Doggerel du Jour

From north to south and back again
We paint our toes and sip champagne.

Mid walking, talking, laughter, tears
I count my joys and still my fears.

Round table filled with loving friends
My day - complete - by birthday's end.

Give It Away

What I've got you've got to give it to your momma
What I've got you've got to give it to your papa
What I've got you've got to give it to your daughter
You do a little dance and then you drink a little water

~ Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Give It Away" ~

The band claims their Grammy award winning song was their frenetic, musical take on love and the proverb, "It's better to give than to receive."

With that in mind, I give you yarn. What kind? Well that's up to the winners of my first annual Birthday Haiku contest. The following haiku were chosen at random from of a pool of 42 comments:

Marsha said...
Another candle
On a yummy birthday cake
Make a happy wish!

Chris said...
Time slips past us as
birthdays come and go, leaving
happy memories.

Fiber dreams drift soft
Through joyous sleeping mind, with
no need to count sheep.

Patti said...
One more year counted
Like stitches on your needle
Adds to the person

Each winner has been notified and will be gifted with quality yarn in their choice of color family and weight. Thanks to everyone who stopped by to offer birthday wishes, a comment or to submit their haiku. You added a little something to my week.

So how did I spend my birthday? I hopped a train headed away from the teeming millions in the greater metropolitan area to visit my yarn dyeing friend, Rebecca a couple of hours south of Chicago. A little pizza, walkabout and general relaxing and it was time to come back home, but not without an indescribably soft surprise package of laceweight silk and mohair.

At some point, Rebecca also slipped two chocolate chip cupcakes into my bag, making the ride back to the city a bit sweeter. You're a sneaky one and for this, I thank you.

I made it home just before big, sloppy raindrops began falling. Just inside the back door, I found a box containing not one but two dozen red roses from a long-time friend.

"What? You got two dozen. I can't take a little taste?!" - Rocky

Yes. It was a very good day.

Meanwhile...

I'm sorry if my last post gave the impression that I'd dislocated my shoulder. I did not. Instead, I suspect I aggravated the already torn ligament that keeps the ball joint in the socket. I thought I was doing myself a favor by sticking to small projects, however the intensity applied to completing them proved counterproductive. Time for a good, long rest of the right arm.

There must be non-crafting things I can do. What a perfect time for reading; something that does not involve politics (makes my blood boil) or medical research (makes me depressed). I just got handed a book that's been on my list for some time now: "Lamb, The Gospel According To Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal". I can also take a walk around the neighborhood and become acquainted with the settings beyond "intelligent auto" on my latest camera.

Trees blooming in the entry courtyard

Sadly, this one-armed business leaves gardening off the list. Good thing about perennials, though. They let me enjoy the proliferation of pink columbine from the comfort of the bench in my wee garden.

Once I do pick up my needles, it will be to Learn the Continental Style of Knitting (warning: video starts automatically!) . Old dog, new trick? What? I can do it.

Home Improvement

Aside from a little spiff-up at Chez Métier, my body also continues its quest for self-improvement. Of course, when I think of it, none of this would have been possible without my caretaker's hands.

These hands support me as I sit or stand. These hands cook and clean for me. These hands change the dressing on my incision. These hands comfort and reassure when I get a little whiny about this or that.

I know I jokingly referred to my mother as "The Warden" (and she can be a tough taskmaster at times) but I know full well that every admonition is meant for my own good. Except for that little misunderstanding about the knitting ban, but we've worked that out. I've actually knit half a mitten since Saturday. I know that's a snail's pace so just be quiet, OK?

Flowers Brighten Any Decor
Once again, I am the lucky recipient of a beautiful get-well bouquet. This time, however, I know from whence they came. Too bad the smell-o-vision plug-in is on the fritz because these are a delight for the senses, with the rich perfume of the red roses in nose-to-nose competition with the sweet notes of the bluebells for my olfactory attention.

The question is, do cats like flowers as much as we do? Let's see:

Rocky in his "What? I'm not doing anything" pose.

Seconds later, Rocky is so busted as he is spotted sampling the rose petals.

Whodunit?

Found: one bouquet of peachy yellow tea roses with daisies and matching greens with yellow buds in the immediate vicinity of my front door.

There was an unsigned note attached that urged me toward good behavior lest The Warden turn the hose on my sorry self. There was also a small ceramic button attached to the purple vase proclaiming, "Live, Love and Laugh."

Sounds good to me as I recover at home with my caretaker, my cats and the good wishes of my friends to keep me company. I am fortunate, I know. What I don't know is who sent the flowers? Do tell, if you're of a mind. I love them!

Mr. In Between

Since it's no longer my birthday (huge thanks, by the way!) and I've only just finished the leg on the second Mona sock, I thought I'd divert your attention with another little pretty.

Beautiful flower bouquet left at my front door

Told you the knitting would be slow and, frankly, I don't think you give a hoot about a progress shot. There's something new on the horizon (besides socks), but I won't cast on until I have a finished pair to offer the Knitting Deities. You understand.

Potential

Asiatic Tiger Lily buds

...
Our gardens are enamored of the spring,
Of silver rain,
The cloudy green of buds slow-burgeoning,
The sorrow of last apple blooms that cling
And are not fain
To yield their fruit again.
We do not long for tropic pageantry,
Yet surge with love to see
The tiger lily’s muted ecstasy.
...

(From the poem "Tiger Lily" by Walter Adolphe Roberts)