Ch 2, fpdc in first dc, (bpdc in next dc, fpdc in next dc) around, ending with bpdc. Join with sl st in first dc.
42296, 42517, 48903, 48968, 49271, 49202, 49106
2 C gran. sug., 2 C unsw. inst. tea, 1 1/2 C Fr. van powd., 1 1/4 C powd. cr., 1 1/4 C br. sug. packed, 3/4 C NF dry m., 2 1/2 t gr. cin., 1 1/2 t gr. nm, 1 1/4 t gr. card., 1 1/4 t gr. clo., 1 t gr. allsp., 1/4 t wh. pep.
harchau, armacion, dowze, nylor, rozon, boomeas, batsi, oblecoo, zings, whings, futhy, candecha, nabbee
"Should you pick up a chucket of bicken while you're out?"
My day has been dominated by secret codes today. Little bits of valuable information encoded in nonsense. A gray and misty Saturday spent with the people I love the most, doing my puttering with assistance. Puttering with purpose today, with the holidays approaching, but puttering nonetheless.
Cozy by the fire with my jBird, still in jammies, drinking coffee (Me, not her. Never her. The child never sleeps as it is.) and putting the finishing touches on a tam I'm crocheting for a dear friend. The soothing ritual of yarn and a hook dancing together to make beautiful fabric. Each stitch a thought, a memory of my friend, wound with the warm and snuggly contentment of this day.
A drizzly bike ride with the jBird to the market. Our list is of bulk spices for making delicious holiday treats for dear ones far away. The process of pumping legs on pedals followed by scooping, filling, labeling tiny plastic bags. The smells of a dozen different spices combined with a calm and happy pride as my baby girl reads the labels and prices, hunting for spices, her small unsteady hand making sure the 9 is the right way round.
In the kitchen with my monkeys. Tiny hands measuring, spilling, tasting, mixing. Taking turns, reading the recipe, little lips that move haltingly along the trickier words. Learning these codes with me: Which one is the big spoon? The T or the t? Practicing fractions the best way possible. More gifts for dear ones: This is my favorite part of Christmas, Mama.
Taking a break, sitting down to wait for the timer to ring. My new world of friendly strangers who stop by and gather little bits of my heart as it leaks onto the screen. Leaving bits of themselves behind. I marvel each time I look. Someone read. Someone liked. Someone took the time to say. Something I said reminded someone of something they know. It reminds me we're not alone here. Experience is common, it just needs to be discovered.
And this, my favorite code of all. The secret code we speak to each other. The years of jokes and songs and movies and malapropisms tumbling into everyday speech. The shorthand that says so much. The silly ways to make each other laugh in the simplest of communication. The glue that holds us together in the long run. It's a living history of us, adding new vocabulary daily. What started all those years ago has grown, enfolded two whole new people and become their code, too.
The thousand different ways we say "I love you."
42296, 42517, 48903, 48968, 49271, 49202, 49106
2 C gran. sug., 2 C unsw. inst. tea, 1 1/2 C Fr. van powd., 1 1/4 C powd. cr., 1 1/4 C br. sug. packed, 3/4 C NF dry m., 2 1/2 t gr. cin., 1 1/2 t gr. nm, 1 1/4 t gr. card., 1 1/4 t gr. clo., 1 t gr. allsp., 1/4 t wh. pep.
harchau, armacion, dowze, nylor, rozon, boomeas, batsi, oblecoo, zings, whings, futhy, candecha, nabbee
"Should you pick up a chucket of bicken while you're out?"
My day has been dominated by secret codes today. Little bits of valuable information encoded in nonsense. A gray and misty Saturday spent with the people I love the most, doing my puttering with assistance. Puttering with purpose today, with the holidays approaching, but puttering nonetheless.
Cozy by the fire with my jBird, still in jammies, drinking coffee (Me, not her. Never her. The child never sleeps as it is.) and putting the finishing touches on a tam I'm crocheting for a dear friend. The soothing ritual of yarn and a hook dancing together to make beautiful fabric. Each stitch a thought, a memory of my friend, wound with the warm and snuggly contentment of this day.
A drizzly bike ride with the jBird to the market. Our list is of bulk spices for making delicious holiday treats for dear ones far away. The process of pumping legs on pedals followed by scooping, filling, labeling tiny plastic bags. The smells of a dozen different spices combined with a calm and happy pride as my baby girl reads the labels and prices, hunting for spices, her small unsteady hand making sure the 9 is the right way round.
In the kitchen with my monkeys. Tiny hands measuring, spilling, tasting, mixing. Taking turns, reading the recipe, little lips that move haltingly along the trickier words. Learning these codes with me: Which one is the big spoon? The T or the t? Practicing fractions the best way possible. More gifts for dear ones: This is my favorite part of Christmas, Mama.
Taking a break, sitting down to wait for the timer to ring. My new world of friendly strangers who stop by and gather little bits of my heart as it leaks onto the screen. Leaving bits of themselves behind. I marvel each time I look. Someone read. Someone liked. Someone took the time to say. Something I said reminded someone of something they know. It reminds me we're not alone here. Experience is common, it just needs to be discovered.
And this, my favorite code of all. The secret code we speak to each other. The years of jokes and songs and movies and malapropisms tumbling into everyday speech. The shorthand that says so much. The silly ways to make each other laugh in the simplest of communication. The glue that holds us together in the long run. It's a living history of us, adding new vocabulary daily. What started all those years ago has grown, enfolded two whole new people and become their code, too.
The thousand different ways we say "I love you."
