Today isn't special or exciting, just another day that I woke to sun streaming in my bedroom window, the cat climbing over my head, and the dog scratching at my arm. I slipped on my flip-flops, used the bathroom, took the dog out for his morning constitutional, poured myself a cup of coffee, picked up my knitting and knit a few rows on the scarf I am knitting for my sister-in-law. I like to knit the pattern knit rows more than the purl wrong side rows. I keep wondering if she will like the color I have chosen for this scarf, I spent months searching for the right pattern, and as soon as I saw this one, I knew it was perfect.
I am using the yarn they suggested for this pattern, even the color. I think it will be perfect for her.
This is the beginning. I hope to finish it in a week, but I am still working on my brother's sweater and a baby blanket.
We are going to Port Norris for a few days to visit my daughter. I will be taking my camera in hopes of getting some good pictures. I am thinking of taking my Holga and shooting some black and white film with it.
The Chairs That No One Sits In
by Billy Collins
You see them on porches and on lawns
down by the lakeside,
usually arranged in pairs implying a couple
who might sit there and look out
at the water or the big shade trees.
The trouble is you never see anyone
sitting in these forlorn chairs
though at one time it must have seemed
a good place to stop and do nothing for a while.
Sometimes there is a little table
between the chairs where no one
is resting a glass or placing a book facedown.
It might be none of my business,
but it might be a good idea one day
for everyone who placed those vacant chairs
on a veranda or a dock to sit down in them
for the sake of remembering
whatever it was they thought deserved
to be viewed from two chairs
side by side with a table in between.
The clouds are high and massive that day.
The woman looks up from her book.
The man takes a sip of his drink.
Then there is nothing but the sound of their looking,
the lapping of lake water, and a call of one bird
then another, cries of joy or warning—
it passes the time to wonder which.
down by the lakeside,
usually arranged in pairs implying a couple
who might sit there and look out
at the water or the big shade trees.
The trouble is you never see anyone
sitting in these forlorn chairs
though at one time it must have seemed
a good place to stop and do nothing for a while.
Sometimes there is a little table
between the chairs where no one
is resting a glass or placing a book facedown.
It might be none of my business,
but it might be a good idea one day
for everyone who placed those vacant chairs
on a veranda or a dock to sit down in them
for the sake of remembering
whatever it was they thought deserved
to be viewed from two chairs
side by side with a table in between.
The clouds are high and massive that day.
The woman looks up from her book.
The man takes a sip of his drink.
Then there is nothing but the sound of their looking,
the lapping of lake water, and a call of one bird
then another, cries of joy or warning—
it passes the time to wonder which.
