Now Norma Knits

Today's Entry Is Brought To You By The Number FIVE

Five years!  I cannot believe it.  And in the last year and at least four months, I've written every single day.  Phew.  Sick of me yet?  I'm almost sick of me, but definitely not sick of the blog.  I suppose it's time for another one of those trite, treacly posts -- I can't help myself, and I think I'm entitled.  So here goes:

The blog is one of the best things I've ever done for myself. It has enriched my life in ways I can hardly believe and certainly never would have envisioned six years ago. 

My gains:  Dozens of very close friends -- friends I can count on to lift me up when I'm down, to pull my feet back on the ground when my head gets too far into the clouds, to share with, to gossip with, to complain to.  Trips.  Festivals.  Vacations. A cruise. Red Scarves. New gardeners. Visitors. Learning. And laughing. And kvetching. And crying. And yelling. And wondering. And sharing. And maturing. And encouraging. And, well, there you have it --  a big, sugary heaping helping of trite and treacle. 

For sticking around, I'd like to offer a random winner a token of my friendship.  I have a gorgeous Persephone Scarf kit that I bought at last year's Vermont Sheep & Wool Festival for just this occasion. 

The pattern is written by my dear friend Miriam from Salt Lake City, Utah, and the yarn is by my dear friend Judy from Wherever In New England She Happens To Be At Any Given Moment, but often in Vermont.  I got an extra skein so the scarf could be made nice and long.  I am a fan of the long scarf. 

The scarf kit is filled with meaning -- Persephone in Greek mythology was the Goddess of Spring (and don't we all wish for spring right about now?), the kit is the product of two of my friends, and, well, it's purple.  What more could you ask? 

 

This being the season of Vermont maple syrup, you can bet there will be some syrup in the package, as well as a jar of my rose petal jam.  And since it's from me, you just know there will be a little bit of snark and sarcasm in there, too.    

Just leave a five-word, five-syllable, five-sentence, five-item -- or, hell, something to do with fives -- comment. 

Happy blogiversary to me.

2009.1 Encore!? A Bunch of Thoughts Strung Together To Set The Crazy-Soup Tone For The New Year

A'ight, here we go again.  Let's see.  Second verse, same as the first?

I do hope not, but one does wonder whether one will become a repetitive bore after a while.  I looked in my archives to see what I did last New Year's Day, and all I did was have a stash sale.  No "Happy New Year," nothing.

That is a funny exercise, going back and looking through my archives.  I will sometimes go, "Wow, that was a pretty good post," or "Hey, I remember thinking that photo was crap, but it's actually not so bad," or "I do not remember that at ALL. I'm so glad I blogged it."  But then sometimes I go back looking for something good or interesting and say, "Huh?  All I did last New Year's Day was have a stash sale?"

Nutso. 

Crazy soup.

I thought about it a bit more and wondered why such a banal post for New Year's Day?  And then I remembered:  Abigail was home for a much-needed breather and serious soul-searching and decision time about whether she would keep on acting or not (she is not any longer -- she loves acting, was meeting with excellent success, but hates the actor's life, so now she's applying to law schools), and my little Vincent was suffering pretty badly.  I was carrying him up and down stairs, he was in a great deal of pain, and I was facing his final days.  Now I'm all teary-eyed, remembering.  I miss him a lot, still.  He really owned my heart, that little guy.  I still accidentally say his name when talking to or about Mr. Jefferies, and David, who claimed to only ever "tolerate" him all those years, still recalls fond memories about him, too. He actually brings Vincent's name up more often than I, and uses the following words, "I loved it when Vincent......"  Just tolerated? I think not.  Funny how that works, eh? 

Everybody in my extended family loved The Vincent, and everybody misses him terribly.  My mom is a dog person, and she is already smitten by little Mr. Jefferies.  At our last visit with him, she said to me, "Next thing we know, you'll be getting one of these little dogs."  I know that is a whole lot of wishful thinking on her part, because she adored Vincent and loved to watch him often, without the responsibility of pet ownership.  Me, I'm not ready for another.  My life is too busy, too unpredictable, my days sometimes too long, I like to be free to travel on a whim, and a dog, especially a little dog, needs routine and consistency. 

