Yarn-A-Go-Go

Look at Bethy!

Posted a crapload of Bethany's pictures. Ow! You go, girl! I love her mascot, Stripes.

The Day That Would Not End

Whew. I made it to my new weekend (TWT). Didn’t know, for a minute, if I was going to make it or if I was going to just stay at work, forever. And ever. And ever. Like a record when it skips, like Bill Murray in Groudhog Day, I would stay in my headset, trapped at a computer terminal until I was old and grey.

Yesterday I managed to perfect my (new) morning routine. Up at six a.m. (OMG, usually just going to bed at that time), sat in the living room to check email and write a blog entry, made a little breakfast, DID MY WRITING (gold star, wheee!), took a walk, did a little yoga, took a shower and made it to work by nine. Felt like a million bucks. Then someone called in sick which meant I had to stay for twelve hours. And feeling so great and efficient, I volunteered to stay for fourteen. Dumb ass. Dumb ASS. Oh, yes, by eleven that night, I could no longer type. I MEAN it. I was writing words as they sounded in my head – I typed TIME instead of TYPE just because they kinda sounded the same and had the same number of letters. I couldn’t get a verb in the same sentence as a noun. Total disconnect occurred. It’s not that bad to work a fourteen, but not when you’ve been so very effing productive for the three hours prior to the shift.

Gawd.

Then, of course, I got home and Digit was making VERY good use of the while-the-cat’s-away thing and partying it up with the boys down the street. Never did get him inside – he rolled in about seven this morning, dirty and smelling like whiskey, yelling for his food.

And of course, I couldn’t sleep. I started another Booga J bag while watching the taped season finale of Sex in the City (I can’t help it – did anyone else besides Carrie and me (and I didn’t buy Carrie’s reaction) find Mikhail Baryshnikov hot? I could NOT believe I thought he was sexy. But I did. I didn’t expect that). Then I got in bed and read, expecting to fall asleep. Nope. An hour later, I gave up and sat up with a Koigu sock and a New Yorker and read for another hour. (Why didn’t you all tell me how great Koigu was? Oh, yeah. You did.....)

So it’s now almost one in the afternoon, I’m just getting up, and I feel like I’m back on my old schedule. Blast. And I’m also feeling lazier than hell. I had grand visions of laundry and cleaning out closets today. Ehh. Whatever.

Bored with myself. Means you must be, too. Off to be actively lazy. Yoipes.

All Knitting, All the Time

That’s the thing about being sick. I missed a night at work, but by doing so worked some serious OT on the Wave-Along, and I’m DONE! And it’s HUGE!

And seriously, that Cascade Indulgence was some of the nicest fiber I’ve ever used, sooooo soft and whisper smooth and strong. It was really difficult to give it to Marama. But I did it, last night (after taking no less that eighty-two pictures of it. Not exaggerating. Difficult to get a good picture of dark grey yarn).

So here are some shots:

Just being finished on my lap, Adah helping the way she does best:

With Adah in the background for size reference (it’s about 70 inches long by 30 inches wide, I added two extra repeats across for a total of 116 stitches, on size 9 US, 4 skeins of Indulgence).

Folded up:

Wheee!

Oh! And the Wonderful Greta has finished her shawl, too! And hers has a great story behind its making. Whoo hoo! Anyone else? (remember, no deadline. Just whenever. That’s the way we play this one):

On a totally different subject, just to show you what happens in my brain when I’m sleepy, if you’re reading quickly (and you miss the word TOXIC) and you read this:

Toxic Flame Retardant Found in Breast Milk

You think, how cool! Mother’s milk really IS the best! Baby’s extra-safe, flame retardant built right in.

I dreamed this morning of being in on a rollercoaster ride, a rickety old one that had no seat belts, and it went around the side of a mountain. To the right was the ocean which was at first beautiful and then turned rough. Really rough. The rollercoaster took us right under and through great towering waves of water, hundreds of feet over our heads. We made it (barely) to the end of the ride. Isn’t this an odd dream for someone who feels pretty grounded right now? Other than changing shifts at work (which is weird but not life-transforming), I can’t imagine why I would dream so vividly of two such worrisome images. Can’t get more cliched than rollercoaster and wild waves, can you? Hmmmm.

[Oh, I just figured it out. It was the Wave-Along! Duh. What a ride!]

Whap!

See? It takes all y’all whapping me upside the head to figger it out. Alison’s was the best: “Don't worry about calling in sick, you knob. You're SICK!” Oh, yeah. Then I guess it’s okay to call in sick.

Novel idea, eh? (hmmmm.... novel idea......)

It’s just that.... At some jobs, when you call in sick, your work piles up. You’re gonna be screwed when you go back, and other people may be inconvenienced if you’re not there, but their lives aren’t really overly affected. At my job, if my ass ain’t in the seat, someone else’s ass has to be there instead. You don’t close 911 due to staffing. So by calling in sick, I’m forcing my friends to have to stay twelve or fourteen hours, overtime that they weren’t planning on, probably cutting into plans that they already had, and they can’t say no. It’s forced overtime. It’s usually just easier for me to go to work sick.

Sick, no?

Eh. So it’s almost a relief that I woke up this morning still feeling awful. “Whew! I really WAS sick, wasn’t I? Hey! Good thing I didn’t go to work.”

(I think this is why I’m drawn to all things Catholic (girlfriends, candles, countries) – searching for a place to lay my guilt. At least if you’re Catholic, you have a REASON to feel guilty. Or at least a long tradition of feeling so. Being raised Episcopalian, I got nothin’ but some good hymns and a love of liturgical robes.)

(Judaism also appeals, gotta tell you.)

(It’s got to be wrong to be attracted to a religion for its romantic aspects, doesn’t it?)

(More guilt.)

(Now I’m just abusing parentheses.)

So I loved hearing the common-sense you all gave me. I’m taking it very very easy today, just knitting and reading, and then I start the new day shift tomorrow, Sunday morning! I’ll be healthy and happy and raring to go.

PS – That lick/spit thing worked SOOOO well in splicing the ends that I was actually able to go back and fix my glaring error in judgment. Thanks to Rob for suggesting it and Lisa for giving me great directions on how exactly to do it. If she hadn’t, I would have probably just licked the ends and done some kind of macrame-wishing dance that would have ended horribly.

PPS - I was noodling around, taking pictures of the thing that I always take pictures of: The Adah. Look, ain't she purty?

And then I was feeling a little off, and wanted to scroll through the pictures on my camera, so I put my feet up on the divan and rested on my back on the carpet. This is what I could see from this vantage.

To my right:

To my left:

Overhead:

And looking down:

It only takes a second for her to settle in (and don't expect my socks to match my pants on an in-house Saturday - I know yours don't, either). Enjoy your weekend, all!

Bleah.

Erg. Sniffle. Whine.

I feel like crap, so will keep this short. Called in sick tonight, so feel even worse. But I couldn’t sleep all day – have been mostly awake since I got off work this morning – fever and bad tummy. That’s on top of the nose that doesn’t stop and the scratchy throat that feels like it’s heading to a cough. And I HATED calling in sick, especially since it was to have been my last midnight shift (new day shift starts Sunday morning), but I’m pretty positive I wouldn’t have made it to Sunday morning if I don’t rest tonight.

Which is worse? The crud or the guilt?

Need to get over myself. I don’t like me sick. Glad I live alone. I can throw my kleenex all over the floor until I get so disgusted I can’t see straight.

My friend Brandy cracked me up last night when she said, apologetically, “You know, I still like your blog, but I think I like your sister’s better!” And when I told Beth that this morning, she hollered with laughter, she was so happy. And so cute. Go see her.

