I can't catch the passing days. They grow younger. I grow slower.
Today was the most fun. I caught a ride with DH 35 miles south to a bookstore. DH had a company physical (poor baby) and I spent the time in the bookstore. I picked up every knitting book in the store. And then put most of them back. My arms were not long enough. But I did manage three. Knitting on the Edge, The Knitters Book of Finishing Techniques (much much needed), and of course Stephanie Pearl-McPhee's The Yarn Harlot's Guide to the Land of Knitting. That was obligatory. Now if only there was a yarn store closer than 60 miles, I would have also had wool. I had a hard time limiting myself in the Poetry section. But I did get Pablo Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. I did not expect to find that one. Plus Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist. And some others. What a treasure. It is a good thing the bookstore is so far away.
The store includes a cafe' with Starbucks. I tried to order tea. What size? What type of tea? What type of that tea? What to put in it? And the pretzel? Even lists and menus of pretzels? Finally I asked for translation software. That set him back. Really though, am I the only one who doesn't understand the language? Give me Welsh anytime.
Now I have a dilemma. Do I knit or read?