Just call me Penelope . . .

As I was unraveling my crocheting project for, oh, I dunno . . . the fifth or sixth time, my son remarked that I reminded him of Penelope, Odysseus' wife.  Yes, I have a son that uses Homer as material for his smart aleck cracks.  Penelope was known for her faithfulness while she waited for her husband to return from fighting that pesky Trojan War.  For three years, she weaved a shroud for the eventual funeral of her father-in-law, Laertes, and claimed that she would choose a new husband as soon as the shroud was completed. By day, the queen weaved her shroud and at night, she unraveled what she had done, until eventually she got caught. 

There's one obvious conclusion to be drawn from this:  Penelope was not a blogger.  Fellow bloggers would not have let her get away with it for so long without wanting to see the progress . . . so, just to make sure no suitors for my hand get angry with me, here's what I've done so far . . .

But suitors beware: My husband and I just celebrated our 27th wedding anniversary last week. Our marriage shroud is still being crocheted. Every stitch has been a labor of love, and there's no end in sight for this project . . . you'd better find yourself another Penelope . . .

Meanwhile, it's that time of year again.  Boxes in my Living Room can only mean one thing:  My son is going back to college soon.  There goes that little catch in my breath . . .