Yarn-A-Go-Go

Happy New Year!

Okay, no spoilers, but Return of the King was awesome. Lemme just say that a galloping Gandalf can make me cry, and Viggo singing.... well. I do believe I lost several years of my life, right there.

More hanging with the sisters today – driving down the coast, must get us some olallieberry pie after a quick yarn trip, perhaps? (Remember the camera, remember the camera, remember the camera.) It’s looking a lot like more rain, so the top might stay up, but it’s always down in spirit when the three of us are making faces out the windows.

Happy New Year! If you go out, be safe. If you stay in, open the door at midnight and let in a peaceful new year. Love to you.

New Stuff

Yippee! Sister Bethany's in town! But that means that while I'm playing more, I have less time to blog. But I'll do a quick photo-blog, kay?

It's my weekend, thank god, and the rain's finally stopped. Don't get me wrong, I aDORE rain, but it's hard to move furniture in a downpour.

Das right. Got a little furniture today. Just one piece, a loveseat, but it's enough to throw me into a total freak-out. Beth and I were out last night at breakfast (I know you do it too) and she said, "You're so mellow about everything else, why does moving stuff in your house make you lose your mind?"

Not sure. Only know that I can take life-or-death phone calls and keep track of where and what my officers are doing, and I can change tires in the rain, and I can catch thirty-two dropped stitches in a bar by candlelight, but moving a couch flips me OUT. I turn into a gibbering idiot. I think I'm like my cats. I move furniture and pile crap on top of the bed, and then I just pace around back and forth, blowing air between my lips, saying, "Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no." It feels insurmountable.

Bethany is always the one to pet my head and shush me and say, "No, look, just move this here. It'll be okay."

So today, we got rid of my old divan (I LOVED this thing, but I finally had to admit that it's stained beyond recognition, smells like damp from my old apartment, leaks foam, and has a spring that threatens to remove any remaining child-bearing capabilities I might choose to keep. Plus, it cost me five bucks at a thrift store when I was eighteen. I'm thirty-one. I think I got my money's worth.)

I bought a CHEAP loveseat from a consignment store, online (craigslist), sight unseen, and had it delivered today. I adore it.

The old one, with Bethany and Adah.

Adah, waiting for the pickup. (I'm losing my mind at this point. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.)

The new one, with Bethany and Adah.

And it made space for a new little yarn center. Yeah, baby.

And me! Happy, calm again. And it's comfy! No rogue springs.

I've had such a great day. And I tried out my new toy, from Mom and the Boys:

(That's an Indulgent hold-out... not yet sure what I'll do with that yumminess...)

The ball-winder is working its way east, thanks to Christy....

And here's me and the kiddo, just taken. Innint she cute?

Lord of the Rings tonight (finally!) with both sisters. Steak beforehand, at the dive bar down the street. What could be better? Peace, darlings.

I went out for a walk this morning before work. Oh, it was cold. And although there isn't snow, of course, there was a layer of ice on everything in sight. The black top of my covertible was white. And I realized as I was walking that I kind of missed part of Christmas, didn't I?

I had a marvellous Christmas (see below) and I had a ball knitting all my gifties and getting ready for the holiday, but I was so busy with work and people and doing that I hadn't been walking, and I missed all the pretty lights, one of my favorite things in life. This morning I silently thanked all the people who were either up early on a Sunday morning and had turned on their Christmas tree lights, or had just left them on all night. Bless them. There's nothing like a walk in the liminal light of dawn or dusk, twinkly lights inside the cottages gleaming into the chill, the suggestion of hearth and home, of warmth and family. Of course, inside are actually probably kids spilling red juice onto white carpet and people drinking wa-a-ayy too much spiked eggnog and falling over too close to glass coffeetables.

But it looks good from out here.

And hey! Here's my pal Laura modeling her Villa from Knitty. She asked me to tell you that it's not just artistic blur, but the slight bulge is actually the wee baby she's carrying under there. (Hey, ponchos were MADE for pregnant ladies.) Didn't it turn out great? Love the colors, and the way she seamed it inside out, creating that fab ridge. *Almost* makes me ready to make one. Of course, as soon as I do, the fad will be totally over, so the longer I hold out, the better for y'all.

And here's me, trying on the sleeves of my orange cardie that I'm winging. Don't mind the headset.

Whee! And to those of you with lights still up, the walkers thank you.

Still Life with Cats

You asked for it, you got it. Enjoy some holiday pics.
Or:
What I did on my Christmas vacation.

First let me say that it was one of the nicest Christmases in memory – no quarrels that amounted to anything more than giggling, everyone was home, and even though I was Bounced at seven in the morning by two younger sisters, all was utterly fabulous.

Bethany and I drove down on Tuesday, cats blessedly silent in the back of the car. At one point on the drive, we had a rainbow to our left and deer to our right. Oh, the central coast. (There’s snow on what I call the Steinbeck Hills, the low mountain range that separates his valley from the sea he wrote about.)