Things Not To Do While Knitting With Cascade Indulgence

1. Attempt open-heart surgery.
2. Have open-heart surgery.
3. Skydive.
4. Make evident your laziness by tying a knot between the two skeins of yarn and telling yourself you’ll just weave in the ends nicely.
5. Make evident even greater laziness by discarding the weaving idea and simply clipping the ends at the square knot.
6. Clip those ends closely (like, say, less than a millimeter, ‘cause you’re cool that way).

1-3 – No problem. What, you think I’m stoopid?
4-6 – Well. Yep. There’s the problem. Knitting back, the row AFTER I perform 4-6, the knot slips and I’m looking at VERY short ends rapidly unraveling (blast that gorgeous soft slippery fiber).

What do you do?

No. WHAT DO YOU DO?

I have no clue what the right answer is. I stopped breathing for a while but that gave me a headache. I swore a LOT. The cats went up onto the top of the refrigerator – where they go when the bad man picks up the trash outside or I run the vacuum. Then I kinda caught the loops that were now exposed, pulled the ends, caught some more weeping loops, got enough of the ends between my fingers to tie about seven (not exaggerating here) knots which are now sticking out in a twig-like formation and which I’ll have to sew into the finished shawl later (don’t tell Marama, the gift-ee). Still not sure it’ll hold. I’m having wild-man thoughts about things like a dab of Krazy-Glue on the last knot before I weave it in.

‘Scuse the French, but FUCK.

I tell you, it’s always right when I’m being smug, too. Pride goeth.... Look, how gorgeous and even and I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Yep. What a great knitter I am! Let’s tie a knot!

Lordy. I need a drink.

And some soft kleenex. Still have the crud. Bleah. One of the things in life in which I believe most is the power of Kleenex ColdCare lotion tissues. I just ran out, so I’m off to the grocery store, where hopefully Bethany’s pictures are in – if they are, I’ll post some tonight on her site!

Unless it’s wool, don’t tie knots. You hear me? Don’t do it!

Star-struck

With permission requested and received, I present you the photo that my friend B sent me.

Yep, that’s B in the middle (her name’s actually Brooke, I’ll give that to you). Yep, here she is, with her pals Amy Ray and Emily Saliers of the Indigo Girls. Yep, this is a real “hanging out” shot, not a panting can-I-get-a-pitcher-wit-ya-please shot. Yep, she’s down south with them as they lay mixes. Not sure what that means exactly, but it sounds impressive and vastly musical.

I am star-struck and can admit it freely – they’ve been my favorite musicians for the last, say, thirteen or fourteen years. In fact, I remember where I was when I first heard them. I had graduated high school, and I was getting in shape for college. Still thinking I was straight, I was working out at my gym, trying to look cute for all the college boys I planned to meet (interesting, though, that I chose a women-only gym....) I was on the Stair-Master, hating my cardiovascular life, and I heard “Galileo” for the first time. I got off the machine and stood under the permanently-set-on-VH-1 TV (this was the early nineties, remember). I watched the end of the song and memorized the name. I showered, dressed, and drove to the music store. That was the beginning. And actually, I don’t remember even going back to that gym. Who cared? I had the Indigo Girls – I didn’t need a gym! They brought me to me.

And years later, I don’t rely on them anymore, not in the same way, but I don’t miss a concert when they’re in town, and I know all the words. I’m first in line when an album comes out. I still get goosebumps when they start “Galileo.” Memories are traced onto and around the lyrics. My favorite parts of their concerts are when they just stop singing and the entire audience picks it up and fills in, every word, in harmony. It’s GOT to be a fantastic feeling to have aided so many women (and men) in finding and believing in themselves.

And Brooke and Amy are pals. Lordy. I just think that’s super neat.

I’ve got the most annoying cold today – I caught it from Christy. I can sit in the TB ward, also known as my workplace, all week, stuck for fifty hours with people who are hacking and sneezing and blowing their noses all over communal keyboards, and I won’t catch a single teeny germ. I can hug snotty, feverish kids and kiss their heads and not get a thing. I come within a hundred yards of either of my sisters when they’ve got a little sniffle, and I catch it instantly. I’m immune to everything but them.

It’s not a bad cold. Just an irritating one. Bleah. I got up early today – couldn’t sleep – and I’m going to do my writing and then cuddle on the couch with my Wave-Along until I have to go to work tonight (only three more midnight shifts!)

And thanks for your comments yesterday! They helped so much. I’m writing. And I’m gonna keep writing ‘til I’m done. Then I’ll start something else. It’s a good life, huh?

Fall Wind

Bethany's too cool.

I’ve had an extremely low-key weekend, which I needed. I spent hours and hours in front of the television working on my Wave-Along shawl (for some reason, this is the shorthand way I think of it – not the awkward long name it goes by to the right). And ohmigod, I love that thing. I’ve already told my friend Marama, who kick-started this whole thing by asking me sweetly for YEARS when I would have time to make her a little shawl, that she might not get it after all.

Check it:

And a detail of the Indulgent softness:

I even took the shawl outside to get these pictures (it’s REALLY hard to get pictures of dark grey fiber, especially when it’s lacey). Today is the first day I’ve felt Fall approaching – there’s a warm wind, and leaves are clattering on the sidewalk. I took Wave-Along outside, put it on an old white nightie for contrast, snapped a couple of shots, AND THE WIND CAME UP AND PUT LITTLE PIECES OF TWIGS AND DIRT ALL OVER IT. I haven’t shouted at the wind in years. But I did today, godamnit. Then I hustled inside; the neighbors were peeping out windows. “My god, I think she’s taking pictures of dirt. And is that, no, a nightgown? This is Oakland, not San Francisco! She cain’t do that here!”

I re-read Stephen King’s On Writing this week. I’m not a fan of his – he’s just too frightening for scaredy-cat me – but I think his book is one of the best out there on writing. It’s one of the three I re-read (the others are Lamott’s Bird by Bird and Ueland’s If You Want to Write). He’s a good one for motivating. He’s not for the faint of heart, though. He doesn’t say you’ll be great if you work hard. He says you’re either born great (like Faulkner and Eliot) or you can practice a whole hell of a lot and maybe get pretty okay at writing. Maybe even good. But if you’re not great today, you won’t be great tomorrow. Instead of pissing me off, this is kind of reassuring to me. Well, okay then. I’ll just plod along (typo: plot along) and get this book finished. Then I’ll start the next one.

I’m also reassured by his belief in letting the story take you where you need to go. It’s when I start to think about Plotting The Novel that I get frustrated. It’s like pushing mud. I can’t make the pages behave, I can only get the words onto the paper. He, too, is advocating the shaping of the work coming after it’s totally written. THEN you make it into something. Thank god. ‘Cause it ain’t much now.

I figure, with work, I can finish this bad boy up in about a month or so. Two at the outside. And then, says Stephen King, I need to take at least six weeks away from it before starting to revise. That’ll be enough time to order me up some more Indulgence as a reward, dont’cha think? I need a carrot on a string. I’m a simple girl.

Oh! Here’s Joan-in-Reno’s Wave-Along, made in a mohair/acrylic Lion’s Brand yarn, and a shot of pretty Emma checking it out, too.

To Buy an Indulgence

Happy Monday! I typed Happy Homeday on accident, but I like it. I don’t work ‘til tomorrow, so happy homeday it is. That’s kind of what yesterday was, too. I had lunch with a friend and then I stayed home for the rest of the day. It was gorgeous. Luxurious. Hey! I told you that I finished these:

In Fortissima Colori, can’t remember the colorway since I throw everything away. It’s an annoying habit, this twitch I have to recycle every little bit of paper lying around my house. If I don’t, then Adah eats it, which is even more annoying.

