Nana's Knitting Shop

Knitting tales of a lifelong knitter
and yarn shop owner.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Happy Summer!

Today is the first day of summer and even though I can't be at Stonehenge with all the other Summer Solstice crazies, I'm happy it's here.

I hope you're planning on coming to Knit Out Oak Lawn! on Sunday, June 24 from 1:00 - 4:00 in the gazebo at the Oak Lawn Village Green. Because I'm lucky enough to know some of the most talented people in the world, a very special guest will be on hand to entertain and delight us!

Don't forget to enter Nana's Talent Show. This is not a contest, but an opportunity to show off your knitting prowess! Click here for more information.

Cicada Update!

I'm sure you're all dying to know what's going on in the grotesque ecosystem that is my back yard. So here goes...

The noise has waned considerably and there are now more dead cicadas than live ones. You remember that the Weather Girls said, "Hallelujah" during "It's Raining Men."

Well, I said, "ugh!" when I came outside during Tuesday's storm to find it was Raining Cicadas! These red-eyed buggers don't fly very well on a good day, but when it rains, they just fall out the sky. Their wings are actually quite pretty; they're iridescent, but more and more often that's all that's left of these creepy invaders. Wings, wings and more wings everywhere.

The experts tell me that they'll all be gone by the 4th of July. All of the adults will be dead, having served their purpose, and all of the offspring will have slimed their way underground. Their final farewell, I'm told, will be the smell of their postmortem bodies - rotting meat, limburger cheese, anyone?

In Requiem

  • I don't know why it takes you 17 years to show up and other than to gross me out, I'm not sure why you show up at all.
  • The sea gulls will be hungry again next year when you're still underground so being an integral part of the food chain is out of the question.
  • You're genus is Magicicada. Magic, my foot. You're genus should be Grossiosocicada.
  • Your children are called nymphs which sounds pleasant enough, here's a picture of one by Gay Williams. If my child looked like that, I'd force her immediately underground too. (Sorry, Cory.)

  • May you rest in peace as you turn to dust and may you not stink up my yard too bad.
  • And, last but not least, may I not be anywhere near when you pop up in another 17 years. This phenomenon is best experienced just once. We'll never speak of this again.


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