My neighbors are burning their trash outside. Again.
That makes it sound like I live out in the boonies of rural Alabama, but really I live in a suburb just next to a major metropolitan area. The sixth largest city in the state, we are. However, I live right at the very tip-end of it. Over the back fence of the house two down is apparently, The Country. That's where you can burn your trash outside with impunity.
I have nothing against The Country, and trash burning. Except that the stink of the trash burning is coming over here and getting inside my house and making me cough and wheeze. My hair now smells like trash smoke -- bleagh.
Also, it is windy today, and I have some concern that the trash fire may migrate over here into the yards and shrubbery of my house and my neighbors'. We have been in a drought for about a year, and I'm fire-shy.
I didn't mind so much when the Country neighbors had goats and chickens that used to visit our yard. The chickens were fine. The goats, too, except at Christmas when they ate the red bows off our mailbox. They don't have the chickens and goats any more. Just the trash fire.
I should be knitting. I just read Yarn Harlot talking about knitting one thing when she should be knitting another. She's knitting some fabulous socks out of wonderful multi-colored yarn that just changes and changes and changes. Who could put those down? Sometimes I feel so inadequate reading others' blogs. Stephanie was talking about wanting to finish the Must Have Cardigan before leaving for a trip. In 48 hours. Lordy, the back of the Must Have Cardigan would take me 48 DAYS to knit. We should not compare our knitting speed to that of knitting goddesses. It just makes us sad.



