So yesterday, I got to start this:

It’s the Wave-Along Shawl! Crappy pic, I know. But it’s in Cascade Indulgence, and as I have discussed with Marcia, it is nothing BUT indulgence. It brings to mind old Catholic rites – I HAVE bought this indulgence as remission of punishment for old sins. How could I have EVER thought I could work the pattern in Wool-Ease? In fact, Marcia’s poem goes like this:

A little wave.
A little shell.
With perverse Indulgence,
I'm going to hell.

I sat and knitted and made wild plans about selling my body on East 14th, just so I could buy enough of the stuff for a sweater. Come on. You would have thought the same thing.

So my night was this:
1. Sitting on the couch with a cat or two, knitting.
2. Watching Carnivale and K Street and movies I’d be too embarrassed to admit to watching (okay, one was The First Wives Club).
3. Eating dinner: A Luna Bar, some Pirates’ Booty (thought it was appropriate), a V8 for my vegetable and a banana for dessert. (And this is what I do when I HAVE food in the fridge. I’m a snacker by nature.)

Okay, I’m writing about everything except the one thing I want to write about, which is how hard it’s been lately to get off my ass and do my real writing. This is why I started this blog. I started it as a check-in with myself, as a writing prompt, as a way to talk myself into getting to the page. Lately it’s turned into a great way to get me to the knitting needles, not the novel that needs to be finished.

So new goal: One thousand words a day, six days a week. With the new shift at work starting next week, this means I’ll have to get up at six in the morning (after being used to getting up at six in the afternoon). I’ve made this goal before, and I swear it’s the only way I got so far into the novel in the first place. I slacked, though, and knitted my wooly way downhill, and I have to now slog back up to where I was. I can do it, though. I know I can.

See? Back to cheerleading for myself. Go me! Rah! Give me an Are! Oh! I know what I need.

Thanks, Em.

Oh, and I succumbed to the goodness that is Knitty’s new tee-shirt – Yarn Ho!

(and that’s my new didn’t-need-it-but-had-to-have-it used black Yugoslavian leather jacket, justify, justify, justify, it gets COLD here in Cal-I-Forn-I-A)

And Bethany's in North Dakota!

Saturday'n'Photos

Let it be said:

I think I might be a little in love with Kris Delmhorst. But can you blame me? The Freight and Salvage was packed, standing room only, and we (all) watched rapturously as she stood unselfconsciously on stage in her black outfit (an homage to Johnny Cash) and cute little black hoodie and sang, letting her voice do what it would. And what it does it perfection. It makes me ashamed that I thought I could sing, once, back in an old life of mine. She closes her eyes.... and it just happens. Click here to download a song that breaks my heart every time. (after you've read the rest - this'll navigate you away - and hey, press the green triangle after it loads - I always have to figure that out the hard way....)

And then today was Christy’s official birthday party! Whoo hoo! Thanks for the messages yesterday! Want some cake?

She likes her Booga J bag. It’s also useful as a hat when one is stuck on Telegraph in Berkeley with nothing else to wear on one’s head. God forbid.

Me, Christy, and her boyfriend Kent at the show. I LOVE taking pictures of myself while holding the camera out. I mean it. I’m stooopid that way.

Luau cake. I mean, really. What are you going to do?

Arrr, matey.

Dunno if you can see this, but it's a Wonder Woman postcard.

I believe "Suffering Sappho!" is going to be my new war cry!

She got hold of my camera. And some beer, apparently.

Gratuitous coconut shot:

Me'n'the birthday gal. Her friend crocheted the hat for her. Didja know I love love love love my sisters? Go thirty!

Now go back up and load the Kris Delmhorst song. Listen to the words. Sigh.....

Happy Christy Birthday!

It’s my sister Christy’s birthday! She’s thirty! Today! Wheeeee!

We’re going to meet up for Ethiopian food in a couple of hours and then go see the concert tonight. Last night’s concert was great, except Slaid Cleave’s fiddler just bugged the crap out of me. And that’s hard to get over when you’re in such a small venue. I just tried to concentrate on his guitar-playing and the words and his great jeans, but I kept watching her – a little twenty-year old blonde with long dreads, who only fiddled marginally, sang atrociously and mouthed all his words when she wasn’t singing.

I get to give Christy her Booga J bag tonight! Whoo hoo! I told her a few days ago that she couldn’t look at my site, and I don’t think she has. This is when we grow up, isn’t it? When we can keep ourselves from peeking, from looking in the closets, from shaking the packages under the tree. We figure it out – it’s only disappointing to guess it ahead of time.

At least that’s what I got from thirty. I totally dug turning thirty. I felt like I was finally official, not in my silly twenties anymore, but still young enough to still occasionally (and sparingly) wear glitter lipstick. Thirty-one is awesome, too. It helps that I’ve always had older friends and lovers – I know what I’m headed for and I’m happy with it. They make older look good. I figger I’ll be okay until just about thirty-nine, when I’ll have a stern talking-to with myself, and I’ll have to make friends with forty.

Off to fight briefly with Safeway about Bethany’s film which they didn’t have for me last night. I’m going to kick some ass if it ain’t there today. Yeah. Right. I would ass-kick with all the methodology and expertise of Charlie Brown. But I can SAY it as if I mean it.

Arrrr. Blimey. Forgot to talk like a pirate. Okey-doke then. I’ll swab the decks with the scurvy Safeway manager. And then buy some half-n-half, because I’m fresh out. Ahoy!

Cat Yoga

Not much sleep today, nor will I have much tomorrow, but it’s my own blessed fault, and it’s all for a good cause. The cause, of course, being me hearing live music. Uh-huh. Das right. Bring it.

There’s a place in Berkeley, you might know it, called the Freight and Salvage Coffee House. It’s a music venue, a big ole wooden hall that remind you of a huge boxcar, and it serves coffee and muffins in the back. That’s right. Coffee. The first time I went I was horrified to realize they MEANT it. Coffee. Equals no alcohol. I’m sure plenty o’flasks get shipped in under coats, but its dryness will come in handy tonight and tomorrow night when the concerts are followed by a work shift. Nothing worse than going out with friends to dinner and a show, watching them guzzle, then saying goodbye and driving to work.

Tonight, we’re hearing Slaid Cleaves. When I first heard this name last year, I assumed it was an Irish girl singing Celtic songs. Nope. He’s kind of alt-country (y’allternative) with some great songwriting and a kick-ass band. And he’s sexy as hell, can’t get around it.

Tomorrow night is Kris Delmhorst, another singer-songwriter who actually writes songs that mean something. Both links to The Freight’s page have sample songs at the bottom. Enjoy.

Bethany’s post today kicks ass. I worry about her. Not much, but just a little. But then I get this kind of post and realize that no matter how odd or creepy the surroundings, she’ll take care of herself. I just got a phone message from her that said, “I’m driving. I just ate a piece of cheese that was over a year old. And I washed it down with two-year old water. Miss you!”

And while I was talking to her yesterday on the phone she said, "Hang on, I think I just missed my turn. I'm going to turn around. Going through these big open gates. Okay, here's a good place to turn around. Holy SHIT! I'm on a runway!" Luckily no planes happened to be landing.

I’ve got Adah sitting beside me, and I have to post a couple of pictures of the pretty thing. She IS gorgeous, but I can’t tell you how annoying she is. I have to do cat yoga in the morning with her before I go to bed. She drags me, one paw wrapped around my ankle, into the living room where I do seated positions, bending forward to the floor, my hands rubbing her head. That’s all she wants in life – her head to be rubbed. It’s neurotic and vaguely disturbing how much she desires this, but we both get happy, me stretching on the carpet, she rolling blissfully around my outstretched hands. She’s not as dumb as she purports to be.

