered truthfully, “Knitting a mitten.”
There was the funniest pause on the other end, so I added that I had been making beeswax candles that morning. Again with that pause.
And at that point, I realized that I had “normal” on the other end of the line, and (I also made the connection with the voice and the phone number) and attempted to amend the conversation to “normal.” You know, the kind where they ask you how you’re doing, and you say fine because that’s would be a normal response. What are you doing should be answered with watching TV because truthfully, the television was on.
Knitting? Quaint! Beeswax candles? Double quaint! Homemade chicken soup with the noodles made from scratch because your husband has a cold and it was a special request? Grrrr…why does everyone think this is so strange?
I think I’ll just sit here and breathe. There’s the sweet, warm, honey smell of the candles; the soft, sheepy smell of the wool; and the heavenly aroma of the simmering (and much appreciated) soup. “Normal” can have their Febreze and their acrylic and their microwave dinners.
I’m just fine, thanks.