Speaking of long days, that Ally of mine is going to be getting me up at oh-dark-thirty for the entire month of January.  Seven-blech-thirty lectures every morning!!!  When she first told me, I grabbed my throat and made GACK sounds.  Made a very big spectacle of myself, I did.  But I love it, and as we all know by now, if I set my mind to something..... well, either I'm going to be fine or someone's gonna DIE; not sure which.  Hahaha.  It'll be all right.  Most days I will be able to get home early and take a nap.  I hope I will pull out the reserves and get my arse to the gym. 

I love this article, mostly the title.  Backwoods Vermont.  Yeah, I guess that's right.  I guess I shall have to try some of those restaurants. 

Here's another title I recently read to a travel article:  "Road to Happiness Has No Itinerary."  Love it. 

The other day when I was wheeling my overfilled cart out of a certain healthy food emporium I frequent, I stopped at the bin of donations for the food shelf.  I am forever stunned at what people will buy and put in there.  Of course pasta abounds, which seems like it could be a good food -- unless you're like me (and many other people) who don't do well at all with wheat, and there is no protein or any other nutrition, really, in a box of plain white pasta.  If I were hungry and that's all there was, of course I'd eat it, but it would be detrimental to my health, leading to all kinds of other problems for a person of limited means.  Ever wonder why there is so much obesity amongst the poor?  But this one takes the cake:  Rice cakes.  About four bags of rice cakes.  Someone actually put that in the food shelf bin.  I mean, I guess it's something -- kudos for the thought, I guess -- but man, if I'm hungry, you might as well give me a bag of air. 

A jar of peanut butter or a can of tuna would have cost probably the same amount, and would be filled with oh, so much more nutrition.  A box of oatmeal would cost less.  Where are people's heads?  Honestly!  I had so hoped that Vermont had built up an immunity to stupid people, but alas, it is not so.

So to counteract the rice cake dumbass, I went and bought another one of those very convenient "Fund A Meal" boxes that the Hannaford supermarkets are now selling.  Yes, there is pasta in there, but there are also protein-filled items and vegetables and fruits. 

Of course, the better thing is to just send money.  We do that on a monthly basis, but the rice cakes really just made me snap. 

 

365. This is IT!

On midnight, December 31, are you going to cease posting every single day? The world wants to know!

Posted by: Mary K. in Rockport
--------------------------------------

365, but really 425.  That's number of days in a row blogging. (I did a 60-day warmup leading up to 365, to see if I felt I could keep up the momentum, and apparently I can.)

Fess up Norma! What are you (and the blog) going to be doing the day after tomorrow? 

Posted by: Felicia

I don't know if I'm out of control, I'm on a roll, I simply don't know how to stop, or I'm a train wreck, but I thank and appreciate those of you who come here every day to tune in.

Oh, gosh. Can't people find a hobby?
:D
LX

Posted by: sandy

It's proved to me a fact that I think I already knew, and that I have mentioned before:  That the real hobby here is the blogging itself.

I want to hear more about your personal affairs.

Posted by: Roxie

Not every day's entry is profound.  Most are certainly not.  Not every day is entertaining.  Not every day is enlightening or educational or sincere.  But on the whole, it's been a worthwhile exercise for me, and I hope that this crazy soup of whatever it is you get here has been fun for you. 

In order to maintain your happy life, it is probably necessary for you to continue to post every day. I know that if you did so, you would contribute to my happiness.

Posted by: Adelaide

It's fun (with several exclamation marks) for me.  It's easy and natural.  I'm not sure if it's improved my writing, or whether it's just maintained consistency in exercising the writing muscles, or whether I am just plain an exhibitionist.  I do believe it has improved my powers of observation and my ability to find something interesting in my day, each and every day, to write about.