Here she is working on the sock I finished last night.

One sock down, one to go. I swear I’ve never been so sock-obsessed. I just want to get them finished so I can (re)start the wave-along shawl..... And then two more Booga J bags, and some Koigu socks, and that GORGEOUS sweater Steph's starting from a Paton's pattern..... Not to mention Christmas. Blimey.

Arrrr

Don’t forget – Friday is not only my sister Christy’s thirtieth birthday, but also, fittingly, International Talk Like a Pirate Day. You know Em? Of phonetic first-initial Everybody Loves Saturday Night? My phonetic first initial, I decided, is Are. Except on Friday it’ll be Arrrr.

Okay, so I’m groggy this afternoon.

Get it? Hee!

And silly.

Bethany’s rambling again. Gawd, I miss that kid. I took too long getting her film turned in, so her first batch of photos won’t be up till Friday, but I can’t wait to see them! And since the only place she’ll see her photos is online until she gets back, I bet she can’t wait, either.

I've no head for linear thought today. I’ve ordered more yarn from the boys. Somebody help me, please. Please? Yarn S.O.S. And I received from them in the mail a bag of charcoal grey Cascade Indulgence, which will be the Wave Along Shawl as soon as I finish these socks I have to make for a b-day which is fast approaching. For hosting the knit-along, I sure ain’t far along.

My best friend left for Ethiopia today. She’ll be there for almost ten months, teaching at a university there, instructing new teachers. I miss the crap out of her already, instantly. It’s not like Bethy, I can’t rely on Verizon to connect us, crappy as that connection might be. This is utterly cut-off, at least until she 1) arrives 2) finds a place to live 3) gets a phone connection 4) buys the “internet connection” some people swear is available for the right price. I won’t believe it till I get that first email from her.

Bah. I hate goodbyes. Abhor them. We did remarkably well. I saw her two days before she left, gave her a big (huge) hug and we said we’d hook up the next day to say a proper goodbye. Then we both got too busy to do so – she had last-minute-moving-to-the-third-poorest-nation-in-the-world-errands to run, I had to go to work. We chickened out. Thank god. There wouldn’t be enough kleenex. I’ve talked to her twice a day every day for the past four years.

Doesn’t bear thinking about. I’m so proud of her.

Off to knit the sock that doesn’t slow down (Wendy’s pattern, but 56 st on size 3 (US) needles – it’s zooming. Also it’s huge, whoops.)

You deserve a photo now. Me, alone, in Venice, city of my heart. This was in March of this year. Click for a bigger pic. (I’m getting that rambly feeling again, don’t tell anyone. I can’t afford it, I can’t even afford yarn! I can’t afford Venice.....)

MeDork

Hey! It feels good to get the sweatshirt and the Booga J bag (and most of Suki Seuss) done. I wore the sweatshirt while I ran my errands today – no one would ever notice, no one would ever say, “Wow! What a gorgeous sweatshirt! Where’d you get it?” But in my head I’m telling them oh so casually, “Oh, it’s just a little something I knitted up.”

It isn’t even like I really AM the Finished Object Queen – I just had to get all my little projects done so that I would still be considered a knitter. I tend to ramble about everything else, and I forget to talk about the knitting I’ve done.

Can I just tell you what kind of a dork I am when I finish something? Last night I draped the sweatshirt over the back of my desk chair, where I could see it from the living room. I just liked seeing it as a piece of clothing, instead eight (EIGHT!) separate little pieces and some buttons. I just realized that even now it’s artfully draped over the arm of my couch. No one ever drops in. We don’t really live in that kind of society anymore, do we? But if someone did, I’d say, “Oh, let me move this silly little sweatshirt out of your way. Just finished it, you know.”

Sometimes, after I finish a tank or something small, I leave it folded on my desk for a couple of days. I just like that it folds. Period.

You know?

Moving along.

I was shopping for my sister's birthday present yesterday and instead I bought myself the most stupid little tchotchke. It’s a pen made to look like a cigarette. The end pulls off to expose the ballpoint. How dumb is that? And how much do I love it? I adore that I can get out my old disused ashtrays (and I have some GOOD ones) and put the cig/pen in it. Ready for notes at a moment’s notice. (Hey, how are my quitting girls getting along? You know who you are.)

Grumpy that this is the start of my work week – I’ve been up since eight this morning (after being up and down since three a.m, when Adah decided to start crying for food), and will work until five tomorrow morning. No chance of a nap – way too many things I’ve put off. Little things like laundry. But happy that my LoTech is draped all yellow and buttery near my knee.

Jiggety Jig

Knitty’s live! Whoo hoo! And it's fabulous. Get my credit card, I need some yarn from the boys.

And Bethany’s rambling.

So I’m home. And I’ve posted (below) a little bit about the writer’s conference, which I’m glad I went to. Ending sentences with prepositions. No avenger am I.....

I’m also glad that:
I’m Finished Object Queen this weekend!

Well, only two FOs. But Suki’s felted, and I deserve a beer for that. Right? Maybe a martini. Yeah.

I give you the Before (of Suki and Cutes (aka Booga J. in Noro Kureyon #88)):

And After:

And here’s Cutes all fixed up and ready to go.

I have to admit when I started this project, I thought it was going to be closer to Suki’s size. So I was surprised when it turned up all small and cute-ified like this. The opposite of Suki which I must have done wrong (and I knit large, also). This is how I dried it halfway:

This is a TREE STUMP that the cats sit on in my mom’s backyard. It didn’t quite dry, so I put it on passenger seat in the convertible on the hot drive home today. I mean ON the seat – over the headrest and down about half-way. One man almost crashed trying to figure out how I got Dr. Suess in my car. No photos, alas.

And also, I finished LoTech Sweat! Bonne Marie can do no wrong, in my mind.

I love it. Adore it. Lament my regrettable sewing skills, but hell. It’s cozy and comfy (just Lion Brand Kitchen Cotton - color Maize) and I’ve already impressed my folks and two friends with it. Whoo hoo!

Now I’m home, Digit growling with misunderstood happiness. About to work on some socks. Happy. How’re you?

The Conference

The writer’s conference was, if not great, then pretty darn good. I took an excellent rewriting course from Earlene Fowler, author of a series of eleven mysteries. She’s not my favorite writer, but I’ve always had an alarming suspicion that I write like her. Something about her prose reminds me of my own awkwardness.

But it turns out that she IS just like me, in other ways, too. She’s confident in front of a group, self-deprecatingly humorous, and kind of a spazz. And she’s mostly left-brained. Pulling the writing out of herself, the first draft, is like pulling candy from a five year old. It’s hard for her to make that switch to right-brained creativity. She prefers to organize things. She was a great secretary (reminded me of how much I like to dispatch, which is like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle). She loves lists.

So rewriting is her strength, and she’s studied how she does it over the years. She gave us LISTS! Of things to do while rewriting! It was a beautiful thing. I went in not expecting to learn very much, and I was overwhelmed with information. And excitment!

Suddenly, finishing the book doesn’t seem so hard and scary. I’ve known from the beginning, when I made the conscious decision not to rewrite as I went along, that this would only mean major revision at the end. Now I’m looking forward to it. Yet another jigsaw puzzle. (Okay. I only like metaphorical jigsaw puzzles – if I had to do an actual one I’d yawn myself to death.)

