A couple months ago, HWWV swung our duvet over his head while we were changing the bed and managed to knock down our faux antler chandelier, damaging it ever so slightly. In fact, one of the faux antlers literally broke off except its electrical insides stayed intact and the antler, along with its cute little lampshade turned down toward the ground due to gravity. It's a good thing he didn't swing with all his Chi intact (because he's a black belt times three or more, don't get me started about the first time I saw him fifteen years ago there in the dojo swooping up through the air doing some sort of fancy high kick, his waist-length hair swinging around his back and just about hitting him on his right cheek as he let out a whoop! that stopped my breath. I fell in love with him at that moment and he fell in love with me [or so he says] about two minutes later when I sat down on a chair by the wayside and took off my purple Doc Marten's and announced to the room that I needed to get into my Gi, first of all, and second, I needed to get to know that guy who just flew through the air and who happened to be wearing khaki-colored bikini underwear that showed through his karate pants).
Whew! Must start my thought again.
At any rate, he helps me take the photographs. And now, after taking pics of all my yarn and all my stuff and all my blog thingys the guy has started a new life as a photographer. I met him when he was a student from London (by way of Southeast Asia) and who came to California for college. In those days, he only dated Swedish girls . . .or Norwegian girls. (Heh. He thinks I'm sort of exotic, but I hate to break it to him: I'm both Swedish and Norwegian.)
I only say this stuff because I need to take a minute and mention that many of the pictures in this blog are ones that he takes for me. He takes them for me late at night or on a weekend when he'd rather smoke a cigar and listen to his music in the backyard. He'd rather do a lot of things instead of take pics of yarn, like take a run or sleep on the couch. Instead, he takes pictures for us.
On other news, I went to Yoga today. I was sick the past few days; I didn't tell you about it because I always feel guilty when I get ill. But I was sick. I'm well now and made my way to the class and while I was walking across the parking lot two yoginis got into a fuss in the busy parking lot and next thing I know, there they are, wearing fancy Los Angeles-type yoga gear and shaking fists and reaching into their car windows to honk their horns at each other and yell obscenities. Oy. (Or should I say, Ohm?) Next thing I know, I'm settling down for my class and the gal, the one with the louder of the two horns, settles down behind me with about 16 props. We're talking about three cashmere blankets, two or three things I can't even name, three layers of foam, two eye pillows; one in a brown, another in some sort of linen (yes; I stare), and I kid you not: a special neck pillow that she never used. She did, however, wave down the teacher and ask her for an extra rub of the lavender essential oil.
I wonder if her grandma knit for her like mine did.