As our littlest one would say, "Of course I want to play Sorry again. It's so much fun!" (So we do, as often as we can.)
Which is how I felt tonight about spinning. My wheel stays idle for months and then I remember that I love this.
As I noted, I love it more without the brightest yellow bits. Sometimes I wonder if I have very strange reactions to colors, because I'm pretty much all about single-color yarns, although I love colorwork. Oh well, unless I'm going to start dyeing or get a drum carder, I'm not going to worry about it.
Worrying about aging has become something of a hobby for me, though. Currently, I'm annoyed that I have something I consider a serious Old Lady problem. One of my heels has cracked in the dry weather:
Nothing like slathering coconut oil on a foot before bed to make me feel the miles. . .
2 comments:
My very wise mother said to me when I told her that I had found my first gray hair at age 24: "What, did you think you *wouldn't* get them?"
Maybe age-obsession is a California thing. I dunno. I do know though that you're both a spinner and a knitter; lanolin and wool socks are fab for feet! So is bag balm, every night. Sigh. I feel old suddenly admitting that. But then again wool socks are mandatory between Oct-Apr around here.
I do know what you mean, though, Ms S. I look in the mirror and am startled sometimes. I guess I have this conception of myself that I am 25, but, twenty years on, things have been, uh, improved, even though my hair and weight are the same. Okay, grayer hair and skinnier face and neck, but, well, yeah. Does it count that I still feel that I am 25?
No kidding. The disconnect between inside and outside is perhaps the problem. I keep getting these jolts. Time to knit socks, I guess. After mittens!
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