Never a dull moment 'round here...

Posted by: Vicki

It makes me happy. It never, ever feels like a chore to me. It keeps me from getting down, or even if I am down, to find something worthwhile (I hope) about the "down" to write about: 

I would like to request that your life continue to give you shit. It's so damned entertaining for the rest of us. ~ kmkat

I have immensely enjoyed the comments and emails asking whether I will continue, asking me to please continue, and the fact that if anyone has left, they've left quietly, without telling me I'm a hopeless bore or a self-centered idiot or that they can't stomach me any longer because of the profanity or exhibitionism or Narcissism, or that my blog lacks focus and cohesiveness. 

Oh yes, things could get so much worse. If I had your life I'd burn mine. Oh wait, that isn't how it goes..anyway.

Posted by: margene

The Bloglines subscriptions have decreased.  At one point I was concerned because the number was going down quite precipitously, and it seemed that I was either wearing people out or boring them to death, so they were leaving in droves.  (or so it seemed to the hypersensitive blogger in me)

Obviously you need to go back to the Museum of Sex and make a gift-shop purchase. Or at least line up another massage. ;)

Posted by: Kristen

But the Bloglines number stabilized and has remained constant for what seems like forever (no growth!  What's up with that?  But at least no further losses) and the number of overall readers has increased by quite a substantial number. I'm a bit confused by that, because when I look at some of my peers' blogs who are in the same sort of numbers category as I, I notice that their Bloglines have gone up and up and up, and mine have, at best, remained stagnant.  I know there are several other feedreaders, and the blog can be read through Ravelry, but that would be true for my peers, as well, so that's not the end of the analysis.  I'm not sure what it all means, but I don't spend too much time thinking about it. 

Honey, you always kick ass. Are you going to do another 365? Might be fun for you. I know it would be fun for us.

xo

Posted by: Cookie

One thing that has suffered in this exercise is my ability to respond to comments as religiously as before, and to visit other people's blogs.  I'm sad about that, and I have tried to do better lately.  I think it has less to do with the daily blogging and more to do with what else is going on in my life, which, compared to Martha Stewart or Tina Fey or Oprah is maybe not much, but compared to many other 49-year-old women, I think, is quite a lot.  I appreciate the loyal commenters, and the occasional ones, more than you know.

Oh no. Only a week of Norma-every-day left? But... but I'm hooked! I NEED my fix!

Posted by: Joan 

Ditto on the 365-blogging for 2009. I need my daily dose of Norma AND Sandy.

Posted by: Diane T 

Thank you for the 2008 / 365 blogging! I love it. Would a lot of bribery be needed for a 2009 / 365?

Posted by: Beebs

It is so nice to know you are out there, and that something I have written has touched you in some way -- be it your funny bone, something I've taught you, something you take issue with, or some conversation I've inspired.  Hopefully there is some usefulness, rather than just emptiness and drivel, in at least some of what I write.

I thank you for supporting all the causes I put forth, be it the Red Scarf Project, voting for a book from my author friend (Martin tells me he is hard at work on his next Mrs. Hudson book, which will feature an American femme fatale in honor of me!), saying happy birthday to a friend of mine, voting for a budding soap opera actor, or sending warm clothes for a clothing drive. 

So, the verdict:  Didn't that test I took the other day predict this?  "Relative happiness."

Congratulations on making it to 365! Are you rally going to take a year off from blogging now? Rumor? Who started that rumor? Wasn't me. I had nothing to do with that. And, are you really moving to New York to go back into whatever it was you did in England all those years ago? And what about all those other rumors???? Huh?

Posted by: Dave Daniels |

I don't have a plan, I make no promises, but I foresee myself not being able to get off the track for a while more.  Surely the letters coming out of the keyboard which form words and thoughts cannot pour out infinitely and indefinitely, but for now, I guess you're stuck with me.  Or not.

Someone has to set a bad example.

 
(From Anne Taintor.)