Got home in time to.... knit. Yep. Did a lot of knitting. Felt a bunch of earthquakes. Was woken early Wednesday morning to a 4.6 followed eleven seconds later by a 4.4. I get queasy before earthquakes, so I had rather an unsettled night. But these are the kind of earthquakes I like – you know they’re just rumbling by. There’s never that moment of thinking “Is This the Big One?” You can just lie in bed and enjoy the rolling. (Wonderful and necessary site here.) Aside - I can't be flip, though, when it comes to the recent earthquake in Iran. I just can't imagine.....

On our way down, we hit a hobby store and I grabbed some yarn to make an emergency oh-shit-I-forgot-someone hat. Hat went well. But oh-shit-I-forgot-her-son, so I made some fingerless gloves, which I’m very pleased with! No pattern, no inspiration other than T-minus four hours and a dash of panic.

I also worked a bunch on the sleeves of the Rachael cardie (AKA WingIt) and cast on for some more Koigu socks.

And look! Everyone got knitted goods!

Beth got Koigu socks! (Can’t remember colorway, but the boys know.)

Mom got a hot water bottle cozy (100% silk). (And the hot water bottle came with it. Good thing, ‘cause she had just bought a new one, which she heated and thoughtfully placed in my bed, which burst upon sheet contact. This wasn’t discovered for another hour or so, enough time for the water to spread from coverlet to mattress. The only thing I could grin about, while sleeping between the stacks of towels, was her present, wrapped and under the tree.) Didn't get a good pic of this, sorry.

Dad got a Marsan watchcap! (Alpaca, forgotten brand.)

And the Super Secret Project is revealed for those of you who didn’t see it on Rob’s site: Christy’s sweater, Harry Rodgers.

An homage to two of her Great Loves, Harry Potter and Fred Rodgers (couldn’t quite squeeze Lord of the Rings in (damn, should have used NZ wool....). She dug it. See?

Damn, I couldn’t WAIT to give this to her. That’s the best part about Christmas.

Other gifts:

From the folks, Christy got a bodhran. Think she likes it?

And from Dad (mostly), Mom got an......

Accordian! Actually, what she first said was, “Oh! What a terrible thing to do to someone!” We’re not sure whether she meant it was terrible to get it or to give it. But she loves it. I think she snuck it down to the garage to play it later in the day. But I was taking a Christmas nap, rain falling outside, EmmyLou Harris’s new album on the stereo, Christy cooking turkey in the kitchen. I couldn’t follow the accordian sounds, tempting as they were.....

Oh, and on the getting side, I got a ton of cool things. Like this:

A Japanese-made swift from Mom (via the boys ) that came with the best translation sheet. It’s the All-Powerful Reeler. “To close shake gently as you do your parasol.” Um. Okay?

And check it out: Dad invented the Magic Parabola.

Do you get it? It’s for reading and knitting at the same time! God bless him. It’s very clever, actually. I was impressed. But now that I’m home and I’ve experimented a bit, I’ve found it works best in two pieces. The thin board works well propped in the lap, a bit of yarn tying the book down and open. Or, and I like this best, just the stand, the front feet hanging off the chair and resting on the legs, scraps of yarn holding the books pages open (Koigu and Paton’s seen here).

Isn’t that just the best?

I got other wonderful things, too.
A present from the East, from a new friend who is already priceless to my heart.
A tummy-ache from too many goods made with real cream.
A chat with Em, who’s as wonderful in voice as she in writing.
The opportunity to play Cranium with my entire smart-but-crazy family.
An incredible dinner, seen here (gotta love a Nikon with a timer).

(Oh, yeah, you can see here that Mom was gifted with the Sweater-I-Hate. Looks fab on her. She said, "Oh, I was HOPING you would give it to me.")

Lord, I MUST be about done, mustn’t I? The kitties had a good time (Digit only growled fitfully and Adah set a new world drool record) and snuggled as close as I’ve ever seen them (adversity in the shape of Mom’s cats drawing them closer).

And they, as do I, hope that you had a wonderful Christmas, or Kwanzaa, or just a good day to chill out. Mwah, darlings.

Shake shake shake

Rock 'n' roll, baby. The earth's a-shaking and a-rumbling. And I missed the whole thing! I was at work, on the third floor, and this building sways a little all the time as it is. I don't think the Bay Area really felt it, as we received no phone calls from panicked citizens (who regularly pick up their phones the second an earthquake hits and dial 911, wanting to know the magnitude and location -- give us JUST a moment, and we'll get it for them, but in those few seconds after, we're just as shook-ed up as they are).

