Monday, November 30, 2020

Non-tradional but nonetheless thankful

And so I contentedly live upon eels
And try to do nothing amiss
And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals
In innocent slumber like this

I picked a bad month to start my yarn diet.

I was doing really well though. Until this weekend, I purchased no yarn in November.

But then came Thanksgiving week. First there were all the early Black Friday sales, then Black Friday itself. Still, I resisted.

I resisted, that is, until just before midnight on Small Business Saturday, when an indie dyer increased her discount to 50 percent off for the final hour.

I bought three skeins of solid colors to fill some gaps in my collection.

You know how it goes, once the dam breaks.

And now comes Cyber Monday.

In all seriousness, I’ve placed one additional order, for some handspun fractal yarn I’ve been coveting at a 30 percent discount. 

I have my eye on one more order of some exquisite gradient yarn at 25 percent off.

I showed the colors I want to Neil and he said, how could you ever knit with it, it’s so pretty just to look at.

That’s true about much yarn I own. It’s too pretty to use. If I use it, I won’t have it to use.

But maybe if I buy more, it will liberate for use some of the gorgeous yarn that I’ve had for a while.

After today, I’m going back on my yarn diet. It doesn’t count if I get gift cards to my local yarn shop, and my local yarn shop membership yarn redemption doesn’t count.

In theory, I’d like to buy all my yarn from my local, but Kim doesn’t stock all the brands that I love most. I do love her house hand-dyed yarn and I try to support the shop as much as I can.

But I really do need to knit primarily from my stash.

It isn’t the money.

It’s the fact that in two years I’ve stashed so much gorgeous yarn that I doubt I could possibly use up if I knit with it exclusively for the next few years.

That puts pressure on me. I don’t like waste. I want to use the yarn I own. To some degree it’s a matter of choosing patterns that I can make out of my yarn in hand. Perhaps to a greater extent, it’s an issue of giving myself permission to dive it and use the good stuff.

But what the heck. I’ll call it my last hurrah. 

There’s no time like December to restart my yarn diet.

First world problem, I know. In the meantime, life goes on it’s temporary normal way, with the coronavirus surging and the post-election political fallout boggling the mind.

As I’m sure you know, the whole election-transition-debacle has been a train wreck. The way Trump keeps saying that he won, the crazy things he tweets, I wonder why he hasn’t been taken away in a strait jacket. He’s that delusional. No, deranged.

Fortunately so far, reason has prevailed, in the courts and in the state governments. But I can’t look away and I’m eager for the transfer of power to be a fait accompli.

Thanksgiving was quiet, but that’s typical for us. We had a nice family FaceTime call in the morning. We took a small pan of lasagna over to a friend who had no plans. I was hoping for a balmy temperature so that we could have her over and sit (safely apart) on our screened patio, but the weather didn’t cooperate.

The biggest excitement around here is that our oldest cat, Loki, has been diagnosed with diabetes. In the past couple of months I’d noticed some behavior changes. After years of the exact same morning routine of him sitting in my lap while I had coffee, he suddenly stopped. His appetite was healthy, but I’m ashamed that I didn’t notice how thin he’d gotten.  Or how he was always thirsty, or at least drinking water.

Then a couple of weeks ago I petted him and realized that he didn’t have much meat in his bones. So I made a vet appointment. He’d lost almost three pounds from his heaviest weight. The vet ran some tests. We hoped the diagnosis would be an overactive thyroid, which is relatively simple to treat. 

Now we have to give him insulin injections every 12 hours. The shots are no big deal, much easier that giving a pill, but it’s a good thing we aren’t traveling these days because of the feeding schedule. He has to be on a low carb diet, no dry food at all, which means no more free feeding, which means that all the cats have to adjust to mealtimes. 

I’m trying to transition all of them to canned food, but the two younger ones are not huge fans so far. We’ve set up a dry food station for them in the office, behind French doors. I call it the snack bar. 

I have no idea how we will manage things when we are able to travel again. Probably by paying a lot of money for someone to house sit or come over 2-3 times a day.

For now though, I’m just grateful that Loki’s feeling better. He goes to the vet this week for a glucose curve. I think he’s put on a little weight already.  And it’s not unheard of for diabetic cats to go into remission. 

All in all, things are all right.

My age is three hundred and seventy-two
And I think, with the deepest regret
How I used to pick up and voraciously chew
The dear little boys whom I met
I've eaten them raw, in their holiday suits
I've eaten them curried with rice
I've eaten them baked, in their jackets and boots,
And found them exceedingly nice
But now that my jaws are too weak for such fare
I think it exceedingly rude
To do such a thing, when I'm quite well aware
Little boys do not like being chewed
And so I contentedly live upon eels
And try to do nothing amiss
And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals
In innocent slumber like this
(Charles E. Carryl, Natalie Merchant © Downtown Music Publishing)