So now I have a Happy New Year's gift to give you.  Leave a comment to this post, and I'll put your name in a drawing for a nice surprise package. I won't tell you just what's in it, but I will guarantee it's good and will include some things from my beautiful native state of Vermont. I will tell you ONE thing that's in it.  Well, I'll give you a hint.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone!

 

339. Staring At The Screen...

...for over half an hour, with nothing to say, and no energy to say it. 

266. Or 267. WTF Wednesday Comes Back With A Rip

RIPPPPPPP! 

That is never a good sound to hear when one is getting out of one's car at work at 7:30 a.m., especially when one's work is over a half hour from home and is on a college campus, and one's work day runs from 8 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. that particular day. 

How in the hell did that happen, in just this way?  It doesn't make sense, this rip.  That is in the back of my skirt, near the kick-slit in the center back, and this is denim, not some mamby-pamby fabric.  This is a long pencil skirt, and it's not even tight. Thankfully it could have been worse. It could have been an above-the-knee skirt, I suppose, and my nether regions could have been exposed to the world, and not just an extra flash of leg.

It's always something. 

And speaking of It's Always Something, Terry brought to my attention the night before last that there were as of that day 100 more days left to the calendar year, and that therefore I (and Sandy) must be off on our counting of the days in the Blog 365 project, since that day we labeled our entries 264.  Well.  I laughed 'til I cried, because we all love that Terry and her anally wonderful ways, and I don't know how to refute it.  I do remember one time when I repeated a number and someone brought it to my attention, so I fixed it.  However, maybe there was another time that happened!  There should really be 366 days this year, in fact, but we took leap day off, if you recall.  Or did I actually do that?  I can't remember if I was strong enough to actually not blog that day -- that was the "rule," but did I break it?  I think I didn't, which is to say I didn't break the "rule," and I did not blog that day.  I imagine I must have chewed off my right arm, but it seems to have grown back. 

It would be easy enough (but tedious) to find out about the numbers, and/or also to find out if this is the 267th (really 268th because of the leap year complication) day of the year, but as I'm writing this, it's easier for me to just ruminate-type and wonder-type, since, you know, the typing comes so naturally to me, than it is to look it up.  I am loath to go looking through all my entries this year (260-something of them!) to look, but if you are very bored and want to do it, be my guest, and report back to us your findings. 

However, I can hardly stop laughing enough to clear my eyes to type this thing, and I am typing by feel (I'm good at that, right?) because Terry has got me going so far into hysterics. To think that we might actually get to December 31st, after having written every single solitary day for well over the 365 (because remember I "practiced" for a good two months before the actual start of the project), only to find that I had misnumbered all my entries?  I can hardly stand it.  I think I should have an eggnog right NOW, just in case.  Make that a double.

Of course, in the end it doesn't matter what, or even whether, the posts are numbered -- just that we've blogged every day of the year.  Claudia and Kay said at the beginning of the project that they thought I was crazy enough ("in a good way" to quote them both) to do this.  It appears I am.  But I've got company, and it's company that frankly (sorry, girls, to have doubted you) I didn't think would stick with it.  It's my favorite hobby of all my many hobbies, so although I thought I might (and have) had days when I felt a little bit like I'd hit the wall, it's really natural and not hard for me.  For others, that is not the case.  I'm so proud of my compatriots for whom it's more of an effort.   

Terry, I love you.  More than you can imagine. Figure out those numbers, will ya?  Or I might just pull random numbers out the air for the rest of the year just for the hell of it. 

200th Post. Wow.

Actually, when I reach these milestone posts, I must annoyingly add that it's MORE, because, yeah, I started way back on November 1 of the year previous.  I can't even remember what year that was now. 

I tried the other day to post something from my BlackBerry. That was not fun and I will not be trying it again in the future.  So if and when I go gallivanting, I have to bring my laptop.  I've got four weeks unscheduled (!) coming up after the end of this week, followed by a whole lot of being scheduled IN A VERY BIG WAY 'til December. Or as I said to Ann the other day, "See me now, Baby, 'coz come the end of August, you won't be seein' me again 'til December."