I DID, however, get a panicky phone call from Christy, saying Home (Central Coast, San Luis Obispo area) had been hit with a 6.5 and she couldn't get hold of Mom. I did the reassuring thing, as big sisters do, making up an insta-lie: "Mom's not home, she had to take Kahlua to the vet, so that's why she's not answering." Mom DID have to go to the vet today -- I was just hoping I got the time right. Then I hung up and I called home. No answer, no machine. Enough to worry a little.

Mom called about fifteen minutes later, making only my second call received at work about the quake. All was well -- she had, in fact, been out, driving her little yellow 72 bug into the Long's parking lot, thinking she had suddenly lost control of the vehicle. When she pulled over to look under the car, a little old lady rushed up and said she thought she was having a heart attack. Together they figured out that neither the car nor the heart was in any great danger. And the house appears fine (with the exception of the water heater, which needs re-strapping and new vent), although everything was knocked down and off.

We finally found out what Dad had done during the shaker. Everyone raised in earthquake country has an automated response to shakes. I'm a doorway gal. If a large enough truck rumbles past my house, I'm standing underneath the door-frame before I can register the fact that I've moved. We had a 3.1 last Tuesday and my hair-dryer and I ended up in the bathroom doorway without even shutting the hot air off. Christy, on the other hand, is a duck-and-cover girl. A car crash on her street will send her right under the desk, piles of paper bedamned.

Christy talked to Mom, who had talked to Dad, who had said HIS method, apparently, is to go over to the plate glass window at work and press his nose against the glass. Hey! What's goin' on?

He's from Arizona.

Me? I was born in Phoenix, but you know the saying, if a gal's born in a barn, it don't make her a horse. (A sheep, perhaps.....) But I'm a Californian at heart, reared in the gold-land. And I'm a home-girl, too, and I can't wait to make that drive down the Coast tomorrow, Beth and my two kitties in the car with me, playing some tunes on the stereo, wind in our hair, heading right home to give the little shaken Mama the tight hug she needs.

Mariko lives in Paso, the hardest hit. Go wish her well.

I'll be (mostly) off-line for the holidays, back Saturday. Have very happy holidays, no matter what you do. Or if, like my some of my best pals, Thursday's just a good day for movie-hopping with none of that red and green frippery, enjoy that, too. Light a candle, cuddle a pet, kiss a loved one, and knit a little, too. Love to all of you.

All is Vanity

So whatcha think about this? I ordered a vanity plate.

I KNOW!

I live in California, and it's the ultimate cliche. (Okay, I already have one, but now that I'm so excited about my new one, I'm going to get rid of WRTRGAL. That's too much of a mouthful. And everyone thinks it reads WaterGal. They stand in parking lots and yell, "Hi, WaterGal!" I'm over that. And it feels a little (a lot) pretentious.)

But the new one? Hold on, you're gonna love it:

IYARN

Get it? Get it?
Yarn = Fiber.
Yarn = Tale.

I KNOW you don't need to be told that. But I like to spell it out.

It's so silly, I know, and it's doing the Great Grammar Wrong of verbing a noun (like I just did again). It amuses me, though, and ain't that the point?

I yarn. Why, yes. Yes, I do.

Working on a Koigu sock (thanks, boys!) that I gotta get finished as a last-minute gift, and I've started fiddling around with another cardie -- gonna design this one myself. Nothing special, but it feels good to finally be working without a pattern. That's been my goal for a long, long time, to make a sweater using nothing but my tape measure and some multiplication tables. It'll probably turn out crap, but it's nice to play. (And even cooler, for the first time EVER, I remembered to take in all the skeins I hadn't used in my last couple of projects, and after they were cashed in, this new sweater yarn cost me twelve dollars!)

Happy Sunday! It's a good, shiny, rainy life.

Rufus Wainwright really was dreamy. His voice is so clear, and he's just so darn campy on top of that purity that he makes you want to both pat his head with one hand and buy him gold-tipped cigarettes with the other. You should have seen his PANTS! Christmassey striped and tight as heck, topped by a black leather jacket. He said he was Elvis on top, Liberace (Libby) on the bottom.

And dude. I don't have his new album, but he sang a song off it, get this:
"Eleven eleven"
Yup.

He and I were meant to be.

He liked my sweater, by the way. Of course, it was hard to hear him say it, since he was on stage, and I was sitting with the sisters in the back, but I know that's what he said. Yeah. Darling boy.....

Bethany's back! Wheee!

Welp, she's done. All done. And I lurve her. Lookie:

May I present to you, Olallieberry?

From BonneMarie's pattern (she's so reliably terrific that I set my knit clock to her) and done in Jo Sharp SilkRoad Aran Tweed (merino wool, silk, and a touch of cashmere).

A little dance, a la Becky:

I loved everything about this pattern, including the speed and ease of completion. It seriously helped that there was almost NO finishing needed. This was the first time I worked from the bottom up, and I'm totally hooked. Happy, happy! And know what? IT FITS! It's not too short! It's not a bolero! Nice as boleros are, of course.

