Last Saturday was a rainy one and so all the outdoor work on the agenda had to be put aside. Suddenly all the inside jobs, which I've been putting off because the weather was too nice to be bothered staying in for, reared their ugly heads and there was no choice but to get to them. I stripped all the beds in the guest rooms, did some clean up in that part of the house, got some baking done that needed to be put into the freezer for events coming up, and then sat to work on my knitting. I have a big knitting project with a due date and am furiously working my fingers to the bone to get it done. So it was the perfect time.
Someone asked me recently if I've read any good books lately. I love to read and there is nothing like a good thriller in my mind. (I understand Ken Follett has a new one hitting the shelves soon!) but somehow I just can't seem to find the time to do it. When I do have a few minutes to sit, the yarn and needles are there waiting for me. Staring at me, really. And even when I don't feel like it, the knitting begins.
Somewhere along the line one of the people in my life convinced me that there are no gifts as valuable as homemade ones. It's a curse. Thanks Mom, or Grandma, or whomever it was!