AUTHOR: Knitti-me TITLE: Well, I guess I was too ambitious to think... DATE: 11:42:00 AM ----- BODY:
...that at least 25 people would even stop by my blog let alone comment over a three-day weekend... I tell ya, bloglines is killing me. Whatever happened to good, old fashioned bookmarking? I spent over an hour on Friday trying to get my RSS feed to work and then get bloglines to work. No luck, obviously. Anyway, let's hope that I haven't taken on a too ambitious project for The Knitting Olympics hosted by the Yarn Harlot. Yes, I signed on thinking that because we weren't knitting on a specific project, that I may just start/finish my project of choice and not get slammed with the KAL (knit-a-long) curse. The basic rule is that we need to start a project during the opening ceremonies on February 10 and finish by the time the Olympic torch is extinguished on February 26. That's 16 days of TV knitting.
So what will Knitti-me be knitting during the 2006 winter games? Why a Colinette-esque throw for my friend, badcat Karin's, upcoming nuptials. (She hasn't stopped by my blog in months, so I hope she doesn't start reading, thus spoiling the surprise...) ~~~
It's Tuesday, so what does that mean? Why Self-Portrait Tuesday. This month's assignment is Personal History.

Here is a photo taken sometime in 1965 with me and my mom and dad in front of our house in San Francisco. I am now the same age as my mom in this photo (and yes, she had that same hair-do for years!). I love seeing my dad in his work shirt.

In 1965 we still had our milk delivered in glass bottles to our little milk box on the front step.

On trash day (Tuesdays) the garbage trucks would groan up the San Francisco hills to our street with the garbagemen hanging onto the back and sides. The men would swarm all over our neighborhood carrying the trash cans back and forth to the truck as it slowly drove along the street.

Gas stations were closed on Sundays. Dad would always fill up the car with "Ethol" at the Atlantic-Richfield (now known as ARCO) station at the bottom of the hill.

Our classy neighbor, Margaret Blakely, would dress to the "nines" in a hat and gloves with matching shoes and purse just to take public transportation downtown to go shopping at The Emporium on Market Street.

And no, we never recycled.

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