Friday was our 28th wedding anniversary. Objectively, it seems like A Very Long Time. Subjectively? I haven’t really noticed it passing (save the odd 10 minutes or so), despite this being more than half my life. The Anti-divorce wine* was discarded some years back with no ill effects, so we’ve decided to try for 56. Why Not? Alas, Dyson is not impressed.
Knitting occurred during the celebration. (We and the cats were the only ones invited to a lively evening spent watching Hayao Miyazaki‘s Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds. I prefer Spirited Away, myself.) The pink socks are noticeably longer now that I’ve stopped ripping back every evening to try to correct one particular cable. When he couldn’t spot the error, even when a prize was offered, I decided I could live with it. I want to get them finished as I have more socks to knit and, now that there’s a chill in the air, I want to try to turn that purple Cash Iroha into the elbow-length fingerless gloves in Alter Knits (or something similar). I’ve decided that the 1000m of Ivory Sea Silk will be a Kiri Shawl (thanks, Polly!) for my sister. Which means I really must finish that Shell Tank, which means I have to sit down and work out why, if I continue with my interpretation of the pattern, I’ll end up with 5 stitches fewer than it says I should. Taking time to do that will be my reward for doing some (paid-for) work this morning, so I’m off.
* This was, for us at that time, a very expensive bottle of wine bought during our first holiday in France. Far too expensive to drink, it became a (humorous) reason to stay married: we couldn’t afford another bottle, and it seemed likely that we’d be disinclined to be willing to share it if we were to split up. So we had to stay married so we could share it in the fullness of time. Clearly it lacked character capable of dealing with this weight of symbolism: when we finally decided to try it, it was undrinkable. So now we rely on the knowledge that no one else knows all the right jokes.