Not dead yet

We here only got, at best, five inches on Sunday, which was pretty if you like that sort of thing. I usually do, but I was fighting with the cables. Mena the cat found the snow so stifling to her creativity that she killed a roll of paper towels.

Today, my parents came by my work at 2. They were up from Massachusetts on a buying-things-free-of-sales-tax spree. It was good to see them and have the company. Valentine's Day is second only to Christmas for providing unattainable icons that might make a cynical, embittered person grouchy, particularly an unpaired one.

I did, however, laugh while reading the Manolo's heartfelt warning to men.

We went out for a late lunch. Hardly anything is open in Concord for late lunches, except pizzeriae or subshops, neither of which do it for my family. We ate at the Barley House.

We visited the Cool Moose Candy Shop, to which my parents are devoted ever since I sent them Fruit Slices last week. That it also sells decent tea and ice cream and fudge won them over even further. There were young women behind the counter dipping strawberries into chocolate. I may have to return there tomorrow and check into those more closely (I'd just finished lunch and was more interested in the tea. I know. Maybe I'm ill).

Finally I dragged them to the Elegant Ewe, to look at the colors of possible future Christmas socks. My father has grown into a person who wants Brightly Colored Socks; I may have mentioned this before Christmas? My idea of Bright Enough is embodied in Mountain Colors line. He wants something more punchy, or at least lighter in tone. He was combining some of wishy-washier Baby Ulls, tedious pastels.

I was thinking I was not a loving daughter. Also only the Knitting Angels know how many stitches Baby Ull is to the inch. I like a nice worsted if I am making a Size 13.

My mother helped by pointing at various flag and confetti and rayon-hell novelty yarns and suggesting I make socks out of those.

It went fine until my father announced a) that something was olive drab (pretty much the Limeade on this page, and b), that something else (along the lines of the Seafoam or the Pine Shadows) was blue, and all pretence of civility went completely down the tubes and Kelly had to hide behind the counter. Color perception has been a touchy issue in my family ever since I can remember.

I just got the needles I needed and no yarn at all. Such restraint.