Life's a Stitch

I don't know how long you've been reading this blog, but I've had a couple of posts called "Where are the children?" It's about stuff my kids got into that I don't hear about until the filter of time has done its job. In other words, enough time has passed that they won't suffer natural and logical consequences for their actions.

Tonight we're sitting around the dinner table, this threesome of empty nesters, Chuck, me and the spouse of Raveler Zoebis, who stays with us when he works in the Lower Mainland, leaving Ms Zoebis to languish in yarn and spinny goodness, but that's another story. We start talking about what we did as kids that might have fit that kind of childhood statute of limitations. It all centered around electricity.

In Doug's case it had to do with his boy siblings, go figure, all aware of a household phenomenon, where if they touched a certain shower head in one particular bathroom, due to a combination of water and poor wiring, they'd receive an electrical shock. Of course they all had to try that shower with a variety of, thankfully, non-life threatening results. Then he told us the time they touched nine volt batteries to their braces. My mother would have said at the time, "Boys will be boys."

We girls got into our own mischief. Reminded me when I was little, a little too little for this kind of thing. Really little. My grandparent's kitchen had a pink sparkly countertop with one of those grooved chrome edges that would now be classified as a mid-century relic. If you opened the fridge with one hand, and touched the chrome edge with the other, voila, the current would run right through you. My cousins and I (those of us with a long enough reach, several girls and a boy) saw this as the perfect dare opportunity and we all survived, most with eventual graduate degrees. Hmmm.

Come on, we all have these stories. Time to fess up.

And because this is a knitting blog here's a boy gift, another Bob Blankie, in its beginning stages: