Shedders and Sweaters

I took an extra-long weekend vacation, Thursday through Monday, and it's been great. Not much was accomplished, other than some knitting (socks, of course), some fishing, and some heart-stopping moments of panic. More on that later, but just so you know, my little Prius can really spin some gravel out of the driveway when it needs to get going fast!

First with the knitting, no photos, but I have almost completed the April's Brown Bag Sock Yarn socks. I started them last Monday, and in one week, I finished one sock and am past the heel on the second. That might be a record. For me, anyway.

Next for the fishing. My sister and I have gone fishing several times over the past five days - just off the beach at Fortescue, but it's perfect for my sister, who gets to fish, and for me, as I don't like boats or fishing, but like to walk the beach or sit and knit. Of course, when I say "beach" I use that term loosely. It's not a beach as in white sand and palm trees and cabana boys bring you fancy drinks with little paper umbrellas. Nope. This is the beach at Fortescue.

Not a cabana boy in sight. :sigh:

Still, Friday was my sister's birthday, and as a special birthday present, this big boy jumped onto her line.

He was a 26" Striper, but as the minimum is 28" this year in New Jersey, he went back into the water and lived to get hooked another day. Still, he was a nice birthday surprise for her.

Today, we went back down to Fortescue for one last attempt to get a legal Striper, but again fell short...literally. This big boy is 24". Lots of fun, though!

This brings me to the title for this post. My sister has always wanted to own a bait shop (I know....eeeeewwwww....bait!) and I said I'd help out as long as it was a bait and yarn shop. This morning on the drive to Fortescue we came up with a great name for it. Shedders and Sweaters! Does everyone know what a shedder is? It's what they call Blue Claw Crabs in the process of molting and growing a new shell. Fishermen call them shedders, sheds, peelers, or busters, but in a fancy seafood restaurant they're called "soft shell" crabs. People eat them, legs, guts and all. Can I get another "eeeeewwwww"?


Now for the heart-stopping panic. Yesterday morning, Easter Sunday, the phone rings. I see on the caller ID that it's mom, so pick up and say "Happy Easter". Mom says "Can you come over right now?" Now, there is a certain urgency in her voice when something is wrong, and from mom's tone of voice, something was very, very wrong. I say "Yes - be right there" and mom hangs up.

I slammed the laptop shut, jumped up, ran around looking for my car keys, and in 30 seconds or less my sister and I were running out of the house headed for the car. Mom and dad are just around the corner--you can see their house from attic windows in this house, but it seemed like hours before my little Prius got us over to mom and dad's. In what I'm sure was just a few minutes, all kinds of horrible scenarios ran through my mind. OK, mom was talking normally and knew who I was, so she didn't have a stroke, but it has been confirmed that it was TIAs which put her in the hospital for four days last month. Maybe she fell? Where is dad? Did he have a stroke? Heart attack? Is there a burgler in the house? Axe murderer? Maybe it's Bessie...is she sick? Did she get out of the house? That's the best we can hope for - it's Bessie and she is out in the backyard and they need help catching her.

Anyway, my sister and I get to mom and dad's, run up the steps and in the house and are confronted with......silence. No sign of anything going on. No blood and guts on the floor. We're running through the house calling "hello? hello????" and finally hear mom saying "In here", which was the back bedroom. On the way down the hall, I see Bessie, so I know it's not her. It's mom or dad. Somebody is sick. Call 9-1-1. We burst into the bedroom, and mom is sitting on the edge of her bed, in her new Easter dress, and says "I can't get these earrings in, and your father can't either."

Yup, the heart-stopping emergency was that she couldn't put her earrings through the holes in her ears. The day before, while making potato salad for Easter dinner, she nearly cut the top of her thumb off, which necessitated a trip to the ER. (On a side note, no potato salad for me, thank-you-very-much.) Without the use of her thumb, she couldn't get her earrings in. After I my breathing returned to normal and my hands stopped shaking, I got her earrings in. Crisis averted.