As the type of freelancer I was for 10 or 12 years, one just can't call something a vacation, one gets lots of unplanned vacations, and one is unable to plan true vacations. It never fails:  Just the week or two that you'd have reserved for a vacation would follow a five-week drought of work and that PARTICULAR week is the one when all the good lucrative jobs might fall and you've missed out on a good chunk of income. Add that to hefty tuition payments for almost 10 years, and I'm seriously out of the habit of taking vacations.

This is about to change. So let the gallivanting begin. Don't be surprised if I show up on your doorstep. Don't worry -- I'm not high-maintenance. I have a strange Tempur-Pedic neck pillow that I am inordinately attached to.  I will probably be carrying that on a hobo stick, but that and a shower and a blow-dryer are pretty much all I need.  Oh, and the laptop, of course.

196. Throwing the (non?)Knitters a Bone(r?)

Someone named "Gail" left a comment a little while ago saying, in essence, "Can't you throw us knitters a frickin' bone here?"

How's that?   

I know, I know.  I've been talking excessively about gardening.  I've gotten that feedback a couple of times recently. Ironically, it's come from a couple of non-knitters, and males.  I wonder what they read here before?  Certainly the knitting was not keeping them interested.  I really do think it was the novelty factor, which has worn off. Sigh. It happens, right? You're all exciting to a guy in the beginning, and then you become old hat. Well, I got news for them:  Right back atcha, you feckers! 

Soon I might be forced to enter Lara's "Show Me Your Rack" contest, which I did promise her I'd do. The deadline is Friday, which is also my birthday, so I could possibly show my rack on my birthday to generate a little excitement around here. But I originally misread her request, and, you know, given my age and my station in life, and how stodgy and staid we all know that I am, I was thinking along the lines of "spice rack."

That, it turns out, is not what Lara had in mind.  I asked her, "Who wants to see a 49-year-old rack, anyway?"  And in a way, it's already been done back in December, remember?  And we mustn't forget my halter top phase.  Funny that Lara was the starter of that, as well.  What is it with Lara and the ta-tas, I wonder.

I remember two years ago or so, well before I started making my humble effort to educate and mentor non-gardeners through the blog (by popular demand, I might add), someone I know said she was bothered because "This time of year, all the blogs become gardening blogs."

Well, damnit.  It's what we're doing!  Or at least many of us are. We're not one-dimensional. We don't just knit. And this year, as I mentioned before, I've redoubled my efforts to talk a little bit more clearly and invitingly to those who expressed a sincere interest in learning more about the fine art of gardening, or who just wanted to grow their own first non-Salmonella-tainted, near-zero-carbon-footprint tomato. I made promises, I'm keepin' 'em.  Sorry if it's making some of you yawn.

There's also the extreme blogosity factor to take into consideration.  I'm blogging every day.  I'm taking part in the Blog 365 project, which means I'm blogging every gosh-derned DAY. I love the blogging, but sometimes I do have to dig a bit deep for something to blog about.  I'm enough of an exhibitionist, apparently -- or I'm that person at the party who never.SHUTS.UP.  And oh, lawdy, I know how wearing and what a turnoff that that can be.  I'm a huge hypocrite in this regard, because guess which blogs are the ones I stop reading:  The ones who write too much, too often.  So on that score, I can understand (because I do it, too) just not being able to keep up with caring enough to turn the page, as it were, to click one.more.goddamned.time into my blog. Especially if I'm waxing rhapsodic about a head of lettuce I just picked, or something equally banal.

Memo to self:  Blog's gotten boring. Sched. appt. for Brazilian wax & start knitting g-string, pasties.  Stat. 

