No Monday can be all bad when you get to use a world like penultimate.
The morning started the way most Monday mornings do. I was up what I consider way to early, I made my son breakfast, and then when he was ready, we made our way to the bus stop, admiring the moon overhead and sorting through the constellations that were not hidden by trees.
Once he was off to school, I started a fresh pot of coffee, and then, before the sun was up, I got to work on the Weekend Granny Throw.
When I had gone to bed, I had finished the nineteenth round, so this morning, 10.0 mm hook in hand, I began the twentieth round.
Throughout the morning, and into the late afternoon, each round of the throw was punctuated by some household chore: folding clothes, vacuuming cat hair, watering the lawn where the grass seed was spread, loading the dishwasher, unloading the dishwasher, washing a load of laundry, and the hanging it out to dry.
The day wore on like that. Another round, another chore, and then finally, just as it was time to start dinner, I reached the thirtieth of thirty-one rounds:
Tomorrow, I will finish the thirtieth round, and then the thirty-first.
I will weave in the ends, and then dampen the finished piece in an effort to lightly block it.
I will wait for the sun to be in exactly the right place so that I can get a photo that does the project justice.
I will spend ten minutes enjoying the fact that I have completed a project, and then it will be time to move onto the next thing,