enough already

So I think it was last Thursday or so that I had a weird uncomfortable stomach ache (turned out that it didn't just feel like monthly cramps, they WERE monthly cramps) and a small glass of wine even before dinner seemed plausible. It was sort of sunny, so Asterix and I sat on the porch and soaked up what rays we could. Wine in shallow pewter goblet nearby. Along came Buffy, a chicken of valor. Ooh, shiny, she said. Ohh, what's this? Now when cats sniff wine, they look horrifed, so I watched to see what Buffy would make of it. She had a sip, picked her head up, swallowed, considered. Drank some more. Drank quite a lot more. Eventually she and I finished the glass and Buffy went off to the porch rail to contemplate. When Doug came home he commented how relaxed she was, let him ruffle her back.

On Friday afternoon I went to lovely Northampton and stayed with my friends Grace and Dahlia, wonderful people whose home is so clean they have space in the kitchen cabinets. Otherwise they are fine people. The next day I went to Conbust at Smith, where I had a much smaller group of spinning students than last year and I think did a reasonable job showing them the ropes and hawsers, although they were all actually good at it. One of them was Lynn Flewelling, one of the writer Guests of Honor. I was somewhat thrown and tried not to be too fannish. She is now clear on what a distaff is, and I have been ruining my life catching up with her books. She gives excellent sword-and-sorcery.

I did plying (she wasn't sure how so she just went on spinning till the spindle was full) with one of last year's spinners in front of the building while we watched people boffing. It's not what you think. I wish I had got a picture of Lauren in her lacy Cthulhu pinafore; she looked charming.

It was good to see the friends of the Daughter, who has bronchitis in Italy. It was good to be away from thinking about my job, which has annoying moments. And it was good to go home in the long warm evening light.

Sunday while Norma gardened, I knit sock (in Lorna's Laces Tuscany, which after most of a sock I think I have already made a pair for my mother in, so I may just keep these)and had an exquisite nap in the sun. The chickens did not eat the snowdrops or the crocus or the mini-iris, so I forgave them for crowing.

Since then the weather has gone to hell and now (Wednesday night) it's snowing. I am reading too much and not knitting enough.