…when you’re busy making other plans. Isn’t that always the way of things? It’s been extremely busy since March, and nearly none of it has been fabric arts. I had started a couple of blanket knitting projects though. Both of the blankets that I’d knitted for my girls on looms have started to unravel, and I don’t know why. Briony’s is the worst, with gaping holes in it, though she’s still carrying it around together with the now-ten-year-old crocheted blankets that are still intact with only a couple of easy repairs. So I decided to try double-knitting on needles, which turns out to be fun if you can keep track of which stitches go to which side. Needless to say, the only way I can do that is to use two very different yarns in the making, at least as far as color goes.
But, as I implied, both blankets have moved to the back burner for now. Friends of mine lost their home due to a fire in their complex, so they and their two girls moved in with us. Originally it was supposed to be temporary, but everyone gets along so well that we decided to make it permanent. So we’re now a family of eight. Twelve, if you count the dogs, and I most definitely do! Like hubby and I, they’re also a mixed couple, she being black like me, and he being white like hubby. Their girls were friends of Aneira’s from her first school, and I loved them the first time they came over. So now the girls’ ages are 4, 8, 9, and 9. Chaos reigns!!! Four girls, three of whom basically count as ‘tweens and one of whom wants to be a big girl so badly she can taste it, essentially means constant argument. Normal, I know, for siblings, which they might as well be at this point, but it drives the parents absolutely insane! Because they fight over the most minor of things, from who has more hairbands to who stole what doll from whom. Add in the rest of the neighborhood girls, bringing the total to seven children in and out of the house on a daily basis, and the arguing increases exponentially. Sometimes I think the only reason all the parents have not yet committed suicide is the fact that we don’t want to give the children the satisfaction of winning!
My friend is native to the area as well, as we aren’t, so my girls have acquired a whole host of family through her: a grandma, several aunties, uncles, and cousins. They’re ecstatic with all this new family, and everyone treats them – and hubby and I – as family as well.
Speaking of family, my brother and I hadn’t seen each other in years, everyone being busy and all, but we made a trip out to see him and my dad, who has Alzheimer’s and lives in a very nice facility for dementia patients. They live in Nevada, which, for all you folks who are fortunate enough to live elsewhere, means it is hot. I no longer live in the desert for a reason, and that is one of my top reasons!!
While we were there, Dad fell and broke his hip, and a hip replacement was needed. Because of the Alzheimer’s, Dad is a flight risk, so my brother, my sister-in-law, my hubby, and I had to take shifts staying with him. You would think that wasn’t necessary with a broken hip, but dementia patients don’t feel pain in the same way other people do, and there were numerous occasions of having to stop Dad from trying to get out of bed and walk out. As a result, our four day trip turned into eight, and drew all of us closer together, which was a good result of the entire ordeal. Overall, things could have been much worse.
Dad is now in a rehabilitation facility with a locked unit and is doing very well. Hip replacement surgery was the Friday before last, and he was walking again the following Monday. Not bad for 81!!!
Unfortunately for me, hubby enjoyed the return to the desert, and he and my brother ganged up on me for a bit to convince me to move back. Unfortunately for them, none of their persuasions worked in the face of the 114 degree temperature that was hammering us at that point. I’m very happy with the temperatures here in Colorado, thank you. The day we arrived home, the temperature was a lovely, comfortable 77. Since then, the hottest it’s been is 90. It’s highly unlikely that anyone will convince me to go back to the desert. Alaska, maybe, but not the desert!