I decided that what looked unusual about the bee hive was that there were soooooo many bees outside. It needed another super, but I didn't want to risk another sting on the same day. I got DH to come out and take a look, and he agreed to put the extra super on top for me. He was taking no chances. Get a load of the outfit he put on before he'd go out there:
Under the blue coveralls, he's wearing long-legged jeans and a long-sleeved shirt! I wouldn't put on that many clothes to save my life on a day like that (it had reached 90 degrees and was very humid). For those who are unfamiliar, that thing in his hand is a smoker, used to stupify the bees before approaching. (Notice the ever-present kitten is in attendance.)
My face really swelled up in the night, so when I got up in the morning, I looked like the poster child for domestic violence, with both sides of my face red and all puffed up. Then Sunday I got into a tangle with a rose bush while tidying up a flower bed. All the bleeding scratches just added to the effect.
Once when I fractured both arms at the elbows by tumbling ass over teakettle in the road, I went to the ER for X-rays. They must have asked me ten times how I had injured myself, and if I was SURE I wasn't a victim of abuse. I wonder what they would've thought if they could have seen me this time?!?
My knitting has been resurrected. I finally figured out where I left off on the green sweater and am pretty close to having the front finished. Next I'll need to do the sleeves. I'm always stunned at how long it takes to knit a sleeve for anything. I don't know how it always surprises me, as if it hadn't already been discovered over and over. When you look at a sleeve laid out flat, it is apparent that it is nearly as large as the front of any sweater -- so why does it ALWAYS shock me that I cannot get a sleeve done up in jig time? Must I repeat, "Slow Learner Here"?
After the greenie is completed, I hope to start a sweater for my GD. She wants another just like one I made her when she was a tot. A knitter-friend is graciously doing the math for me. I don't trust my own abilities when it comes to math. Ever since 9th grade, when I (normally an honor student) nearly failed a class because of algebra. I struggled for months, trying to "get it" in that class. Then, suddenly it was as if someone whacked me upside the head with a two-by-four and knocked some sense into me. The whole experience left me mathematically scarred for life.
My oldest grand will be starting 9th grade tomorrow. If you're the praying sort, remember him. Not that I think that dreaded math teacher I had is still out there. But just in case ...