Here are the recital girls, rendered unrecognizable by the "fun effects" button. On the right is our lovely hostess of last week, who played some splendid stuff on the piano. One piece was a flashy two-piano Spanish thing which I had not previously heard. It was stirring.

On the left is our lovely #2 daughter. I find that I can't say much about her performance without bragging. Let me just say that you should hear her sing Mozart. And Debussy, too. And really, a whole bunch of other stuff. I would not be at all surprised if you had the chance someday. I was hoping there were talent scouts in the audience.

An old friend came, and my aunt and uncle, and both brought flowers. After the recital, we set out to find her and give her the flowers. I have done this so many times; normally there is a little cluster of friends in the green room, and it is sort of a fun and exciting follow-up.

On this occasion, we opened the door to the recital hall and found #2 daughter in the hallway, with a line of about 50 people waiting to hug her. I have never seen anything like it. It took us ages to get her to ourselves.

Of course, I can't show you pictures, because they are pretty recognizable, but here is a blurry one of #2 daughter peeking through the curtains from the wings as the hall filled.

The dress was sparkly, with a bit of a train, and was a really good choice for her.

We did go back into the hall and take pictures after the whole receiving line thing was finished, because the other girl's family was doing it, so we felt we could.

The trip was worth it, for sure. My husband did all the driving, bless him, so we did not even stop for food, let alone sight-seeing.

Here is a really cool house, snapped through the window of the car.

I read all of Mrs. Mortimer (including the section where she compares knitting and smoking, concluding that knitting is the better of the two) and got through one ball of the Regal Orchid Luna.

We got home shortly after eleven to find #1 son with several friends -- all decorously eating pizza and watching the basketball game, with no hint of contraband substances, dangerous games, or wild women. He will be 17 next week, so I think that is an accomplishment of sorts.

It is Flash Your Stash Day.

Unlike previous Flash days, I have a stash to flash.

Oh, I will never be one of those 330-skein gals, but I do actually have some yarn hanging around.

Here is my yarn in its cabinet.

You can sort of see all the Highland Wool which is becoming Erin, in its transparent boxes.

The binders to the right of the bins hold my needles -- the purple one has needles in pencil pockets, and the print one is an interchangeable needle system. it was my grandmother's, and I rarely use it. Maybe I should. To the left is a glimpse of my soapmaking supplies, with bottles of scents and a rack of molds.

And here is the cotton, exposed.

On the left, a bunch of Endless Summer yarns -- the Luna for the two Jasmine sweaters, plus Connemara for the Bijoux Blouse I intend to make sometime.

On the right, Plymouth Stone Cotton.

And one of these boxes is clearly labelled "wool," though it does not contain wool, just cotton. Does that mean that the cotton is in sheep's clothing?