Notice how impressed Adah is (asleep behind me in the chair).

I am SO wearing this to the Rufus Wainwright show tonight.

Hey, but last night I wore (again) the Must-Bolero. Went knitting in the City (seen from BART platform):

Knitting with the gang - the live music was Celtic, which was perfect for knitting to. The only problem was it was a pretty large crowd - all the musicians had all their friends and family and it was pretty damn loud. Hard to talk. And then when we DID manage to be heard over the music and all the other shouting going on around us, a sweet looking little old lady came over and told us to be quieter - that she couldn't hear the music over us. I agree, that WOULD be irritating. Except that the music was SO loud, her grandson sat there with her with his fingers plugged in his ears. Or maybe that was to drown her out. Huh. It's a BAR, woman. With loud fiddling Celtic up front, us at the back, and a whole bunch of loud people all around. Why pick on the knitters?

But we had fun, even in the dark. Here's The Other Rachel, helping John see his knitting, holding the candle up for him.

And the best part?

Joanna!

I recognized her by her sweater - she was as cute as it was, and she was a joy to get to know. And again, I'm struck by how NOT weird it is to meet online friends. We took BART back East Bay together, and it was great just to talk knitting and blogs and, like, stuff. You know?

Except that was maybe a little too much train-taking, because I had a hard time sleeping and every time I woke, I had Sheena Easton in my head. "My baby takes the morning train, he works from nine to five and then, he takes another home again, to find me waiting for him....."

I hereby vote this as by far the most annoying song to have stuck in your head all g.d. night. Don't even THINK about the feminist politics of it, or you'll lose your mind.

Back to work. Tonight, Rufus.....

AFA

Take five seconds and go sign the American Family Association's poll on civil unions/gay marriages. They're a Pro-Family organization and I just took this from their website:

Does AFA Hate Homosexuals?
Absolutely Not! The same Holy Bible that calls us to reject sin, calls us to love our neighbor. It is that love that motivates us to expose the misrepresentation of the radical homosexual agenda and stop its spread though our culture.

Hee! That actually makes me giggle. They're going to present their poll to Congress, and wouldn't it be amusing if it were weighted a mite more heavily on the pro-civil union/marriage side? Poll is HERE.

'Course, if you're anti-gay marriage, I still like ya. I just don't wanna marry you.

Warmer Now

Okay. Feeling a little sheepish. Most of y’all have it COLD! I don’t know how you do it. And Ann, that’s HORRIBLE about your dishsoap. I would freak out, really. I would. Of course, my apartment is the size of a postage stamp, perhaps 250-300 square feet, so it takes about ten minutes of running the heater to overheat the place. And I like a nice chill in the air while I sleep. But I suppose when snow surrounds your house, the romance of it costs a lot less than the heating bills, no?

Oh, but to knit and look at snow outside. The jealousy. (I sure love to look at the snow pics on all the different sites – the feeling of Oh! That’s what my friend sees! That’s so cool!)

Finished Olallieberry last night, and I just have to go out and buy a zipper. I am wildly busy all day today, this my last day off before I leave to go HFTH* on Tuesday. AND I’m still intent on fitting a yarn run in this afternoon between laundry and going to the City to knit (Joanna’s coming, too)! Must have more of that warm Paton’s Merino goodness. I think I might design something myself, a cabled cardie that ISN’T CROPPED. Lord, I’m not a belly-barer. Even my tee shirts like a little cover-up. You know?

Oh, and for Mooky:
Digit next to and Adah underneath the heater.

*Home for the holidays.... (Joanna guessed it in my comments before I even realized I forgot to footnote. I shoud just stick to parentheses.)

Knitting Content!

It’s cold in here. Not really cold, you know, it’s sixty-two, according to the thermostat, and I’m in no danger of dying of exposure, but my toes are cold. Turned the heat on in the middle of the day. Feeling wild and crazy.

But this: I am driving to San Rafael tomorrow to get more Paton’s Classic Merino to start a simple cardie. I am desperately in love with this yarn. I’m wearing the Must-Bolero right now (as I have been almost every day recently) and while I wouldn’t walk out of the house in this particular ensemble (gray sweats pants, yellow socks, a holiday “I Gave Blood” shirt with dancing drops of blood wearing red and green elf hats, topped with the cabled shortie), I’m mostly warm. My top half is, anyway. I LOVE this yarn. Soft, light, completely cozy yet it hasn’t been TOO warm, which is usually my problem.... I need more.

(I know you can’t get over the dancing holiday blood drops (they’re holding hands, wrapped in garlands of Christmas lights). Neither can I. And what makes them worse is I actually DIDN’T give blood last week – I went in to Red Cross, but my iron was too low. They gave me the shirt when I walked in, and then when I tried to give it back when I left, all to a person shook their heads kindly and sadly: “No, honey, you just keep that. Our gift to you. Happy holidays. Oh, good luck to you.....” Sideways glances, poor low-iron thing.......)

