Honey, I don’t know what we’ve all got down here, but I can’t really recommend your coming to visit until we get the Bubonic Plague Removal Squad in here. What houseful of randomly sick individuals–ever since last Wednesday, lurching through the weekend, it’s been all the time with the barfing, the coughing, the heating up and the chilling, the aching, the complaining. Oy! Get me outta here!
I’m ashamed to say that I managed to get through Labor Day without a single somber thought about the labors of whoever it is we’re supposed to be remembering. Happy Labor Day? Good Labor Day to ye? I dunno. All I know is that when I was in a labor union myself–District 65 of the United Auto Workers, no less, which was a union for the publishing industry–there was no such thing as merit pay, and we made the same crummy salaries as everybody else. I did, however, once get to sing the ILGWU song, non-ironically, at an International Ladies Garment Worker Union event. “Look for the union label, when you are buying a coat, dress, or blouse . . .”
Ah, but enough of the On the Waterfront nostalgia–those days are but a tender memory. When I haven’t been at the superb Dr. Allen’s office getting antibiotic shots in my rear area, or chasing children around the house with barfy buckets, I have been chugging my way through Eunny’s Print o’ the Wave thingie. It’s not really a shawl, or a scarf, or an antimacassar. It just is.
There are 34 repeats of the waves, and I’ve got 7 to go. Dying to move on to the grafting and edging portion of this little project. Thinking that a floatier yarn would be divine in this, though I’m kind of liking the shimmery mercerized cotton deal.
I know we could debate this endlessly, but I do believe that tennis is the finest of sports to watch while knitting. You can stop at the spicy bits, then cruise through those mid-set doldrums. I watched every moment of Andre Agassi’s final three matches, in a bleary way. What a guy! What an achy back he’s going to have!
I’ve got some tasty Mason-Dixon Mailbag mail to share with you, which will have to wait a day, alas.