S.A.B.L.E.

For the few knitters who don't know what that means, it refers to "Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy". Unless I live to be 300, I guess that is pretty accurate.

I'm on my second day of vacation this week - I'm not going anywhere, though. The original intent was to "get myself organized". Oh, and to "finish that Philosopher's Wool Sweater". I didn't count on the fact that I would come down with whatever has been decimating the nurses on my floor. Everyone's been sick, and I thought I had escaped it. Silly me. It was just waiting until I had a week off. So, what does one do when one is a knitter, and feels like she has been run over by a bus?? She hauls herself out the door, with a quick stop at Dunkin Donuts for an industrial-sized coffee, so she doesn't die in pursuit of her goal. What goal is that, you ask? Yarn. New yarn. New project. For some reason, when I'm sick, I don't feel like working on the tried and true. So I hauled my sorry behind out to Michaels to get this:

So I can get started on this:

Never mind that I already have at least three afghans in various stages of completion lurking in my room. And yes, I am well aware that this is (gasp!) acrylic yarn!! I don't give a rat's a**. I have five sons, a large, klutzy, not-terribly-bright golden retriever, and a small herd of cats. I am not spending $185.00 for a Colinette wool afghan that my dog will most likely nibble on, and will definitely shed on, and let's not even talk about the 100% possiblity that one or more of the cats will yak up something unspeakable on it at some point in time. It needs to go into the washer on occasion. I have afghans that I knitted 30 years ago out of Red Heart yarn (which I used for everything, including sweaters, before I knew better). And also, this is a crocheted afghan, not a knitted one. I want to do a little crochet for some reason, and I don't like crocheted sweaters, especially not acrylic, so this fits the bill.

Anyway, the picture at the top of the post was another project for today. Filling the birdfeeders. It's 15 degrees out there, and the birds are feeding like there's no tomorrow. There are a million of them out there, all chirping away to each other as I fill the feeders. It's like jungle drums or something. I look out, see the feeders are empty, mush out with the food. There's not a peep out there as I walk out the door, but as soon as I start opening the feeders and filling them, more and more birds start cheeping away, and fly into the yard. They wait on the tree branches, and some of the more adventurous chickadees will land on the feeder while I'm filling it. I guess they want to bne first in line. Anyway, I'm dressed like Nanook of New Jersey - turtleneck, sweater, coat, lined hat - but no gloves! Boy, did I pay for that! I was only out for a few minutes, but it was so cold my fingers were frozen and sore when I got back in.

Oh, and notice that there Is No Snow. Even though we are in the second week of February, and this is traditionally the snowiest week of the year for us, there is not a flake of snow to be seen. That may change tomorrow. It's my son's birthday. He was born at the end of a raging blizzard, and more often than not, there is snow on his birthday every year.