While many welcome spring, I am often saddened by it. Only recently did I find the root of this. Spring semester of my junior year was spent in Manchester, England (England... across the Atlantic Sea, and I'm a genius genius...), and the arrival of true spring weather in England that year coincided with the arrival of the semester's end.

Spending the summer running errands for a law office in Pittsburgh was a dismal sentence after five glorious months abroad. I had tasted a bit of independence, as well as a bit of the world, and I was hungry for more. The largest Primanti Brothers sandwich could not fill the void.

To this day, there is that certain smell of spring that makes me nostalgic and melancholy for that time in my life. Rather than focus on the past, I decided that I would focus on rebirth this year. Tomorrow starts a three-month focus on various areas of my life that need to be fixed, fine-tuned or completely revamped.

I have been reading Suze Orman (I would recommend either Women & Money or The 9 Steps to Financial Freedom); thus, the month of May will be devoted primarily to money -- checking interest rates, organizing my retirement plans, and creating a plan of action to make my money work for me.

There are other changes afoot, but I will not bore you further.

Joe's mother (aka my Mother-Out-Law since we are not married) lives in the same apartment building we do. On the few occasions where this proximity might have been a blessing -- locking myself out of the house with my handbag and keys inside -- she was nowhere to be found.

Typically, she is wandering around the property, looking to have in-depth conversations as you attempt to leave for work, play or some fabrication to escape. Yesterday, she interrupted my pre-brunch primping to alert me to the fact that an injured Red-Tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) was hanging out in one of the trees in the yard.

I took a few photos, then headed to Cold Spring for the day. Upon my return, I find Joe wearing an old black leather jacket and white work gloves, carrying a long stick and my vintage laundry hamper. Joe's older son is carrying a blanket, and Joe's mother is hopping around like Tweetie Bird. They are obviously attempting to rescue the hawk, and this image is enough to make me think about high-tailing back to my parents.

Life here is always a conflict of Man vs. Beast. This morning I narrowly escaped vehicular duck-slaughter. In Hooterville, braking for Mallards, Canada Geese and New York State Wild Turkey is standard fare, darling.

You would think that the combination of no internet and sitting hospital watch would have given me prime knitting time, and it would have had I brought a project with me. So in a knitting slump am I that I cannot even think of a project. Nothing stirs me. Although some strange force of habit resulted in my packing my Denise Interchangable Needles. I was cursing the space they consumed when I returned from my trip laden with additional books.

During my absence, Joe was kind enough to ship a parcel for me to a blog buddy in the siren city of San Francisco. Returning the favor of shipping a personal gift to work, I wrapped up the Diagonal Lace Scarf -- along with a Moleskin mini cahier pocket book -- hoping to surprise Rona. It worked!

Specifications
Diagonal Lace Scarf
1 skein Southwest Trading Company Bamboo, #133 Intensity
US 7 needle

Modifications: Accidentally knitted as a four-row repeat instead of a six-row repeat, but I like the result. I knit until I finished the ball.

My gift knitting has been fairly minimal, but it feels wonderful to make someone smile. And I could use a dose of smiles.

Finished and Off

It was my intention to post about the now finished Diagonal Lace Scarf from Midnight Purls (view sidebar for PDF or download to Ravelry library), but I never managed to photograph it.

Tomorrow, I fly out of town at the crack of heinous for a family matter.

As my parents are fully entrenched in their Luddism, in spite of my slow introduction of "advanced" electronics, the quiet will continue here. You have grown accustomed to the silence, I fear.