I tried on the February Lady Sweater after some serious power knitting and discovered that it looks like shit on my breasts. I love the pattern and it wasn't too small, exactly, it just looked weird in the chest. This was disappointing, since I've been looking forward to wearing it. Instead, I've decided to give it to my grandmother who is less buxom. She has the same size shoulders as I do, so it will fit her well. After the holidays, I'll make another one for myself. Not identical, though, because that would be strange.

Speaking of holidays, I went to my aunt's birthday party last week. It was like a Pinter play with Chinese food. A lot of Chinese food; they had it waiting in a big, heavy box when we went to pick it up. The sassy owner asked us how many people we'd ordered for and my aunt answered truthfully. After we got out to the car, I told her we should have told her it was just for us to see the look on her face.

My mother was feeling rather generous on Sunday and gave me four skeins of Malabrigo Worsted. I thought that it was enough to make a February Lady Sweater of my own, but I was mistaken. Instead, I am busily knitting it into a Wicked pullover. The yarn is a rich chianti color, so the sweater may get a lot of wear during the holidays, provided I finish it in time. I'm feeling optimistic, since I'm spending a lot of time streaming video from Netflix these days. My latest addiction is Dexter. There's really no way to describe the show that does it justice. Let's just say that it's highly excellent and leave it at that.

Last night, I spent an hour or two reading my Grandmother's diaries from the year before and the year that I was born. It was an interesting read. I'd found her old date books, in which she'd made comments about the day's events, but hadn't realized that she used to be an actual diarist. I learned a lot of little things, like that the photographer was a no-show at my parents' wedding. I'd assumed that the pictures were lost or destroyed. Also, Grandma misspelled my name on the day that I was born, which made me laugh. I doubt my dad spelled it out for her when he called from the hospital, but she had it correct the next day. It was really wonderful to see how excited she was about my birth and how much she loved me from the beginning. It also made me miss her terribly. Hell, I'm crying now, just writing about it. She was my favorite person in the world.

On a cheerier note, my favorite band released a new album today. Apparently, they were interviewed about it on NPR recently, but I didn't hear it. Surprising, since I listen to NPR most of the time. I was pleasantly surprised when I saw the album in the new releases on the iTunes home page. If you don't listen to Pink Martini, you should. They're incredibly live. Look at that album cover art; what a lovely homage to the jazz albums of the fifties and early sixties. The album is more reflective than their previous ones, but perfect for a rainy autumn afternoon.