Of a gift:
Grandmother's Favorite Dishcloth. Something so easy, I can memorize the pattern. These will be for the ladies of a church in Haiti. A little handmade luxury. I have one a friend made and gave to me fresh off her needles in an impulsive gesture of comfort after my car accident last summer.
My first ever. I had a false start when I cast on too many stitches and then messed up a quarter of the first row. (These were separate screw-ups.) But now the first set of the Lightning Lace Jacket pattern is done. "Isn't lace supposed to be hard?" THOMY asked, by way of consoling me when I had been disgusted with my first cast on. As long as I'm PAYING ATTENTION, no. It isn't. Ah, but this is the challenge for the attention deficit, is it not? So, the lightning in this lace won't mean a zot of time, apparently. Other than the nanosecond it'll take to raise the mighty ire of Zeus. With yours truly playing the role of Mt. Olympus' Cantankerous Couch Potato-in-Chief.
With grief therapy.
The bathroom in Dad's house is almost done. There's cleaning to be done still, but I'm especially proud of the tilting mirror over the dressing table. Its supports are actually level. And centered under the lights on the wall. That centering was done by eyeball, so relief is mine.