That class was the thrilling part of the conference. I’ve never been to one before, and I didn’t know what to expect. What I DIDN’T expect were all the sighing, religious women. At least they seemed that way – as the speakers spoke, they nodded, mmmm-hmmm-ing right along with the speaker. Uh-huh. Mm-hum. Yeah. One woman in the back of the room mmm-hmmm-ed herself so hard it came out as a loud squeak and we all swiveled to look at her. That woman was astonishingly irritating, I have to say. She touted the glorious powers of Powerpoint (!) and then went on to just TALK. And talk and talk and talk. This class was led by a stunning teacher, Daniel Houston-Davila, and it was about writing cross-culturally. I had questions. I didn’t have time to get them answered, though, since Old Girl kept on yakkin’.

Walking out of the classroom, she cornered me.
“Why did the teacher keep talking to you? It was like he was directing all his comments at you. Do you know him?”
“No,” I said, “But I talked to him earlier today.”
“You look pretty white to me. Why were you in this class? It was a class for writing cross-culturally.”
Shock at this point.
“I’m a lesbian." I said. "I had some questions about writing and crossing that divide that I thought the class might address.”
“Oh. I was sexually abused by women when I was young.”

At this point, my eyebrows just stopped working and I had to manually bring them down to their proper positions. This was like me saying, “I have a boyfriend,” and her replying, “I was sexually abused by men when I was young.” Holy crap. What do you say to that? To a stranger who's just pissed off?

We were approaching my little mother at this point, so I merely tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Good luck to you, then.” She smiled sweetly and traipsed off.

Erg.

Speaking of my little mama, I have to say this:

At the end of one of the classes, I was waiting for her to join me at the cafeteria. We had attended separate classes, and I was sure when I saw her teacher arrive at the cafeteria that she would soon follow.

I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Fifteen minutes later, I was frantic. Did she get lost? Was she ill? How would staff find me? That’s when I saw strolling toward me, Daniel Houston-Davila in tow (the one person I hoped to button-hole and meet at the conference). Not only was she clever enough to meet him, but she had spent the last fifteen minutes passing out her cards (she’s a book reviewer for a local paper) to new authors. She couldn’t get away from them!

My mother. The networker. It was awesome.

Dashing Off

Only a few minutes here at the folks' computer, so I'll be brief. Actually, I'm lying. We ain't going out to dinner for another hour, but this computer is UNBEARABLE, so I can only manage to use it for a few minutes at a time. It has a tiny screen and a loud whine, and the chair makes my back ache. And I grew two wrinkles while I waited for it to dial-up connect. Actually, I cast off the hoodie part of LoTech, which I'm going to go sew up as soon as I finish up here.

AND - I felted two bags! Suki (finally! Yay!) and ole #88 Noro Booga J. They're looking good.... But I'm surrounded by finishing, aren't I? Bleah. Oh, and thanks to all who helped with my I-cord distress. They were all great suggestions, but it was Loose Ends Melissa who gave me the trick that worked for my style - tug the cord each time. Miracle of miracles, I had attractive I-cord! Not that it mattered, once it was all felty, but it felt good. (get it?)

Oooh - saw Dirty Pretty Things this afternoon - great movie. Unexpectedly, harshly beautiful. And I caved and bought those Gap cords. And I had my clam chowder in Pismo. A good day, I think.

ps - can't italicize on this computer, or add html - so movie is here: www.miramax.com/dirty_pretty_things/

Idiot-Cord

I'm an okay knitter. I'm no Wendy, for gosh's sake, but no one is (that's why we worship her). But I'm all right. I can cable. I can do color work. I can do fancy cast-ons and bind-offs.

SO WHY THE HELL CAN'T I MAKE A DECENT I-CORD? They always suck. I know, this one'll be felted, so I don't care. But what's my freaking problem? I alternate between pulling the first stitch taut and leaving it easy. No dice. Still freaky weird loops appear wherever they feel like it, taunting me.

Look:

Bah.

Here's the Booga J bag, pre-felt: (I love it, you darlings: Rob and Greta!)

Now. Off to bed for a quick nap, then a drive down the coast with the top down (which sounds lovely, but will be more like a buggy race through garlic fields with dry heat in the triple digits), and to the conference tonight.

Enjoy your weekends, folks. Knit a lot. Love a lot, too. Uh huh.

Not What I Meant to Write

This morning I left a copy of Native Speaker, by Chang Rae Lee, out on the sidewalk a house down from mine. I wrote a note and stuck it inside, telling the recipient, “Enjoy and Peace.” It made me happy to free a book so close to my home (although I talked to Mom, and she had an AMAZING idea – she was going to release a book in the local hospital waiting room – two years ago today while I waited for her to come out of recovery, I would have appreciated that. My mother is the coolest).

I have to admit, though, that I sat looking out my window after I put it on the sidewalk. I wanted a glimpse of the person who picked it up, even though I knew that probably wasn’t a good idea. I sat and sat and sat; no one walked by. This is strange, as my neighborhood is always full of people walking and riding bikes, and it was seven in the morning. Prime time in my hood.

Instead, I saw a green car pull up in front, and a brown-haired girl sat inside for a few minutes pulling kleenex from a box on her back seat. She sat for another minute, then got out her cell phone and dialed. A minute later, Doug from upstairs came running down to meet her. She got out of the car, came around to its front, looked up at him, and wrapped her arms around him. They stood like that, without saying anything for at least a minute. Maybe two. She gave him a tissue, he got in, and they drove away. Doug moved here from New York a year ago. I noticed he was wearing a NYFD tee shirt.

I decided then I didn’t need to know who picked up my silly book, and that I had already seen the day being honored. I went to bed.

**
This is NOT what I meant to write. Not even sure where that came from. What I meant to write is about how blocked I feel as a writer lately, but I don’t feel like talking about that now. I’m going to the writers’ conference with the little mama this weekend, and I’m going to use that to spur me onwards. AND, I get to have donuts at the beach and clam chowder in Pismo. I'm going to finish my booga noro bag (ooooh! Mom has hot water in her machine! I'll felt!) It’ll be a good weekend.

I revamped my list of sites to the left – I’m leaving only a link to some of my favorite links, and one to Bethany’s page (she’s in Cody, Wyoming!). I have too many sites (and people) that I love and adore, and there are more everyday. Sometimes I just groan when I find more writing that I enjoy. I don’t NEED this many pages to hit. But I do. We do. It’s a grown-up version of pen-pals, this time with pictures! And knitting!

Today’s a day to love. Sending you all of mine. Enjoy each other.

In Honor

This is a wonderful idea, cribbed from Go Fish, who cribbed it elsewhere.

On Sept. 11th, join a "poetical happening" and free a book!

Because a book is a symbol of freedom, sharing and tolerance...

On Sept. 11th, 2003, take a book which is important for you, a book that has changed your vision on the world, write in it a dedication, a few words, or a drawing, and free it!

Leave it on a roadside bench, a bus stop or in a cafe making it available for any unknown reader. In this way, Sept. 11th will be not only an anniversary of tragedy. Together, let us affect this global sorrow with creative and generous action.

A general mobilization from Bruxelles, Paris, Florence, San Francisco, Denver, Chicago, New York, Seattle, Whidbey Island and more. Almost all over the world, readers, artists, writers, poets, and publishers of vision and heart will free books that are important for them on Thursday, Sept. 11th, 2003.

Get involved and tell your friends. Readers, authors, publishers - free a book, because a book is a symbol of freedom, sharing and tolerance.

It’s just Bookcrossing, but without the ID numbers.

