Home at Last

You know, I can't leave today on that last growly post. You, Dear Reader, have at least as much frustration with the occasional/perpetual professional dingbat.

Thank you for reading my blog, overlooking the nasty words, and posting your really splendidly funny comments. Every comment is like a present just waiting to be unwrapped and nibbled up.

A little valentine to Linda K, (rtd.): I think of you every single day, many times.
Not only is your gift of an orifice hook always in my back pocket but both niddy-noddys (niddy-noddies?) are perpetually full, but I would have never arrived at the point where I could gift away fleecey goodness if it weren't for your generous assessment of that first barbaric wheel and your care full encouragement when my first efforts resembled rotting yak intestine. How could a mentor and muse fit so nicely into one person? Yesterday I send someone home from knitting group with a bit of the practice wool you sent (it is the perfect stuff to start on). Come and see us soon; the California morning are marvelous misty-moisty and everything is still bursting into bloom.


Goodbye, Bettie Page. I guess everyone knows best pale girl ever has passed on, so this is nothing new. She was a very active born-again Christian, but she refused to apologize for her work. In the Claw films (never to be watched with the sound on; just play something lively in the background). Bettie always looked like she was having more fun than everyone with the joyful attitude that cheerfully said, "Yeah, Isn't this ridiculous?"

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