When you call Gas and Electric Company X and say, “I’d like to turn the gas and electric on in our new house,” you would expect them tell you if they are not able to supply gas to your house; that’s Company Y’s job.  Nope.  The lady just said sure, no problem.  So when my husband calls out the heat and air guys because our house resembles a meat locker, they got a pretty big chuckle when they figured out we didn’t have the necessary fuel going to the furnace.  Of course those smiles turned to frowns all around when even after the furnace was receiving gas, it still didn’t heat.  Broken gas pump/valve thingie.  We had two very chilly days during which I wondered if we’d have to cover ourselves with my wool skeins to avoid freezing to death.  Northern knitters are no doubt laughing since I live in Texas and it didn’t even drop to freezing those days.  Yes, I am a cold amateur.

The pumpkin hat didn’t happen because I decided to go out on Halloween.  Matt had plans, and I decided that I just wasn’t up to wrestling the puppy while handing out candy all night.  Speaking of puppies, not much knitting has been happening and probably won’t happen until Freya takes the excitement down a few levels.  Ever since she got big enough to jump on the couch, my crafting time has been severely curtailed.  Even the most well-behaved pup can’t resist Lorna’s Laces.

Halloween has been a dud holiday for several years now–people tend to frown on adults trick-or-treating with no kids and no trick-or-treaters ever came to our apartment.  Don’t even get me started on how pathetic it was, eating all that leftover candy that I bought even though no kids came to our door for the previous 3 years.  But this year we have a house.  In a nice neighborhood.  Where kids live.  Although my mom assures me that the thrill of jumping up every time the door bell rings does wear off, I’m excited.  Unfortunately, the school I teach at won’t let us wear costumes.  Poop.  I always like seeing my teachers all dressed up and lookin’ goofy.  So, I think I’ll knit myself a pumpkin hat.

Who cares that it’s a baby pattern?  Knitting yourself a baby hat isn’t sad at all.  Certainly not as sad as eating a two-pound bag of jawbreakers because no kids rang your doorbell.  Definitely not as sad as knitting Freya a matching hat.  Perspective.

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