Here's what I accomplished:
Two baby afghans. The pink for one of my Moody cousins who is due to have her first baby any day. (And the first great-grandchild for Dick and Jean). The blue one for my old college roommate who is also having her first baby this summer.
I started a "Welcome Home"/recovery/Father's Day afghan for Dad. When I told him that my next crochet project was for him he said, "That'll be SWEET!" He chose the color and pattern.
When I wasn't crocheting my life away I was reading. Here's a list of what I read. (And a few reviews, too).
Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. I read this book in high school, but couldn't remember a thing about it. I've wanted to re-read it for a few years now and was quite pleased that I could get it on iBooks for free. It is extremely depressing. Well written, but I wouldn't recommend it. I was telling Mom about it and Dad says from his ICU bed, "What book is this? Just so that I know never to read it."
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by Lyman Frank Baum. They say that books are ALWAYS better than the movie, not in this case. Where are the ruby slippers?
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll. Didn't like 'em. Through the Looking-Glass was the better of the two, but I'd rather see the movie or the cartoon.
Three strikes and you're out. I needed something I could enjoy. So I read Rilla of Ingleside by Lucy Maud Montgomery, last in the Anne of Green Gables series. Loved it.
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, not too long, but eh.
The Importance of Being Ernest, was a play. If you like the movie with Colin Firth you'll like reading it. The screenplay is very close to the real thing. The Canterville Ghost, also by Oscar Wilde (no relation) was funny and quite good. And short.
I read a couple of Agatha Christie's and tried to read Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, but had to give up after the first page. This was another "read it in high school" experiments. I don't know what version we read as sophmores, but maybe I'm just getting stupid. Anyway, I saw no point in torturing myself further.
And I started Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. My FAVORITE book. I've read it every year since my junior year in high school. Except last year when I loaned it to my brother. He didn't read it. My family has a conspiracy against me: no one will read it. Their loss.
And that is how I survived the most stressful, emotional, terrifying, never-ending, exhausting time of my life.