Watching Paint Dry

That's my day. I sit and I wait. I had other plans. Buy beads for cashmere socks. Mail out pattern and vest to Sheep Shop. But no. I am instead trapped; a victim of cruel circumstance. My kitchen sink is clogged, as in standing water in the sink that drains at a rate of 1 ounce per millennium. This is good, in a way - something is getting through, if slowly. I'd relate it to molasses in January, but we all know about that. Last night Mr. Wonderful tried to liberate it. He did everything right - took the pipes all apart, checked for a clog. Snaked as far down as he could. Then we did something unforgivable. We added 2 bottles of Drano, great big ones. They failed. This means that we'll now pay extra, since Drano is dangerous and the plumber is compensated accordingly. I have greater respect for my dishwasher now. It empties to the same drain as the kitchen sink. Over the last 30-odd years of my life I have washed thousands of dishes by hand. My sisters would be thrilled to know that I, the "baby" who wasn't allowed to wash them when we were young lest I break them, spent the better part of my mothering years in front of a sink full of water and dish ware. Who knew four kids could dirty so many dishes in a day? And could I delegate this task to my own babies? No. Why not? THEY might break them. This is exceptionally stupid given that most of our dishes were either a.) Tupperware (oh the endless file of Tupperware cups, which, once in your posession remain through nuclear holocaust because, being plastic, you can't just CHUCK them, right?? The planet will mourn!) or b.) Corelle (Drop it while washing or serving and it bounces. Throw it at your ex-husband's head and it shatters into a million tiny pieces on contact. With the door frame. I wasn't REALLY trying to hit him. I was also 19 years old and 3 weeks postpartum, and after meticulously picking up the 60 bazillion shards with my little fingers I never chucked another piece of glass or dish ware again. Not even the Tupperware). So when Mr. W and I (who, in 16 years, has not made me angry enough to throw more than a pillow) moved here and I was greeted by the sight of a dishwasher, in place and functional, I cried tears of joy. This morning as I hand washed three days worth of dishes (the entire contents of my dishwasher plus a half-day of overflow) by hand in a half-full dishpan of cold water I realized just how much I'd taken the thing for granted. Never again. Tomorrow I shall fill her spot-free rinse dispenser, check her filter, and give her shiny black front a nice polish. I tried to recycle my dish water. I watered the two remaining indoor plants. I've been trying to think up other ways to recycle it, should I need to wash by hand for another day. Or more. But maybe I should not think on that for long. I wonder if there's dish-o-mats, like Laundromats? I can take the dishes in, stuff a machine with quarters, and read ripped up outdated issues of People while I wait for them to be returned, sparkling and dry.
The vest is done. I still like it. In fact, I like it a lot. Tomorrow it can make it's exodus to Sheep Shop, and eventually they will have the pattern for sale. The yarn is Sheep Number 3 which is a 30% silk/70% wool blend that I LOVE! Butter soft and yummy on the hand and better after blocking, drapey in a lovely way that compliments my little reversible cables, great stitch definition, and a gauge I can really wrap my head around. In a medium, the vest used 6 skeins, but with a ton ton ton leftover, enough for...something. It should be held closed with a shawl pin or - really, I'd love to see this - a wide brown leather d-ring belt. Or it can be left open. Pity it takes me years to get around to knitting samples for myself. I'd like to own this.