Listing, in Every Sense

. . . as in about to keel over, but also as in a list of items.

Since my last post, two folks whose writing I admire, both told me that they actually like the update-style blog on occasion. So here goes, and it may explain why I'm about to keel over:

• Wednesday 700-900 am--wake, shower, class prep
• Wednesday 1000-1100 am--teach class
• Wednesday 1200-815 pm--put in 8-hour day in LYS, rearranging back room of sale yarns
• Wednesday 830 pm--weepy phone call to LB, begging him to take me out for Vietnamese food. It's all a blur after that.

• Thursday 530 am-730 am--wake, rinse the smelly bits, packing for weekend, class prep
• Thursday 800-915 am--teach class
• Thursday 930-1030 am--student meetings, format papers for this weekend
• Thursday 11-1230--work in LYS
• Thursday 100-200 pm--more class prep, write blog
• Thursday 200-315 pm--teach class at second campus
• Thursday 400-500 pm--mandatory meeting on end of semester procedures back at first campus
• Thursday 615-1000 pm--volunteer banquet

• Friday will largely be a repeat of Wednesday minus the work at the LYS, but plus all the packing and set up to run the candy store at the Boone Home this weekend.

So, minus a great deal of self-reflection, largely because I'm incapable at the moment, here's a bit on civil war knitting, and dancing to boot:

"The German ladies certainly do carry their knitting work to the theatre and other places of public amusement, and by doing so, show to a certain degree the value of time; and I have even heard of their taking it to balls, where one would suppose the feet, and not the hands, were most in requisition; and that it is so, the following anecdote seems to prove, though I cannot vouch for the truth of the whole story. it is said that a young German lady who had no objection to displaying her pretty hands when she sat still, as much as she did her equally pretty feet, when she danced, kept her partner waiting until she knit to "the middle of her needle", then, somewhat in a hurry, put her work into the bag, and whirled away in a waltz. But unfortunately, in putting the stocking in, she pulled the ball of worsted out, and as she flew around, the yarn wrapped itself about her, increasing in thickness and length, until, when the dance was over, she was found to be transformed into a huge ball of blue yarn, with four steel needles sticking through it. Those who were present took it as a warning, and never took knitting work to balls again."

from: American Agriculturist, 1846