I dread the coming of September 11th, in part because I don’t know what I feel. Sad, yes. Of course. But I have more memories of the day than that. My mother went into hospital at noon that day and had surgery for colon cancer. I spent the afternoon in San Luis Obispo, walking around gift shops where stunned clerks listened to radios and watched TVs and seemed personally affronted that I wanted to buy my mother CDs and sweatshirts and robes and flowers. I went to give blood for my mother and found that the donation line was over six hours long. I thought about how 9/11 had always been Dispatcher Appreciation Day. Not that anyone knew it, but I thought, damn. Here goes our holiday. And behind that, always, the solid wall of grief.

When Mom woke up, we watched the news. We turned it off at night, briefly, so I could read Jan Karon’s Mitford books to her. Those, about the idyllic love story of a small town clergyman, were the opposite of the fear being broadcast. I never wanted the hospital TV to be switched back on. I only felt like it would hurt my mother. It was sure as hell hurting me and I wasn't recovering from being split open. Well, not literally. But we had to watch, didn't we?

I’m not diminishing the day, and its horrific losses. I couldn’t. It took me a long time to even start getting over it. But listen: I’m going to a writing conference with Mom this weekend. With my mother!

That’s something worth celebrating.

So in honor of the day, and in honor of the best reader I know – I’ll be freeing a couple of books. Wanna join me?

P.S. – Thanks for all the ant tips. They actually got scared by the collective wisdom I was garnering and fled before I had to try ANY of them. At the first rain they’ll be back, though. But what they don’t know is: Now I’m armed! You TRY it! I’m almost looking forward to it. Wait.... Nah.

P.P.S - Bethany's on the move again!

Admissions

You'll notice that I actually named no names when I posted that picture of the melted keyboard. I happened to be NEARBY when it was boiled. I take great comfort in the fact that I didn’t do the actual scalding of said keys. Of course, I’ll admit that in the back of my head, I was thinking, “that’s terrific! What a good idea! I’m going to do that when I get home!” And when they came out all twizzlered like that, I was the first to make fun (and the first to grab the camera). But I admit, I did think it was pretty smart there fer a minute. Hee.

Here are the toe-up socks I finally finished.

I used the marvelous Wendy’s pattern, and I love the short-row shaping of it, but I think I’m going to modify it a little. I CAN’T USE SIZE ZERO (US) NEEDLES EVER AGAIN. I kept accidentally using them to pick my teeth. Or shishkebob. Hey! How’d that piece of cubed beef get on the end of my needle? I was fearful for my eyes, they were so small and sharp (the needles, not my eyes). I think next time I’ll take some of the stitches out and use perhaps a size two. Maybe even three. It just took toooooo long, even though I do love the weft of them.

Last night I dreamed I couldn’t find a friend after an evening of exquisitely unexpected and entirely unavoidable closeness – we were at an amusement park with differently themed rooms. I left clues, my jacket on a post, and saw his clues, his hat on a fake tree, but we were both too busy and too smart to look in the right places. That was the worst part – the knowing he was somewhere, just around the corner.....

Aargh.

I do love the FEEL of life, though, don’t you? The quiet joy of any expressed emotion. It makes it all worth it.

Avoid the skewer bamboo needles. I’m convinced they’re more dangerous than we know. And don’t boil your keyboard.

And one more thing

This is why you don't snap the keys off the keyboard and boil them to make them cleaner. Sounded like a good idea at the time, huh? The space bar, curved like an S, is currently being used as a plant hanger.

S'Monday

It’s Monday. That doesn’t quite mean for me what it does for the rest of the world. It’s still my weekend, and I’m still cruising along in low gear. I’ve had a whirlwind of one so far, so it’s nice to just sit and stare into the computer’s glow.

Stitch’n’Bitch at the bar was good, although anticlimactic. Only four people total, and only about an hour, it was the last one I’ll hold there for at least six months while I’m on my new shift at work. I’m glad, though. I don’t like being the One In Charge Of The Group. I like to GO to functions, not throw them. I’m looking forward to having nights off and being able to go to the Crafty Bitches’ Wednesday night group at the Lex. Or Tuesdays at my LYS. Or Mondays at Barnes and Noble (I know, but it’s run by a very sweet woman who spells her name, Rachael, correctly).

Bleah. Stilted and slow this morning. Have been trying to wake up for an hour now. It would really help if I went in the kitchen and made myself an espresso, but the countertop is black with ants, and I can’t bear to deal with them.

I HATE ants. They take my apartment hostage every fall, and I fight and fight and fight and eventually I capitulate and do the horrid bombing that’s the only thing that really works. I hate ant spray, I hate poison of any type, so it makes me CRAZY. I’ve tried the home remedies, the cucumber rind, the boric acid, (fill in the blank). Do you have a miracle cure that doesn’t involve substances that can kill small animals and cause visitors entering the room to twitch jerkily? (Wait, that might not be the ant spray....)

So, if I walk into the kitchen, I’ll have to do something about the ants. As long as I can avoid that room, I’m all right. I think I’ll just sit on the couch and eat the fudge my sister Christy just brought for me instead. Sisters are good things, yeah? Bethany’s in Montana now, at a friend’s house. Lynn’s actually an ex of mine, one of those people I’m glad to have been able to keep as a friend. A year she got fed up with rat-race that is corporate life in the Bay Area, sold her Oakland loft, and moved to the wilds of Livingston, MT. She has two dogs and a cat and an old Victorian in a train town. She’s friends with the mayor. She attends charity auctions. She rides horses. From everything I hear from her, I’m not sure that her life has really slowed down in any way, but the timbre of it has changed. It’s nice to watch. And I’m glad Beth is under her kind wing for a few days. It sounds like Beth’s been running a little fast (carnies and the Wal*Mart parking lot), and it’ll be nice for her to slow down some.

Oh – here’s a picture of the Ethiopian flag cake – no, I didn’t make it (are you kidding? You know what my kitchen is like right now. A coworker of mine is brilliant at cakes; not only do they look good, but they taste GREAT. I think I had two pieces. Maybe three).

The party went off smashingly – who knew Jenn had so many friends? A going-away party for someone moving to Africa for a year: It was like a wedding without a groom, or a funeral without a body. Everyone from all parts of her life were there, and it was sweet as heck.

Sunday Laze

I have Digit drooling on me, and I’m in a hurry (have my last Stitch’n’Bitch this afternoon – have to discontinue or move the meetings, since my new schedule will preclude meeting on Sunday afternoons). After the meet-up, I’m taking a cake decorated with the Ethiopian flag (who knew?) to a going-away party for my best friend. She really is actually moving to Ethiopia. For a year. That, folks, is daring – even braver than Bethany’s road trip – and I want to visit her early next year. I think. I’ll wait to hear from her before I pack my bags, though.

Went out last night, a charmed-type evening where I fell into a friend’s dining plans, and had lovely, easy conversation with pleasant people. Ended up playing pool at the White Horse till all hours (people thought Karen and I had a Pool Thing going at the table and no one challenged us for at least a couple of hours). Drank a few 7 and Sevens, and I think I was flirting shamelessly. No, I know I was. I have phone numbers on napkins. I feel about twenty-one, and my headache agrees with this estimation.

Not much work on the LoTech Sweat done. I only need to sew it up, and I’ve been LAZY. But Rob hasn’t – here’s his progress on ONE of the Wave/Shell Shawls he’s doing:

Oh, the Cascade Indulgence of it all. Have a good, relaxed Sunday.

Short and Tired. (so's this entry)

Go read my sister Bethany today, since I worked another 14 hr shift last night and I am good fer nothin'. 52 hours worked in the space of four days. I slept all day.

All day...... Lovely blissful ignorant snuffly sleep. You know the kind.

Thanks to the offers (so generous and kind!) of driveways (or better!) for Bethy to sleep in! It makes Big Sister happy. Very very happy. And thanks to Greta, for the gift of kindness she sent to me. Love comes from so many different directions, doesn't it?

