...but sambuca, now that's some nice stuff.
I'm a little drunk just now. Not sure if it's a good idea to blog or not but the cruel light of day will tell the tale, fer shure. Let me try to explain my intoxicated state of mind. I'll start off by noting that I had a busy and productive weekend planned, involving things like "getting all the laundry done", and "cleaning the carpet under the piano". Hah.
Friday, the drain in the basement was a little slow. And by "a little slow", I mean backing up into the basement. So we called the friendly friends from Roto Rooter. They were here within the hour, around 11 AM.
It's late in the Fall here in southwestern Pennsylvania. So, by 4:30 PM, dark was arriving and our designated Rooter still hadn't resolved the clog, despite bringing in cameras, technology, the Most Expensive Machine, as well as the Machine that goes *ping*.
The Administrator, I mean, the supervisor was called to bring us the grim news. Our Rooter was unable to clear the clog. He'd send new Rooters in the morning, but that was an act of mere desperation, plumber's voodoo, as it were. Chances are, disaster had fallen and we were destined to spend thousands of dollars on getting the sewer dug up and a new line laid. The sewer line, you see, crosses the vacant lot next to our property, and goes under where our neighbor, a very nice man, has just completed a Sisyphean task of building a new driveway, much omnistone walling, and what looks like a gun turret. This has been his windmill at which much tilting has passed lo unto this past year. It will displease him greatly if his wall has to be dug up.
Morning dawned and laundry was loaded into the car. If nothing else was getting done, that effing laundry was. My darling husband called me several times with updates. The gist of it was that the clog was unclogged, but the situation with the drain under the neighbor's wall remained uncertain. It will have to be dug up, sooner rather than later, but for now all is well. Until we can come up with SEVENTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.
So with clean laundry and groceries in tow, my daughter and I returned to the house with joy and knitting and uncertainty in most things, except this. No more shall tampons be discarded into the toilet.
So, we had thanksgiving at my mom's house. Here's some photos.
My mom's been getting a bit carried away with the birds lately.
Buddy's been in her house a while. He's no more social than he was, but he does whistle more things now.
This is her Conure, Falco.
Falco talks, and will dance if you sing to her. A real character. She also has two doves, a peach-faced lovebird, and a parakeet.
The girls had a good time.
There were also dogs.
Back to Friday, there was a scary sky that should have boded unwell for the plumbing prognosis.
If that doesn't look pestilent, I don't know what does.
And this has gotten a lot farther now but it's my mom's xmas stocking.
It's a seed stitch/stockinette checkerboard pattern. I found a nice silver stocking to use as a liner, and I'm going to do a fancy cuff from white alpaca in a cable pattern. It should be rustic and lovely.
More when I'm making more sense.
Chitchat and the occasional in-depth analysis about fiber, knitting, spinning, crochet, cooking, feminism, self-image, and a modicum of personal blathering.