I am happy to report no further spewage on the part of the pig. In fact she was more cheerful than usual yesterday, which gives me another parenting tool to add to my arsenal. “Come on luv” I shall say next time she is whiny, holding her over a bucket: “what you wants is a good womit”.
I am starting to realise just how long the eighth tier of my patchwork skirt really is. I worked on it for an hour and a half yesterday and still haven’t finished piecing it. Am starting to view the rest of the process - ironing, zigzagging the top and bottom edges of each strip, gathering, sewing together with triple stitches, sewing up the side and adding a waistband - with a doomy tunnel-vision horror.
Yesterday was moderately productive. I didn’t feel like going for a walk so fulfilled my Challenge task by doing a spot of gardening with the piggie, and harvested a dozen carrots I’d forgotten about. Some of them were interestingly mutated. Then I made some tarts and a caramel cheesecake, started a double batch of tomato rye bread, sewed about forty-five squares together for my skirt and did two loads of washing. See? I’m not entirely useless…
…Although apparently I am still significantly useless, given that it’s 11:33AM and I’m sitting here under a sleeping pig in my pyjamas because my jeans are in the wash and my tights aren’t dry yet. And my hair isn’t done. And I still haven’t written any of my Bible study homework or my article. In fact, the most productive thing I’ve done today is spilled half a glass of water on a quilt strip. Lalalala.
Have I mentioned I’m trying to start up a singing group? I used to be in a choir. Two, actually. Both rubbish. The first was my school choir, which was obligatorally dreary and at one point featured “Colours of the Wind” with the lyric “spirit” changed to “colour” for religious reasons. We did a yearly circuit of rest homes and bored the residents. The second was a non-auditioned choir comprised almost entirely of senior citizens, which had an interesting effect on the result. Most performances were preceded by violent arguments about the “only pearl earrings” rule (”I’m eighty-five and these garnets haven’t left these ears since your grandmother was in diapers!”); quite a few of the altos were particularly elderly and wandering a little in their wits; and occasionally those sections of the choir which sat in the sunny part of the hall would fall asleep. Plus of course we spent a lot of time singing “It’s a Grand Night For Singing” and “When I’m Sixty-Four”, which didn’t really mesh with my fifteen-year-old self. We once came last in an inter-choir competition.
When I started Uni I had to quit, and as the Uni choir was made up almost entirely of music students doing vocal majors who could actually sing, I graciously retired from the world of song. But now Helpdesk Man has joined his marvy young vocal collective I feel the desire to sing once more, so I sounded out a friend who sounded out a few more, and it looks like five of us are interested! Four of us used to work at Rialto, which made me feel The Rialtos wasn’t a bad name (RiAltos? Altos? Geddit?) - except that as far as I know we’re all sopranos, which… um… could be a problem. I will keep you informed.
Kovac Says:
Miriam Says: