Friday, November 12, 2010

not my season

From time to time, people ask me why I don't join this spinning guild, or that knitting group, or this choir, or that project, and here is my stock answer:

It is not my season for that right now.

Tonight was a perfect illustration. I am lucky enough to live in a pocket of the state with quite a few spinners living in a 15-mile radius of each other. Thanks to one particular dedicated soul, meetings happen every month, without fail, rotating among the spinners' homes. I love spending time with these women but I am sure, to them, it seems as if I blow them off on a regular basis. It's a wonder they still invite me.

I tried tonight, truly I did, but first I had to wash a smelly dog, who rolled in goodness-knows-what for the second time today.

(Not too much help from this quarter, the new Call of Duty game came out four days ago.)

Then I needed to get the cashew and peanut brittle weighed and packed up for the church boutique tomorrow... my LSH and I made five batches last night.

Luckily I had a helper, though as you can see from his face, the occasional piece did hit the floor. (I would just like to note for the record that we did not put those pieces in the bags for sale. He ate them.)

OK, all done. Now to take it to the church...

And field an emergency call from my poor LSH, who was running an entirely different set of errands. Secondo needed to be picked up from soccer practice.

Back home, eat dinner at 8:20 pm. We are on a European dinner schedule these days, the only way we can eat together as a family. Clean up the kitchen, throw in a load of laundry, sit down to check where the spin-in is taking place and...


That rotten dog is sitting behind me, and I obviously missed a particularly pungent spot. Back out to the hose we go.

Towel him off, check my watch and... oh blast. I've missed the spin-in again. Maybe next month?

I doubt it. Not my season right now, and that's OK. I could shake my fists -- futilely -- at the heavens.. or I can thank them for all the goodness and richness, with the possible exception of the smelly dog, of the entirely different season I am in.

Some day, before I know it, I will be left twiddling my thumbs on a Friday night. Until then, I hope everyone can forgive my absence.


  1. Sad I will miss all of you all the way down south.

    Used to love to come up and see Chris once a month for day time spin ins.

  2. My season hasn't come you have a forecast or timeline?

  3. We miss you; but don't worry, we understand.