Where was I? Oh. The Paton's yarn. And it’s cheap! One of the best things about it.

And MORE knitting content. Here’s a photo of where I am with the ribby cardie:

I’ve dubbed her, as of last night, Olallieberry. The actual berries are darker, blue/black, but this deep Jo Sharp red is just the same shade as the jam. It's not a great picture, but the thicker stripe is a gray/bruised purple, and the darker one is a deep purple with flecks of bright blue thrown in, all in Jo Sharp SilkRoad Aran Tweed. And I got a little crazy non-symmetrical with the one sleeve. Just needed to.

This cardie feels good to work on, soft and thick and kind of stubborn, if that makes any sense. A sturdy cardigan. Loving it. And you canNOT go wrong with a BonneMarie pattern, no?

Hey! Have you noticed I haven’t been writing about writing? That’s because I haven’t been doing much of it!Yep! I’m in a slump. I WILL walk to the coffeeshop as soon as I post this (or after I cruise some sites) and I will write today. Haven’t really written in almost a week. Feels like pushing mud to get to the page, although when I get there, the words are ready to happen. But getting there, bleah. I have to promise myself a chai latte (and maybe a ginger cookie) today – that’s the only thing that’ll get my ass into write-mode.

It's a chai, heater-on, soft-wool wearing kind of day. Yep.

Street Scenes

Talked to the sisters night before last – they were on the coast of Georgia, staying in a tree-house hostel. What this meant was that it was forty degrees and they were up a tree surrounded by mesh and plywood, trying to get warm in their sleeping bags. While I thought this was humorous, I don’t think they did. They were taking it very seriously.

But they’re having fun, I believe. Gonna call ‘em as soon as I finish posting this. I’m going to recommend a motel room, perhaps. I know they were thinking about a night in a B&B, but I think that idea was shot by Christy’s unfortunate ticket experience. But a Motel 6? Might be just the thing.

Moving slowly this morning. I have a grand goal today: Finish Christmas. I’ve ordered everything I needed to order and just have to pick things up – this will require a Telegraph trip. I hate going into Berkeley (one house from the border, I am a very proud Oakland resident), and I hate finding expensive parking, but once I’m there, it’s fun. Lately there’s always a young homeless couple that has on the sidewalk in front of them a small cat playing with (or wrapped around) a pet rat. I don’t understand so many parts of this, but perhaps my biggest question is why the hell that cat sticks around. I can’t make a cat stay in one place all day, can you? It’s not tied up to anything and usually appears content to be on the blanket with the rat, also not contained. Any cat I've ever known personally would look at me with that "you just don't get it, do you?" look and then EAT the rat. And probably barf it up immediately, for spite. Dunno.

(Total aside – my favorite street performance in all of the Bay Area is the Bushman.

He’s found on the sidewalk between Pier 39 and Ghiradelli Square and you either hate him or love him. I adore him. He hides behind that bush all day, and when tourists walk by, he makes the bush roar and leap at them. The tourists scream and run and grab strangers around the waist. I've seen a couple of them get pretty pissed off, fists balled, ready to swing, but they're the ones who are laughing the hardest when they watch the next group get Got. There are usually hordes of people behind and in front of him, on both sides of the street, the Recently Got or the In The Know, who are doubled over with laughter, watching the next victim approach. Here’s one of him lying in wait. Come on. You know that’s funny. If you come visit, I’ll take you and I’ll make sure you see him before he sees you.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah, book shopping and music buying. That’s the order of the day. My family, books and music. We don’t need nothin’ else (except I likes my yarn, of course).

Oh – here’s what happens when you come home late from work, reach to fill the cat food container and drop it. Adah’s accidental dinner.

Oh, how cool.

Thanks, JStrizzy, for this: Knit New York

Holy cow. I may have to move to New York.

Sockless

I am in love, and I don't know what I was waiting for. I have put off getting to really know this person, and it's been my own foolish pride standing in the way, that's all.

Rufus Wainwright.

Oh, baby, and it's so fine. His album Poses, listened to on the way into work this morning, has blown my ugly machine-knitted black work socks right off my feet. I was only listening to him because Christy*, Bethany and I are going to his concert on Friday night (right after they fly in from Atlanta), and I figured I oughtta know him a little bit more. Before this morning, I only knew I liked his Moulin Rouge songs, and I loved the idea of his "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" song (two of my favorite things, too).** But I had never taken the time to listen.

Oh, yes. Torchy, campy, bitter and sweet. I'm so in love.

Other news: Have joined the ribby cardie together, and I'm working on the body decreases, going up. I've never joined anything this way (only ever worked from the top down) , and I like it. I like everything about this sweater so far, and I'm hoping it stays that way. No more bolero disappointment, please. Pics over the weekend, I promise. Lord, I love me some Jo Sharp.

