It's spider season. They're everywhere. I can't hang clothes without a thorough inspection of the nooks and crannies of the clothespin. They're in there. Waiting. For me. They wait to crawl into the pockets of my blouses or jeans. Wait. Till I wear the clothes. So they can come crawling out. And get me. They're out there. And sometimes they're very big. They don't have to be big to elicit the response they get from me. Many years ago while visiting an aunt and uncle in Acapulco, my uncle said when I screamed he didn't know whether to bring a newspaper or a shotgun. The scream was the same! I keep Patient Husband handy now. All I have to do is yell, "Spider!!!" and he comes, dragging to where I am. Sometimes it's a precariously out of reach place, but I don't care. I just keep hopping from one foot to the other imploring, "don't miss! don't miss! don't you dare miss!" I don't do spiders.
We are back into the work groove, so to speak. But the 6 a.m. wakeup call is brutal. I finally figured out today why it's so hard. On weekends or non-school days I can wake up, lay there a few minutes, feel myself slowly becoming conscious. But on work days when the alarm goes off we have to hit the floor running. Tonight, just now, we both put our faces into the mirror and compared dark circles under our eyes. And then debated whose were worse. Sigh.
Not getting much quilting done during the week. Over the weekend though I finished cutting the triangles for a flying geese border, worked on the flower quilt Elizabeth wants (I'm closing in on that one) and started thinking of a stocking for Cecilia.