Tuesday, November 9, 2010
I wish I'd made this crocheted stingray...
...but I didn't; it's the work of one of the many volunteer crocheters who made a whole coral reef to teach kids about the need to protect our environment (there's even a section of the crocheted reef that's dead, with trash tangled up in it). I happened onto the Indiana Reef in September during a visit to the Indiana State Museum to see the Titanic exhibit (fabulous, by the way--two thumbs way, way up!). Here's a link where you can find out more about the Indiana Reef:
Crochet was the first needlework I learned how to do and it still has a special place in my heart, although I have to agree with the site whatnottocrochet.wordpress.com that crochet can be really tacky in the wrong hands. My mom and dad are moving and unearthing treasures from the distant past every day, so I'm hoping for the rediscovery of several crocheted outfits I made in high school, particularly a purple pantsuit made of worsted weight acrylic. Stay tuned for that one.
In other news, I survived another October at the museum, and with huge effort and massive expenditure of time we managed to raise about $2000 from our two fundraisers, just about what it cost us to pay for the routine annual maintenance on our heating system. Sigh.
This morning DH and I celebrated my relative freedom from fundraising responsibilities, and some gloriously warm and sunny fall weather, to do some outside work on our little property in the country. I ripped out or mowed down thousands of weeds taller than myself before declaring just before noon that I was finished for the day. He's full of energy (of course) and making noises about going back tomorrow. We may both require Ben-Gay and ibuprofen just to make it out of bed in the morning, but oh, well, it's exercise.
A very cute little yellow kitten attached itself to me while I was working outside. Unfortunately I hadn't brought any snacks (well, fortunately for me and unfortunately for the kitten). I'm thinking tomorrow I should raid Mr. Fuzz's and Vickster's private stash; I'm sure they would agree to sharing with those less fortunate than themselves.
I resisted naming the little guy, but one more morning of pulling it out of harm's way every five seconds and I might succumb. This kitten has zero survival skills and likes to sleep on the big truck tires and play with the weed whacker. Really, kitty, didn't your mother teach you anything?