* His biggest fan - When she learned to knit, she made me and Bethy scarves, and then one for him. A long, skinny, stylin scarf. According to her, he took it and wrapped it (with elan) around his neck.
** Still not smoking. Twenty-one months. And a lot of sweaters.

First-Class

So I'm at work yesterday, and I get a call from a guy who says there's a woman struggling to change the tire on her car. I explain the police don't change tires for people, but is she perhaps blocking traffic?

Guy - No, but she needs help. The car fell on her.
Me - It fell on her?
Guy - Well, not on her, but it fell off the jack and she needs help.
Me - Is she elderly?
Guy - No, she just needs help! You need to get someone out here now!

It turned out to be my SISTER!

Yesterday was the last day of finals in Christy's graduate program at Berkeley, she's had over a hundred pages or work due just this week, she had an upcoming final at 5pm and an imperative meeting at work that she couldn't get out of.

She had gone out to her car to find a flat tire. (This is the same car that cost her $800 earlier this week in transmission problems.) When she tried to change it, she found that the SPARE was flat. While she was realizing this, the car dropped off the jack and landed on the rotor.

She called, just as upset as I was that the neighbor reporting party didn't help, and walked (in the rain) to the PD where she got my keys to use my car for the day. That's when I inherited her day. Work got crazy, I got a ride home from work and realized just as we were pulling up that I didn't have a KEY, as it was on the keyring with the car key. Dur.

I live in Oakland. My windows are shut tight when I'm gone, and I've never thought about leaving a key outside for In Case (actually, I thought about it briefly last week and dismissed the thought, yup). This was at five pm, so my friend who dropped me off and I went to dinner (big burgers and fried mushrooms) and then I waited at a neighbor's house until Christy's final was done. I had a Koigu sock on the needles, so it wasn't no thing.

But by now, Christy's in the air, winging her way to Atlanta to see Bethy! Wheee! She had a glitch in ticketing and had to get a first-class* seat on the way home. Even though it cost her more, don't you think she deserves first-class? I do.

First-class all the way, baby! See you Monday.

*I've never flown first-class myself. It's a goal, though. And footnotes rock.

Monday

Welp, Friday, actually. But it's my Monday, and I'm at work this fine day. As I drove in this morning, the sky was a deep dark blue/purple, a smudged bruise. It's what I imagine the sky looks like before snow. Except, of course, this is the Bay Area, and all we've had recently is some damned good rain. That heavy, wool-coat soaking kind of rain that's fun to run through, not so fun to hail a cab in. *

Driving to work this morning, however, I wondered AGAIN why people feel it's okay to come up on your a$$ at ninety,** slam on the brakes (because you're only doing seventy-five) and swerve around you, almost clipping your bumper and causing the next lane to slam on their collective brakes. My time, the way I figure it, is just not as precious to me as theirs is to them. I hang back, willing to get there when I get there, and I don't understand their mentality. I don't understand how angry they get at the space I'm leaving between me and and the car in front of me. It's like a personal affront. So they near-miss me, go around, wedge themselves in the gap I've left, and then do it all over to the new car in front of them, their new problem on the road.

I like to drive. I like to zen the traffic. I wish THAT were part of the driver's training these days: How to relax when cut-off. How to keep your middle finger on the steering wheel at all times. How to leave the house a little early to account for traffic. How to sing really super loudly and groove your head and make everyone think you're on meds (but really good ones).

Knitting content: Working on BonneMarie's ribby cardie in Jo Sharp Silkroad (a tweedy red), and it's working up fast, just the way I like. Pics over the weekend (not sure if I mean my weekend or yours, but I like the vagueness). Also working Christmas gifts, but hey, who isn't?

Happy Friday(ish)!

* I just like the way Em does this and I'm copying.
** I have no idea why it was okay for me to write fuc(wad yesterday and today I'm having issues with ass -- mood-bleeps, I suppose.

Health

All together now: good, healing, strengthening and peaceful thoughts to our Greta...... Today’s her surgery day, and I woke thinking of her. That’s one passionate, wildly interesting woman who NEEDS to be able to see her glorious world.

And speaking of health, damn, I hope my mother has giardia. There. That’s a sentence I never thought I’d write. But she’s been so sick for the past few months, losing so much weight and feeling crummy, every day. She ran all the tests to make sure the colon cancer hadn’t come back, and did more tests, and then some more. The worst part is that she lives in a small-town rural area with very few doctors that accept her medical plan (the only plan that works for them, and the PPO cost at open-enrollment was just prohibitive). So she has to go to a fuckwad of a doctor, who, the last time she saw her, never entered the room fully, standing in the doorway WITH HER ARMS CROSSED. Mom had armed herself with a list of questions and self-diagnoses and Dad, and the doctor (if she deserves to be called that) got away in under four minutes, answering and prescribing nothing, saying “This isn’t my field, I just can’t help you.” But this is her primary doctor, and she needs her approval for all the referrals, and there’s no one else accepting new patients in the area.

