Down goes the barometer ...

I have this hypothesis that changes in barometric pressure affect adolescent brains.

I have nothing but anecdotal evidence to back this up, of course. But there has to be some reason why the little darlings are so absolutely daft on rainy days.

We had a pleasant if busy weekend; we hit the St Crispin's Day Yard Sale early, stopped at the G Street Fabrics in Rockville on the way home, and then, somewhat whimsically, also went to one of the Generic Large Chain Bookstores with Coffee Bars in town on our way into town. It was important to stop at the bookstore of course because we don't have enough books (dit elle, ironiquement). In truth I was very good and only got the new issue of Handwoven which has given me a few wonderful, awful ideas for what I want to weave next, and which ideas might just motivate me to finish that nightmare Balmaclellan twill which has been on the loom too long. It's my own fault for choosing a too-soft wool for the warp, but I so thoroughly hate that yardage now that if it weren't for the fact that I promised the Viking a tunic from it, I would just cut it off the loom and throw it away.

I may have found a means to lure my recalcitrant Viking into the fifteenth century ... handgonnes. One of the prizes scored at the St Crispin's Day Yard Sale was the Compleat Anachronist on period firearms. That got the Viking's attention in a big way, because the only thing better than a big axe is a gun that goes boom!

Olaf seems to be none the worse for his acrobatic feat the other night. He and Astrid have settled down into their new quarters and are their usual grumpy selves. When we bought the koi, we were assured that koi were far more personable than goldfish and even charismatic. (Charismatic fish?) Hah. My oranda goldfish in the 30-gallon tank will eat from my hands. The koi, on the other hand, sulk and glare and only eat when I am at least 5 feet away from the pond.

verso - recto