It's a good ole world. Earthquakes 'n' all.

Shouts-Out

I have a HUGE shout-out today. I mean BIG.

Lisa in NJ (except now she’s in Austin near her sister) sent me the best and sweetest message that totally made my day. My weekend. My job as a big sister a little easier. She’s gonna store Bethany for a day or two when she cruises through Austin on her Grand Adventure, whenever that might be. She’s going to let her stay in the driveway (she even offered a bed, although Bethy might not be able to accept this – she loves her truck, I tell you that much) and I just know that she’ll email me to let me know that Beth’s all right, that she hasn’t lost weight, that she’s still all smiles and my darling little sis.

I try not to let Beth know that I worry. (But I do. Just a leetle.)

And the weird part of it is this – that it’s not weird that Lisa would offer this. Other people won’t understand, but YOU, dear reader, do. This is not a creepy webring we’re part of. Knitters ROCK! Lisa’s my friend. Not my online acquaintance, not a stranger who has ADORABLE doggies, but a pal of mine that I’d love my sister to meet.

Lisa’s the best. Go tell her so for me, k?

And another shout-out to Greta, who sent good landlord vibes yesterday while I was waiting for him. Dude, he never showed up. Not before I had to work anyway. I may go another two years without ever meeting him. That’s just fine. Long as he doesn’t raise the rent and my toilet keeps flushing, I’m a happy girl. (Aside – just talked to neighbor in apt next door – no rent raise! Whoo hoo! Go, Greta!)

And now for the oddball section of today’s post: When I got to work last night (another twelve hour, and tonight I’m working another fourteen....), all the lines were lit up. I knew something had happened. Yup. Earthquake. Just a 3.9, but it was a jolt, apparently. I wouldn’t know, I had been on the freeway and hadn’t felt it. But it was centered somewhere right under my house, and I had predicted yet another one!

I know it sounds stupid, I’m the first to admit it, but I’m totally sick before earthquakes, anywhere from 20 minutes to twelve hours beforehand. I had told a couple of people at work that morning, and I had written it down on a work log device that I had been feeling what I call “earthquake dizzy.” It’s silly, but I like to keep track. I’m normally pretty reliable. And the level of sickness usually matches the intensity of the shake. The bigger the shake, the more nauseous I am beforehand. This was a little uncomfortable nausea, and it was a little shake.

I’ve done a tiny bit of research on this, and I can’t find any info out there on other people who feel this way. There’s plenty out there on kooks who dream about earthquakes and have visions and hear voices before the shake. But I don't do drugs, and I don't believe my cats are reincarnated apostles. I just get a little funny, like animals do. Anybody ever heard of this? (Apparently all day at work yesterday before the shake, they were getting animals-running-loose-in-the-streets calls.... poor things....)

Oh, no, now Lisa’s gonna retract her offer. I swear I’m not (really) crazy.

Worked on LoTech last night – all the pieces are done, and I finished the button bands. Just have to sew it together now. Yippee! Then I can start on the Wave/Shell KnitAlong. Oh, and I ordered some Noro Kureyon from Rob and Matt after seeing Ginny’s fabulous BoogaJ bag. What a fun knit week!

Here's a snap of part of a button band and one of Adah early this morning, looking out into the yard. Happy Weekend!

My Sister

Bethany's on the road. You know that already. She's the baby one, the 24 year old, and she's packed up her pickup and she's out on the highway. This makes me a little nervous. Not quite as nervous as it does our middle sister Christy, but I still worry.

So I'm making her a website within mine. OK? You wanna visit it and read about her, too? She's a darn good little writer. It's right HERE. I'll make a link to her on the left, also.

Whoo hoo!

D-Man

I’m so excited about the knit-along! We’re up to thirteen now (including myself of course; I like to inflate the numbers). Of course, that means I actually have to start it at some point soon. I finished the last pocket of the LoTech Sweat last night, and if I have the gumption, I’ll start seaming tonight. Then I’ll just have the button bands to do!

I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not going to fit. I might have made it very small. And I am not. Uh-oh.

I have things to say, and I can’t remember them. Those thoughts I can remember, I don’t want to write about. I’m in a dither. Nothing important, I’m sure.

I’m waiting for my landlord to come over. In two years of living here, I’ve never met him. He’s in town and wanted us all to get together. (I live in the bottom apartment of a large house.) That can’t be good, can it?

I'm going to distract myself from worrying - Do you know how great my cats are? I know, everyone says that, but no one else has a Digit. He’s such an asshole. He could go pro at it, I think. He’s the most curmudgeonly cat ever - he even growls sometimes when he’s purring. He gets confused.

Oh! But when I came home Monday night from the festival, I was in the bedroom putting things away, storing the old flashlights, generally puttering. And I Smelled A Smell. A far-off, dried up smell, but it was there. I sniffed my way around the room – you know the way you do. Traced it to across the room, near the bed, close to the window and found it.

Digit had pissed all over the down comforter. This had obviously been right when I left, since it was mostly all dried up. But it had gone through all layers of the bed. Only the mattress (thank you good sweet god) was unscathed. There was still a damp sticky yellow puddle at the bottom of the wall.

This is the most unpleasant aspect of a cat (well, that and cat spray and he doesn’t know how to do that, thank god). I swore and cursed and kicked my toe against the desk on accident. I LOVE my down comforter. And this is the second time he’s done it. He’s very clever. He’s only peed twice in the house, both times now on the bed, and one time he pooped a very small poop right into the heel of my Birkenstock. When it’s small like that and the heel is deep, you don’t notice the squooshing that’s happening until you’re almost out to your car.

He picks the things that are almost IMPOSSIBLE to clean.

Okay, now I’m irritated with him, all over again. But I love a challenge, always have.

While I was re-making the bed (after double-washing everything but the comforter, which I took off to the horrified cleaners), this is what he did. It’s his favorite game, being under the sheet, me grabbing and wrastling with his head while he flails underneath. It’s a growl-purr fest.

Cat's leg

This is a great post on Craigslist.

Weepy

Well, I’m disappointed. Just watched the final episode of Boy Meets Boy, and it wasn’t all I hoped it would be. (Of course, I did hope for a twist on the twist – Wes gleefully revealing that he loves the girls and Franklin reciting Whitman with tears in his eyes as he’s picked and whisked away.) My only consolation was that Brian was NOT picked – I loved him, he was the BMB version of me, all Pollyanna and kinda whateverish, sweet but boring. It would have been a copout. Maybe someday their eyes will meet in the bar and it’ll spark off again. Maybe someday, nothing. Might happen next week, since they live in the same area (how is it they didn’t know each other? Hmmmmm). I don’t think James settled, though, (even though Wes is still a little weasel, I think) and that’s the important part.

I’ve finally stopped crying, and I ain’t talking BMB. Got a temporary crown yesterday, and it hurt like hell. I had forgotten I was resistant to lidocaine. Why do I always forget that? Six shots of it later, it finally kicked in, but it always has the side effect of making me cry. Weepy, runny tears, over nothing in particular. I sat on the floor of my apartment yesterday, bawling because I couldn’t make the TV work and I wasn’t going to get my laundry folded before I had to go to work. Tired, achy tears. The exhausted kind.

And I kept it up all night at work, off and on. I’d think of someone I loved, and the tears would just slide. No effort, no headache, just tears. It’s the oddest feeling, and I’ve always reacted like that. I’m glad it’s over. Now I have to run off to work again, for an unexpected fourteen hour shift. I’ve had about an hour off today, not including sleep time. I fit in the taped show and writing this, and that’s all I’ve got.