Bitter? Why would you say that?

But good news: Mom kicked and screamed (in her very polite quiet New Zealand way) until she obtained the referral to the gastro-guy, who said (after a four-week wait to get an appointment),

GG – You been camping?
Mom – Yes.
GG – The mountains? Yosemite?
Mom – Yes.
GG – When?
Mom – Late August.
GG – And you’ve been sick since *flip of the chart* late August?
Mom – Oh!

She first got started feeling this way the DAY she got back from Strawberry Music Festival. Here’s a snap of her, waving the three girls in their three cars on their way.... (way zoomed in, she was a speck on the original)

It’s treatable with a five day (nasty) antibiotic treatment, so DAMN, I hope she has giardia.

I just think that’s funny.

Hey, Beth’s back on the road! And she’s cold! I think she’s in Iowa. The goal is for her to get to Atlanta by Saturday, when Christy’s flying out to meet her and they’ll tramp about for six days and then fly back together for Christmas, leaving her home/truck in the long-term parking lot. They're both so cool.

Singing in the Rain

Dude, I’m always sitting next to the star, and I love it that way. Brandy called me tonight (Brandy of the red sweater in post below) and said she was going to sing, spur of the moment, at the Freight and Salvage’s Open Mic Night.

Let me tell you. It’s pouring here tonight. I mean real rain. Not that showery drippy crap, but real live downpours. And I worked ten hours today on my day off, and I had to stand in line after work to return things at places like Radio Shack, so I wasn’t sure I was in the mood.

But I used to sing. I suppose I still do, still can, but I don’t perform anymore. I remember that feeling, that asking someone if they’d like to come hear a performance, saying “it doesn’t matter, it’s a little thing, no big deal if you can’t,” but knowing deep inside, yes, I want to someone to hear me (or now, to read me).

So I put on the Must-Bolero (I’m liking it more and more, I gotta say) and an old Marsan watchcap and my Italian raincoat (I like to call it that, but I didn’t get it in Italy, I wear it TO Italy) and met Brandy at the Freight.

If you’re from the Bay Area, you know this place. An old boxcar of a building (thus the name), it’s historic and dark and sweet, with incredible acoustics. I’ve seen a lotta performances there but have always avoided the Open Mic nights, picturing.... I don’t know what I thought would happen onstage. I think I had my high-school’s Mock Rock in mind when I thought about Open Mic. Kids leaping with screeching untuned guitars, flailing arms to disguise sheer lack of talent. I forgot that:
1) It's the Bay Area.
2) It’s the Freight.

Oh, yes, there were the people who were stone tone deaf. Couldn’t have got a C out of orange juice. I’m still not totally sure that one guy wasn’t just having us on. He sang the way my sisters and I do after a couple bottles of champagne, and WE’RE KIDDING.

Then there were a bunch of good performers. The ones who are leagues better than I would be if I got back up on stage, with good, clear voices, and gifted with their instruments of choice.

But there were four incredible performers. One man took a guitar and a computer and made magic – a whole orchestra wielded with a foot-activated touch pad. He used a BOW on that guitar at times. It was so mesmerizing I actually had to put down my knitting. Heaven.

And three of the female singers ROCKED – Marie Aquiles, Corrinne May, and Brandy Gadson. They were so flipping good that they were networking afterward. From the stage, the coordinator asked Brandy if she had also driven up from LA (as May had). People were asking for Brandy’s website (which she ain't got yet, but will). And, might I add, she was the best looking of the bunch, too (she took off the yellow “Iron before washing” sticker on her new pants just before she went up).

I sat and was happy and proud to be in the audience where my friend knocked the crowd outta their chairs. Granted, it was a small crowd by then, having been thinned out by people leaving after they performed.... (I was so irritated by that. I wanted to chase each departing performer out and tell them that Brandy hadn’t sung yet, that they were going to miss the best part.)

Oh! I almost forgot to tell a fine moment – she wrote the song she sang, and used “glass house” in the lyrics. I just about bust at that point.

She was so good. (And if you get a moment, click on Corrinne May above - she's got a stunning voice, too.)

Now I’m home, and it’s still pouring. Digit is grumpier than hell about it. He knows when it’s like this that in the morning it’ll be muddy, and mud means he gets his paws wiped when he comes back in, which he HATES. The sound of the rain makes up for tomorrow’s trauma, though. At least in my mind, if not his.

Long post. Happy to be back. Hope your night is warm and dry.

Hey!

I’m back! And sooo happy about it. The time without my computer proved to me one thing: I can live without the internet at home.