183. July 2 - A Semi-Random Semi-Interesting (Maybe?) Wednesday Post

Today marks over half a year blogging every day.  Can I hear a woo?  And also a hoo?  (to quote Mamacate yet again)

The originator of Blog 365 has dropped out. Blasphemy. But we're still standing.  Not only standing, but enjoying it more every day.  For me it's as easy and natural as brushing my teeth -- easier, it seems, since I usually blog before I've brushed my teeth.  I may not write something really life-changing or worthwhile every day, but I'm heeeeere!  I'm heeeere and I love it.  It feels weird if I don't write every day, even if nobody is reading -- but a few of you stalwarts still are.  And a woo and a hoo for you too!

We all -- well, by "we all," I mean Sandy and I, because we are the only two who've talked about it together -- were surprised to learn that the originator of the project was a "he."  All along, for some inexplicable reason, we thought it was a she.  That's neither here nor there, but here is his post explaining why he stopped.  He has good reasons -- "life trumps blog," and he "was spending way too much time trying to think of what to blog." 

That sort of thinking kills me.  I don't see it that way at all.  I'm always thinking anyway, and always doing something, even if it's just going to the grocery store, so it's EASY to think of something to blog.  To each his own, I guess.  I find it slightly ironic that he ends his post with, "If you want to hire me as a pro blogger, I'm available."  Hahahahaahha. 

Shall I translate?  "I find it impossible to blog every day.  But hire me.  I would be good at the job." Ahem.

Nevah mind.  I don't mean to bash him, and I know it's coming off that way, so I'll stop while I'm ahead.  But you know I've always been known to say what I think, say what I mean, and mean what I say, right?  Plus, I'm in a somewhat shitty mood so I can't be held responsible for bashing. 

But back to the topic of blogging, who says what you write has to be earth-shatteringly interesting anyway?

To wit, I'm going to blog now. It may or may not be interesting, and I didn't agonize over what to write even one little bit. Watch me:

I learned something yesterday:  Berry-picking when you're angry is not a good idea.  The berry bushes will win.  I fell off a rock into a bed of thorns, severely damaged a favorite skirt, drove a thorn seriously into a finger, and tore up my ankle.  This is what it looked like after I cleaned it up. Who knew the title of my first post about the black raspberries would be so prophetic?

If there is one thing I need, it's my body to be intact (and especially my fingers!) in order to do my job.  So no matter how sweet the reward berries, it's not worth fighting the bushes in the wrong attire and in the wrong frame of mind. Nobody, however much they've pissed me off, is worth that. Plus, it didn't help one whit with the anger, which is still brewing mightily.  That's an important lesson.  I ought to write this down someplace so I'll remember it.  Oh wait, I just did. 

So, um....let's see.  My graduate student tells me yesterday her fall schedule is still in flux and that she might be taking....gulp....Latin.  Latin itself does not daunt me.  I took three years of it in high school with a really kickass teacher, and I rather love it, (I don't think I'm a necrophiliac, but I sometimes do tend to love dead or useless things, apparently) so though I'm rusty as all hell at it, it will come easily for me.  And as far as stenoing it, it will not be too bad at all, at least that's what I'm telling myself, since all the prefixes and suffixes and root words are nice and plain and wonderfully and beautifully Latin phonetic.  Six million percent better than any other world language, as far as the stenoing goes. It will just require a shitload of prep. It's ironic as all hell that not more than two weeks ago I threw away my dog-eared and disintegrating Latin pocket dictionary.  Sheesh. BUT she also tells me she may not need me for that course, so you see?  That last paragraph was just a waste of white space and time.  Sorry.  I'm a pathological blogger.  I write about anything, whether it's pointless or not.

And so will the organic chemistry I have to cover for another student, not to mention math of unspecified description for another (require a lot of prep, that is).  Eek. The psychology classes (I hope) will be fairly straightforward.  It's going to feel weird not to have neuroscience and molecular biology.  Damn, I've gotten good at those.  Now it's all new stuff, all humanities -- well, except for that pesky organic chem. The film/philosophy class I'm doing now is surprisingly hard to steno.  You just never know with this stuff what's going to be hard or easy.  This course is all Italian neorealism and international filmmakers and philosophers and history and politics of the world film industry. My brain is getting a cramp.   