Hope your day is lidocaine-free and happy. No tears. I’ll be glad to able to answer the phone at work clearly again, instead of puffy and numb, “Nine one one, juhashanemenshenchy?”

Dude. This is long. Get a fresh cup of coffee first. I’m serious.

So hiya! I’m back. Brown as a berry, with funny Birk tan lines on my feet, with one cracked tooth and a nosebleed that’s off and on, but I’m back. Happy. Did you expect any less?

It was weird to be cut off from technology for the better part of five days. No computer (although I did bring it, I just couldn’t quite picture myself turning it on), no electricity, no running water, not even cell phone coverage. The best you could do was wait in line for one of the two payphones in the campground – there was never less than a half-hour wait, even with the three-minute limit on conversations. I didn’t wait in line. I was cut OFF.

It was weird, but nice. That tells me (I hope) that while I love the internet, I’m not totally and completely addicted. Good. I was getting worried.

I feel like sharing a bunch of pictures, though, okay?

I made camp. I found it and claimed it and waited HOURS for Mom and Dad to arrive and help me set it up (Christy and Beth came the next day). I made four mice for Wendy’s mouse-a-thon while waiting, whoo hoo! Here’s me making a sock later on, waiting for a show to start – I’m not winking, I just don’t own sunglasses.

Our closest camping neighbors were Ronna-Lee, who’s about fifty-five and her husband Tim, about thirty years younger. He’s a stoner; she has odd hair and short shorts and a whole lot of money. They bring EVERYTHING with them. They even had a coffee machine. A real, plug-in machine. Don’t know how they ran it. And get this: They had a remote control light for their tent so they could find it while walking back in the dark. Good thing, too – they were usually so loaded it must have been difficult.

I found old friends, too, who are festival friends, the kind you make and love and mean to keep in touch with and never do and do it all over again the next year. Here’s my mother with RuthAnn Rose, three-month old daughter of my friend Alpha (of dead-frog lore).

Yep, I met up with Alpha and her husband Wayne during a concert – they were seated at the back and the baby started fussing. I valiantly said I’d walk her. I cradled her in my arms and walked to the side of great meadow, dancing and jiggling her until she smiled and danced with me. We had a grand time. I thought we were pals. Then she fussed again, and night was dropping fast, so I walked back over to the part of the crowd I thought her parents were in. Couldn’t find them.

Made another pass. RuthAnn was now crying her lungs out. In the middle of the concert.

Made another walk through the heavily blanketed and chaired grassy area. No parents. Almost dark now. I am now the owner of a small damp screaming infant and I don’t even know her last name.

This is what nightmares are made of.

Finally Alpha saw ME, and shone her flashlight on her face. I scrambled over various people and coolers, dumped the baby, and ran for the beer tent. It was just too much.

We had a great campsite. Bethany slept in her truck, Dad in the SUV they rented (he hit a dumpster in the very parking lot of Enterprise, though, so it was an expensive rental), Mom and Christy in the mammoth tent, and me in my little blue one with the zipper that’s been broken for years. Huh. That zipper had never bothered me before. That’s probably because it had never RAINED before. It only rained for about an hour, but it was enough to send rivers through my tent. But this was how tired I was – I shoved my (oh so) dirty clothes into the puddles and turned my pillow when it got too soggy. Kept on sleeping.

I hung the PACE flag.

At least ten people wandered into camp asking about it, saying they had been in Italy and had wanted one, or they’d seen them other places, what did it mean? (It’s the European symbol for peace, in Italian [pah-chay], and I LOVE that it’s rainbow striped. Of course.)

Alison Kraus was heartbreakingly, showstoppingly good. You know I’m prone to hyperbole, and I sure as hell did say all weekend, “No, really, THAT was the best show yet!” but she really was too good to be true. Her voice is unnaturally pure. And hey: she was backed by not only Union Station (love Dan Tyminsky), but Jerry Douglas on dobro. Jerry Douglas! I hadn’t seen him in years, maybe since he was still playing with Russ Barenberg and Edgar Meyer, and he’s still as brilliant as he was then. I mean, damn. (Yeah, Rachael, that’s an illustrative comment.)

Trying again: We’re sitting in this huge (and I mean enormous) meadow in Yosemite, surrounded by mountains and forests of pine (and the occasional bear, we’re told). It’s dark, the new moon is sinking to the left, Mars rising behind us. The heat’s finally off and the mountain air turns cold. The Milky Way sure is milky (for an Oakland girl, this is a miracle). Alison Kraus’ voice is soaring, Tyminski and Block are holding her up, and Jerry’s sliding along, matching her rise and drop. The drunks who’ve been partying all day don’t yell, the babies don’t cry, and no one folds up their chair with those annoying clunks. No one leaves. Standing ovation. A couple of them. It’s wonderful.

AND: Natalie MacMaster, cute as heck fiddling and kicking her way across stage; Tim O’Brien, who jumped into the lake, clothes and all, after he closed the revival Sunday morning; Open Road, seen here at the same revival:

Dave Alvin singing Mississippi John Hurt songs; and Patty Griffin whom I can’t even bring myself to begin to write about. I’d never seen her in concert before. That, folks, is talent. Some of us can learn and can be pretty good at things. Other things are a gift, and she’s got it. Brought me to tears twice.

It wasn't the wine, I swear. All in all, we were a temperate bunch. Surprisingly. (Disappointingly?) After I broke my tooth eating crunchy sourdough (I started to yell at Beth about the rock in her bread and then realized what it was and FREAKED out – I have very strong teeth), the sisters tried to get me drunk. I wussed out and let them down. Something about the altitude and the heat made me a lazy drinker. Didn't slow anyone else down, though; Mom found a man sleeping in the middle of the road last night. We did have a half-assed laugh at ourselves – before the show started last night, we sat in our row: Christy all hopped up on ibuprofen she’d taken for a headache, I was knitting a sock, and Mom, Beth and I split a Tecate. And after the show, there was still a little left.

Weak, I tell you. Pathetic.

No dead frogs this year – not many live ones, either, come to think of it. I did a bunch of swimming in the lake and took two yoga classes under the trees. I got Mom to join me for one, and she impressed me no end. I’ve got a bendy little Mama.

We sang and slept and broke camp this morning (here’s Christy doing just that, my old convertible in the background).

And now Beth is really, truly heading out. Here she is reading her map.

She’s off on an adventure that she hopes will last about a year – she’s living in her pickup truck and crossing the country, taking only backroads and sleeping where she can. She’ll pick up work when she runs out of money and photograph religious shrines and funny signs on the road-sides (like this one).

We left camp, and Christy and I caravanned with her to a teeny-tiny town called Copperopolis, where we had lunch at a saloon that boasted on a hand-lettered sign that it sold not only lunch, but dinner, too. We sat at the bar since there wasn’t a choice. The proud owner (who pointed out his own brand carved into the top of the walnut bar) said that the cook was out, but he knew how to make a french dip. So we had three french dips with Coke and put Bethy in her truck and watched her drive away alone.

Happy Trails, Bethany.

We cried. And then drank some more cold Coke and booked it home – it was almost a hundred degrees out there and I was dying of heat.....

Christy and I took the back route home – it adds a little time, but the drive looks like this:

And not this (which is what we would have been stuck in, had we taken the normal freeway route):

I’m glad to be home. Just one more picture, and I love this one.

This is us leaving this morning. I’m shooting the picture from the driver’s seat, that’s the back end of my car, Beth’s truck behind me, Christy’s green Volvo behind that (we boxed her safely in until after we separated an hour later). The wee person in the green shirt waving goodbye is our little Mama. I love that!