Crunch Berries

Over the weekend, the Smallies, the pooch and I headed up to Whidbey Island, where we all went feral for a couple of days.  The kids climbed rocks, played in the mud and skipped stones.  The dog dove headlong into a bramble patch in search of a cottontail rabbit.  Said rodent was actually behind her (I'm pretty sure laughing) at the time. 

And I worked on my Kingscot:

My sister, who is also plotting to take over the world, insists that the job can be done (get this!) without any knitting!  Bless her little feeble-minded heart!  She, like so many others, has no clue of the power we wield.  If only I could turn her to the dark side.  But Susie is the sort of woman who has "people for that", and sees herself as more the idea-generating sort.  The boring details, such as actual execution, are left to her people.  I'm sure I don't need to tell you that her people are often me.

Susie watched me work a bobble on the cardigan front, with what I hallucinated to be interest.  I instinctively tried to teach her the technique, until I realized that she was looking at me with the kind of disdain usually reserved for mildew specimens.  "What?" I demanded.  "Nothing," she said.  "But those things look just like Crunch Berries."

I fear the New World Order under Susie's regime.