I can hardly believe it. I guess that is one of the advantages of having no sense of time and being busy all the time. We are through what is usually the hottest part of the summer already, though of course, now that I’ve said that we’ll probably have the hottest August, September and October on record.
DH doesn’t seem to be getting much better, though he mostly isn’t getting worse, either. He’d tried to turn down his oxygen (3l is the magic number that will allow him a portable battery unit instead of the monster unit and portable, though limited, tanks) but he was feeling pretty rotten so he cranked it back up and is doing better. The tanks are enough to get him around town for appointments, but no way are they sufficient to visit with family out of town, go to his job in Show Low about four hours away, or travel beyond the immediate vicinity, so we either need to find a bigger portable unit or he’s just going to have to get better. We’ve all been struggling with depression and all that, and unfortunately for DH, I am not the kind, nurturing type. (no kidding, eh?) I’m more likely to tell him it’s time to get off his lazy ass and get working at getting better. Alas, while I’m sure that approach has a time and place, I’m not always sure when that time and place is. (I’m also trying like hell to remember that the doc said we won’t see the full effects of his meds for a few more months yet, so it’s possible that he’ll make further progress. I tend to think however he is now is how he’ll be forever. I don’t think this is the “in the moment” thing they talk about when describing the whole feeling of zen.)
Anyway, we are trying to go about with our lives as we can. Yesterday that meant shopping. Baseball glove shopping, to be exact. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a lefty-glove to fit a four year old? Anyway, as my brother pointed out, it’s not like he has the strength and coordination to really catch with the mitt anyway, so I got a larger one that he’ll grow into. In the meantime, he shoves his hand into it and I toss the ball, aiming for the glove. So far I’m accurate about 50% of the time. Then I chuck it across the yard and he chases after it, and after half an hour he’s ready to crash. Tired children are (mostly) good children.
I did a brief bit of spinning for the Tour de Fleece, too. It was the cheater plan, because I’d spun most of a bobbin already long ago. The TdF gave me a little kick to get it moving again, though. I have roughly sport weight, 2ply, roughly 230yds of some rough stuff I dyed with one pink and one orange easter egg dye pellet.
I think I’ll knit some stranded mittens with it.