Everything is coming up rose–what the?  Rose, what the heck is going on here?

Rose, I apologize.  I didn’t intend to put so much pressure on you to make your premiere this weekend.  I bragged about you.  I know it, and I’m sorry.  You’re young and shy, and if you’re not ready to go to a big party and have everyone stare and call you pretty and paw you, that’s ok.  You can stay in the hotel room.  By yourself.   In a bag with a sock.  Unless the sock wants to come to the wedding, of course, because the sock can fit in my evening bag, and will probably want to come out and visit with Simone and Monika and meet Ben and Mandy.  Anyway, you’ll be at the hotel by yourself in a bag, just like you want, and we’ll be the wedding with all the nice people who asked to meet you.  I’ll be wearing some other sweater of course, but you understand.  Should I wear the green angora twinset with the beads at the neck, or the (admittedly less pretty than you, of course) purple silk twinset with beads at the beck and cuffs?  Hmmh?  Hmmmph!

Rose was more than half done yesterday afternoon, but she seemed to start the increases for the bust too soon.  We talked it over.  She would not be appeased.  In the long run, she decided that half of her stitches had to go.  So frog city, my friends.  Frog city.  She is much diminished.  Our drama ended just in time for Scott and I to drive to Arlington to see Karen, his mom, and to catch up on the doings at Rosebud. 

Karen was in town on business for about a day and a half, so Scott and I met up with Karen and with Scott’s niece Savannah and her mom Vicki.  We had a fine time catching up over dinner.  Sadly, Little Bear, Karen’s little-old-man of a dog, has passed on, and all of his people and his two best dog friends, Chelsea and Danke miss him.  It’s hard for me to believe he’s gone–he was one of the grand old dogs in my universe, and he’s survived so long and through so much I was betting on his immortality.  He was either a small Spitz mix or the biggest Pomeranian in the world, depending on who you asked, and he could dominate just about any dog and win the heart of any person. 

Otherwise, life in Utah and around Rosebud sounds like it’s going well.  The llamas-in-law are all very happy and healthy, as are their people.  Karen just lead Chapoteo through a performance trial and he did very well, despite accidentally knocking her off her feet while they were crossing a stream.  He was quite embarrassed, of course.  We didn’t get to talk about the llamas as much as I would have wanted, though, because apparently other people are interested in things other than llamas–can you believe that?  It’s so weird.  Anyway, we’re concocting schemes for Scott and me to go back out to Utah soon, and for some assortment of the Utah contingent to come back to Virginia for a visit.  And I got to send Karen home with her own copy of the book and another for Shirley and Bill. 

And, um, grouting still sucks, but it leaves rosy patches (of pain) on my knees, so it fits the theme.  I will never be a professional tiler, no sirree Bob.  Hard work, tiling.  Those guys don’t charge enough.

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