Dirt Road Ramblings

Random musings of an aging kid-at-heart who marvels at life's wonders around her

I would not call myself a knitter. I am a person who knits.

A knitter, in my mind, thinks constantly about the craft; she ceaselessly eatsdrinksbreathespondersplansanddreamsabout projects; her fingers (when otherwise unoccupied) find themselves attached to knitting needles at any moment and every opportunity.  A knitter creates, works on, and completes her projects. She perseveres.

I’m more a “fits and starts’ person who knits, a needtodothisprojectbythisparticulardate person who knits.

I’m not really a knitter.

Not yet.

I learned to knit in early 2012 in a local yarn shop’s beginners’ knitting class. I decided to take the class when I learned I was becoming a grandmother for the very first time. Grandmothers knit, right? So I would learn to knit. This fifty-one-turning-fifty-two-years-old gal was going to learn a new trick.

 

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I did something today that I’ve never done in all my years of shoveling my mother’s driveway: I left part of the job undone.

We had roughly six or seven inches of snow overnight Sunday into Monday (yesterday), and since no one needed to come and go yesterday at Mom’s I decided to let her snow removal (one of my tasks for her) wait until today, which is a day I am usually at Mom’s anyway.

The storm ended yesterday morning. Then apparently the sun must have come out from behind the clouds post storm because when I went to shovel this morning, much of the snowpack had 1″ – 2″ of ice crust on the bottom from melting and refreezing.

Yee haw. Five or six inches of snow on top of ice crust just waiting for my li’l ol’ arms and back to shovel it away.

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My DSD Sarah and her sweet daughter (my DSGD, Grace) flew in from Minnesota last weekend to attend a loved one’s baby shower and to surprise the celebrated mom-to-be with their unexpected presence. It was, of course, a delightful surprise.

The added bonus was that I got to spend time with my girl and her girl for a few hours here and there between their social engagements and flight schedule.

Since four-year-old Grace was visiting, I refreshed the toy cupboard — a below-the-counter kitchen cabinet we reserve for age-appropriate toys, books, and treasures for the grand-kiddos to enjoy when they visit. They know where their cabinet is, and they enjoy rediscovering it everytime they come. 😀

B4TnMB6BTByjH9oFawaAJgOne of my recent additions to the kiddo cupboard is a children’s book called Giraffes Can’t Dance by Giles Andreae and Guy Parker-Rees.

It’s a delightful story, whimsically illlustrated, containing wisdom for children and grown-ups alike.

The gist of the story is this: Gerald the Giraffe, while good at reaching high places and devouring tree leaves, isn’t good at dancing, especially compared to other animals.  He wants to dance though, and decides to try dancing in public at the animals’ annual Jungle Dance where all the jungle animals display their own dance moves. Before he takes a step, however, the other animals make fun of Gerald, belittling him so much that he freezes on the dance floor.

Defeated, Gerald leaves the Jungle Dance feeling sad and alone. That is, until he stops to notice the beauty of the moon. Then a cricket chirps encouragement in Gerald’s ear: “…Sometimes when you’re different, you just need a different song….”

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