But I don’t have to like it.

I will, however, try to put limits on my internet time during my work week. I can easily come home from work at 7pm and lose two hours, just browsing and emailing. When I didn’t have the computer at home, I came home, knitted on the couch, took a bath and slept. I liked those nights. Course, tonight, she’s like a brand-new toy, so I’m giving myself an exception so I can do this:

HI!

All right:

Let me catch you up a bit.

I had breakfast with Anne of Creating Text(iles) the Saturday after Thanksgiving. And she is even more delightful in person than she is online (hard to imagine, I know).

The place I had originally suggested we meet wasn’t open until eight (and I had to be at work by nine), so we went to my real favorite place. I should have suggested it in the first place--I should have known she would get it. The Lake Merritt Bakery is in downtown Oakland, open twenty-four hours, always has one rough looking young fellow seated with an older woman wearing a large Sunday hat (the faces change, but the set-up is always the same no matter the day, grandma and grandson out to lunch/dinner/breakfast), the shakes cause insta-weight-gain, there are about a million booths, and chicken’n’waffles are the order of the day. Well, okay, we both got bacon and eggs. But chicken’n’waffles are available should you get the hankerin’.

And Anne’s a hoot. Intelligent and charming, she was my first face-to-face blog meeting, and the weird part is that it wasn’t weird. It was just getting together with my friend. Yep.

Here we are.

Hooray!

And here are some Must-Bolero shots. Me, mimicking how I looked when I found out what size I had really made:

What was I thinking? I’m a better knitter than this. Sigh. Gulp. From the front:

From the back:

I’ve decided it’s my Lounge Around sweater. Sure, it’s more cropped chic fashion (and I consider myself neither cropped nor chic), but if I wear it to slug around the house, I think I’ll warm up to it. It sure is damn soft, and it has that great sheepy smell (Paton’s Classic Merino), and I’m gonna wear the shit out of it. Yeah. That’s it.

Oh! And I didn’t tell Brandy I was gonna do this, but here’s my pal’s first sweater (from Very Cherry Knitty pattern):

Isn’t she fabulous? She hates it. I think it looks like a million bucks. MY first sweater was in blue acrylic and I forgot to leave room for my head to push through so whenever I pulled it on, I was left with red scrape marks down my cheeks (granted, I was eleven).

(Aside: Do you have any idea how Very Uncool I was, knitting a sweater at eleven?)

Speaking of Knitty, a new issue is live today!

And I’m back! Yeehaw!

In the Meantime

Still no little 'puter - posting quickly from work again. I can see with my own eyes that it's made it to Oakland FedEx. This is the point at which I "lost" the other computer. Good thoughts, good thoughts.....

'Til then, go cheer Bethany up!

Darlings

God, how I miss you all. And how I miss posting and reading blogs and replying to emails and all that good non-essential but wonderful stuff. I'm stealing time at work right now while my trainee is at lunch.....

The Must-Have is now the Must-Bolero. Single-handedly, I WILL bring them back into style. I have no freaking idea what happened (and I don't want to examine it too closely) but not only is it too short, but it was WAY too small across the front. Way. Lemme say it again. WAY too small.

I've said it before - I'm a fix-whatcha-got kind of person. There was no way in hell I was going to rip it out. I loved making it, but not enough to make it again, at least not anytime soon. So I faked it. I added a moss-stitch panel and wide ribbing. I slapped a zipper on (but I pretty much screwed that up, not stretching out the fabric first, turning the front into a butterfly kind of gather - then I stood in my bedroom telling myself over and over "it'll never be noticed from a trotting horse...." but even I couldn't live with that - I took out the zipper and reinserted it right).

It's all right. It's such a gorgeous pattern, and it looks good on. I think I'm disappointed most of all because I wanted a cozy throw-over-everything kind of sweater. I got a short jacket instead.

I went out for a fabu rainy night on the town last night, dinner at Zuni, 5 dozen oysters and 7 beautiful women: What could be better? You know you're looking for trouble when the very first round of drinks is over $70. Thank god I took BART to the City, 'cause I wouldn't have been able to drive after those Sapphire martinis....

AND Kathy got a shot of the bolero. Here you go. Deb was tucking in a stray thread on my shirt. I was looking weird. Can't explain that.

And here's one more, and I'm still goofy:

Kisses to all and to all a good week - maybe I'll be back soon? I have to tell you all about the breakfast I had with marvellous Anne and show more pics of the bolero..... I want my baby back.... please...... Good thoughts sent out to HP and here's hopin'. Miss you.

But I've started the new

But I've started the new ribbie cardie from BonneMarie. I need a sure thing, you know? Miss y'all.

Posting from phone so brief.

Posting from phone so brief. Must-Have is bolero for 9 year old. Sigh. Gauge was on, dunno. 6inch button bands help a bit... Deeper sigh...