This morning I was enjoying the resolution of a serious knitting mistake- the purling when I should have knitted on an entire row, straight across the bust line of my Almost Cowl sweater. It took a grueling sweaty hour of frogging, but we are back on a roll. So I was in the kitchen admiring my progress when I noticed Mr. Doolittle, the neighbors’ puppy, outside my bay window.

He had climbed a table on the neighbors’ porch and was delighted by their enormous set of chimes hanging close by. Dooley was barking and wagging in excitement, as he had discovered he could tug at it with his tiny little nose, producing quite a racket. I read that racquets were first created in the 11th century by monks. Those crazy monks used to play some soulful handball games until they devised a ‘racquet’ with strings made from human gut! I was forced to take tennis lessons back in the 80’s when my parents thought it a proper sport to bring to CTY for my summer school with the rest of the country’s nerdy preppy students.

Unfortunately, my racquet was a hand-me-down from the early 70’s and weighed at least 5 or 6 pounds, causing me to swing my skinny little arms like a lumberjack and hit every teensy yellow ball out of the park. I can add that instructor to my long list of exasperated teachers and tutors like my Spanish teacher who politely told me after two years of study that I was never going to grasp the language and tacitly told me I was “a bit slow.” I was NOT slow! I didn’t speak anything but Spanish for the first four years of my life! I did, however, grasp German just fine. Germany is my favorite place on earth, Munchen, Germany to be exact. When I am old and senile I will sing Munchen’s praises and inform everyone that the city is extremely dog-friendly. I bought Phil a guide to dog-friendly places in New England- it’s a skinny book. New England stinks in that respect. But if it didn’t then it would be called England. That place does not stink. Genoa, Italy stinks like urine. It stunk everywhere except our hotel and the aquarium. I would have really enjoyed it, or at least given it a fair chance if it didn’t smell like the ladies room at The Harp.

Now you may understand why my projects take so long….


blogless sharon said...

stop looking out the window and get back to knitting dear daughter