It looks like I will have at least four times the schedule I had last semester, as it stands now, for this fall.  FOUR TIMES THE SCHEDULE, PEOPLE.  FOUR.TIMES.  FOUR. 

Should I repeat that one more time?  Four.  Quattro.  That, my folks, is the time when my blogging might start to flag, not when I can't think of anything to say.  I may be just simply too worn out to be able to move my fingers, let alone formulate thoughts.  However, if I may be so uncouth as to add, four times the income may just alleviate any tiredness issues I have.  Oh, wait.  It's more than four times the income, since I am also no longer paying an agency one-fifth of my income before I'm even out of the gate.  See?  I'm practicing on the math part already. Not that I'm planning on retiring anytime soon, and counting unhatched chickens of eggs all in one basket .... well, it's probably as good an idea as picking berries mad.  Someone could end up hurt.  Perhaps I should become a pro blogger.  I'm available.   

More on the blankets and squares for foster girls going to summer camp:  The Ravelry group to join and to get more info is called Donate A Square.

The info about where to send the squares, sizes and yarns (sounds like she's totally NOT PICKY about yarns and sizes -- crochet or knitted) is all in there, and if you're not in Ravelry, well, it pretty much sounds like anything goes as long as it's a square, and the address is in yesterday's blog post. 

Harvest Photo of the Day

Painful berries. There were a lot more than this, but I ate two big bowls full before I took the photo, strictly for medicinal purposes after I bunged-up my ankle and to assuage my pissedoffness. It was either that or alcohol, and I thought this was a healthier choice.  They were so goooooooood.   

Thank you for reading.  I love ya.

150. Raise Your Hand...

...if you shop like I do.

Find something that fits great, looks great, at a great price; buy one in every color. 

Work-worthy sleeveless tops from JCPenney. They were on sale for a certain price, but they rang up at an even more reduced price.  Plus, I used my Penney's card for an additional 15% off that day.  Soon they were going to be paying me to take them off their hands.  I exaggerate:  I did not buy them in every color -- only three of six available colors.  But that's only because they didn't have the other colors in my size, and, well, one of the colors was magenta, which really looks quite hideous on me and, when I see it in clothes, makes me want to vomit. I'm an equal-opportunity color-lover except when it comes to magenta and neons. (Although I can tolerate them in small doses -- very small doses -- such as in prints. And magenta flowers?  I'm all about it.)

May I also take this opportunity to mention, in a separate but related topic, that it's nice getting older.  When I was young, I was far too self-conscious of my arms to go sleeveless.  And I am a sweater.  No, I am not a cardigan or a pullover -- I am a person who SWEATS.  So going sleeveless, especially in these days when we are all trying, or should be trying, to cut back on air conditioning, is a great option.  And not going sleeveless, when you are indeed a sweater, and inevitably end up with large sweat rings on your garment under your arms, regardless if the temperature is 40 below or 100 above, is not a good look.  It's a good thing that as I've gotten older, I don't care that my arms are as big as a man's, or that I have some extra fat and cellulite, or that I'm pale.  Screw it.  I don't have the perfect body, but I'm fit enough, and healthy. 

Several months ago, I was working out at the gym with Abigail.  I of course was sweating, A LOT, as I do.  And Abigail was bothered by the fact that I had a sweat mark somewhere near one of my nipples.  She said, "That's an unfortunate location for sweat to show," and I'm quite sure she wanted a) me to cover it up, and b) to not let anyone know that she was with me. God, I can remember being like that.  I'm sooooooo glad that phase is over.  What a trivial, trivial thing to worry about.

It's so freeing. Another good reason for being over 45. 

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One hundred and fifty posts this year. Two hundred eleven nonstop since November 1, 2007.  I guess I'm on a roll, and I like it.

77.

Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

(First seen on Nora's blog.)