Snow is a Four Letter Word

I thought we were in the clear yesterday--having survived all these snow days stuck home with kids. I got so cocky yesterday, that I drove up to see my mom, who still had my birthday present. And take a look at what she made for me:

Don't you love it? I do. It will be perfect for dragging all my class materials down to the Madrona Fiber Arts Festival next week. More on that later.

Right now my life is consumed by that four letter word posted above and my weatherman obsession. You see, I thought I was going to be back on speaking terms with the dude on Channel Five until he started predicting more snow for today.

"Not going to happen," I said, shaking my fist defiantly at Monday's clear blue sky. I went to bed full of conviction that he was going to wrong. Dead wrong. Please God, let that overpaid, over educated cloud jockey be wrong.

Do you remember waking up extra early as a kid and going to look out the window and praying the entire way there that there would enough snow to make it a snow day? Now I know verbatim the prayer my dear sainted mother was muttering under her breath as we made our trek to the window.

I kind of did the reverse thing last night. I got up at midnight. No snow. Smile, go back to bed. Wake up at 4 am. Go check. Still no snow. Oh, yes. I go back to bed, drifting off to sleep with visions of doing a quiet hour of yoga in the morning. Writing. Some knitting while I indulge myself and watch All My Children. In. The. Peace. And. Quiet. Then the alarm went off at five. And my husband comes back with the bad news.

It snowed.

Oh, and the news got even worse, when about a half an hour later, my snow-snob "I'm from the Midwest and I know how to drive in this stuff" husband comes home with his head hanging. The car is in the ditch. Again. So I got all three of them here. Again. All day.

Even the LYS failed me. They've been closed since I ran out of yarn, due to the weather. (Hey, if could I make it there on Sunday, they should have the courtesy of an honor system or key under the mat for knitters in need, or something like that when I braved snow and ice to get another skein of Cascade 220 in Amber. But no, just a locked door, a little sad sign, and lonely skeins inside crying out to be liberated.)

So I've been working on the pink purse, which I swore I had enough yarn for, but ran out this afternoon as I was doing the I-cord bind off. Twenty stitches short of finishing.

I really do need to do some yoga and get my knitting karma back in alignment.

As the day progressed though, my hold on my sanity started to nose dive. When this happens, you just need to start stash diving--looking for that little thrill of finding some treasure long forgotten and hugging it in your chest muttering, "They'll go back to school soon. Really they will."

I started sifting around in the big closet, and found this sock I started last year in Mountain Colors Bearfoot. Really soft and nice to work with. I really adore hand knit socks. Love them to death. But I have this thing about finishing socks. I get one partly done and it languishes, and then the other one takes forever. For a moment I envision myself finishing this pair, my feet are warm and snug, and then . . .

I spot this trio in my stash and thought they might make a fun pair of short socks for spring. But I would have to put my Bearfoot socks on waste yarn to snag the needles. And speaking of needles, my replacement needle from Lantern Moon still hasn't arrived. I'm trying to be charitable, but I'm really itching to get back knitting my CPH. Especially since I just got the first discs for Season 2 of 24 from Netflix.

You know, I could cast on the fronts and knit the ribbing up since I do have those needles. Hmm. Then I'd be a bit ahead. Well sort of.

And the weatherman? He says we should be warming up. Bless him. Maybe I'll send him a pair of socks as a thank you.