About a week ago I made my moebius after I observed Mom making one. So, I picked up some yarn at our newly-organized-with-more-yarn-than-before JoAnn’s, and I started, after Mom graciously casted on with the invisible cast on, a skill I have yet to learn. The yarn is homespun and it looks like a sunset, with red fading into a deep olive green. It has an I-chord on the edges which give it a lovely finish.

It can be worn like this…

…or this.

The twist before joining the ends is genius. Elizabeth Zimmermann is such with knitting.

For Marie:

A few hours before the auction…

After reading Cheyenne’s post about worrying, I am ashamed to say that after reading such a post and saying to myself  “Margaret, you’re not going to worry about it” that I have backtracked about a mile and have spent most of my day thinking about worrying. Tonight I will be at the county fair auction displaying my honey. For some reason I have got the jitter bug crawling all over, even though I’ve done this before with chickens. I know that all will be all right and I won’t die, but for some reason, I can’t tell my nerves to just stop it!

There’s something about the idea of standing before an arena of people watching you that just sets me off of the experience. And then I sit myself down (metaphorically) and figure out what it is that is bothering me to the extent of having Mom take the child proof lid off of the Pepto-Bismal bottle. Does anyone else have problems with child proof lids ?

The morning after…

I am writing this part the morning after, like an auction hangover. I am pooped and feeling the effects of an immediate bout of relief being thrust upon the body after a nervous experience. As I expected, yet failed to really believe, everything went well. No one threw tomatoes at me, or snickered as I held my two jars of honey in front of me, with a surprisingly natural smile plastered on my face.

I was at the very end, after all the pigs, steers, turkeys, rabbits, and sheep. I had to be careful where I was stepping and I made the mistake of not giving thought to what was on my feet…flip flops. Bad choice, but miraculously I didn’t step into anything! Ta-da!

The honey sold for $80, which is not bad, but even in 4-H, everything is politics. I was mentioned in the paper this morning and I had the pleasure of selling the honey to a family that I knew. The wife poked her husband and said “I’m out of honey at home, buy it. ” And he did, after only one other bid, but I made it through the night still standing, so I should be pleased.

Photos courtesy of : Breezy

So the normal routine has passed :

Step 1 : You think you’re calm and you go about your day.

Step 2 : For some reason you start thinking, and everything that could go wrong flashes through your mind and you start to feel butterflies in your stomach.

Step 3 : You talk yourself out of it, and make believe that you are indeed fine.

Step 4 : As it nears time, you finally admit that you’re a little nervous and go through your own routine of calming the nerves.

Step 5 : A minute before the dreaded event comes, you think about the things you will be doing after it’s over, and wish you were doing them now, which would mean it is actually over.

Step 6 : Post temporary paralysis; you feel fine and laugh at yourself for worrying, and say that you’ll never do that again.

Steps 1- 5 : Repeated sooner than you know.

*Ashamedly I type. Woe is I, the absentee blogger, the procrastinator of posts, the silent poster of the world!*

I am going to delete this blog!

Just kidding, that was just for the dramatic purpose of capturing your attention, though if you were nervous please read the following.

It has been over a month since I last posted a thought for Painter of Words. I’ve taken breaks before, but never a vacation. Though I doubt it ruined anyone’s life for there are plenty of dedicated and insightful bloggers for reading. I myself read them while I was away.

I started blogging with the intention of a creative outlet, a step into the giant puddle of the world wide web. And as I went I occasionally sighed at the lack of comments or having to beg Mom to comment so my blog would not read “1 comments” which drove me crazy. Recently however, I have been craving feedback. Anything, a kind word from the lurkers, if there are any.

So, I suppose this is a pathetic pleading for comments and the feeling that this little blog is not in vain. If you wouldn’t mind indulging me, please leave a comment expressing your feelings about my blog. I probably won’t stop blogging if there are only “1 comments” (being from my Mom) yet it would be nice to hear from those who enjoy risking their intelligence by coming to Painter of Words.