Wait For It....January 31, 2004

Okay. Let's talk irony.

Had a date with a doctor last night.

Just goes to show you, doesn't it?

Anyway. It was a blind date, only my second one ever, to my recollection (which usually ain't that great, but I'm sticking with this number). I met her off that silly Craigslist post I told you about. She wrote back to me late in the game and sounded sweet and funny, two very good things. I wrote back and said, basically, Okay. Let's get a burger. I'm tired of that whole Pre-Screening practice that happens on-line nowadays. You send seventy-two clever, witty emails back and forth, the precursors to a great love followed by a fabulous marriage and a stunning life, until the person says s/he loves eggplant and you think Oh, I could never date an Eggplant Person, and the correspondence is off. (Unless of course, it's a Super Eggplant kind of person, then we'll get along famously.)

So we made plans to get a burger. I told her I'd be the one in the orange sweater. Thought that was distinctive enough, no? I waited inside Barney's, strangely un-nervous, and watched a group of three come in. Thought to myself, she's cute, but she's with other people, can't be her. But it was, she had accidentally run into friends out front. She was tall and a little unconventional looking. I don't know what I mean by that, exactly. Huh. But it's a good thing.

Anyway, we had a very nice time. We met at eight, and I didn't get home till almost midnight. We both wanted to talk more, so we walked to a local dive bar that I knew, and we sat and drank beers and laughed. I have NO idea what's going to happen now, and I don't really much care, to be honest. It was just nice to be out, to listen to someone new and interesting, to be listened to.

Nice. All right. 'Nuff.

In knitting news: the lavender Lush is out for Rogue. Several well-intentioned friends have advised me that not only is Lush HOT as hell (and I could overheat in a snowbank), but after regular wearing, it haloes so much that the cables are obscured. And I am SO not making such a gorgeous sweater with such incredible cabling, only to have it be a fuzzy too-warm blob. That's what my cat Adah is. I don't need another one. I've finished the cabling in both sleeves (I had been doing both at once) and will finish them up, I think. And then in the future, I think I'll just make a simple cardie to attach the sleeves to, but that'll be after Cromarty. (I think I've decided to totally copy Cari and do Rogue, eventually, in Cascade 220, in that lovely green she has--she swears it's not mint like The Sweater I Hate).

Ah, knitting. I think I alarmed J last night with the fiber-chat. I tried to keep it to a bare minimum, but to people with no yarn experience, completely obsessed knitters can be a little overwhelming. She has no IDEA that I blog. Don't tell, kay?

mama, mariko, and moreJanuary 30, 2004

How 'bout a photo blog today, because I'm TIRED and LAZY. I absolutely adore going home to see the little mama, but I drive south the moment I wake up on Tuesday and come back Thursday night, and have to get up early on Friday to start my week. I completely neglect things like laundry and vacuuming. And sleep.

Yawn.

Oh, well. That's the way the chocolate chip cookie crumbles. Like these:

Mariko gave them to me! And OH, are they good. Let me rephrase: Oh, WERE they good. See all those? All gone.

And here we are:

We're in Bubblegum Alley, one of the tourist attractions of San Luis Obispo, which is midway between her house and my parent's home. As a kid, I thought this was the coolest thing ever, and my little brain dreamed of owning all that gum, pre-chew. Now it's rather germy, but still grossly cool.

We had a lovely coffee together at Linnaea's, the coffee-house where I spent many, many under-grad hours. She was as delightful as you would gather from her blog, and I wished we had had more time together. She has the biggest smile! Again, it was weirdly Not Weird. You would totally think it would feel odd, meeting an on-line friend. But it doesn't. It's just like what it is: Meeting a friend for coffee. She's a doll. (Another picture is over at her blog.)

Mom's doing better! Still not much motion in her final diagnosis or treatment, but we did manage to bully from the PA a referral to the endocrinologist that she needs to see. The PA said that she was qualified enough to tell Mom that there's nothing else to be done, that she'll just have to ride the thyroid problems out, but I refuse to accept that, and I talked Mom into agreeing with me. And more, we talked the PA into writing the referral. So my mission was accomplished. HiYAH!

We managed to get to the movies, too. We saw Girl With a Pearl Earring, which was bee-yoo-tiful. And hello, Colin Firth. That man gets more ger-jess every time. I swear, he's LoTR-Viggo-cute in this one. Mom says it's just the hair, but she was a little swoony, too.

Here's the little mama with her little cat Kahlua:

I realized while at Mom's house that she has: One incontinent cat, one deaf/allergy-prone cat, and one hyper-thyroid cat. She sees the vet as much as she sees her own doctors. No, more. This one is the deaf, 16 year-old one. They manually hydrate her every other day because she suffers from kidney problems, too. Oy.

More pictures:

Driving home from the fabulous Mariko visit, I stopped off in Shell Beach. The novel I'm working on is set there, and I wanted to drive the streets, see if I could pinpoint exactly where my main character lives. (I actually did find the house, I think, but there was a fella working on his truck in her driveway. The cheek! I cruised past it a couple of times with the top down, and then finally shot a sneaky sideways snapshot, but I think I was made. Not a good photo, either.)

But here's what's at the end of the street:

This is where we like to have donuts in the morning, when Mom's feeling up for it. Next time I go visit, we'll be right here in the morning, listening to the seals bark.

Back on the road, I stopped off in the Arroyo Grande village so I could show y'all the Swinging Bridge. It's behind City Hall, suspended over the little creek. As a kid, it was THE thing to do, run to the middle of it and jump or rock until the bridge got swaying enough to make a five-year-old seasick. As eight-year-olds, that was cool. Here's the bridge:

And here's me, just 'bout ready to run over it, all by my lonesome.

Dude, that was fun. But remember, while in the park, please don't let your dog:

Now, isn't that taking a visual cue a leetle too far?

One last image before I jump back into Real Life; these are the chickens that live behind City Hall.

That's what kind of a rural area it is. Well, okay, it's not THAT rural, there are more SUVs than pick-em-up trucks, but the town is ringed by strawberry fields, and the mayor is usually an acquaintance.

Now. Back to work. Happy Friday to you! (Rogue pics soon, I swear.)

*Random thought - I want TiVo. Bad.

Better.January 27, 2004

Quickly:

I feel SO much better this morning. I believe it’s all due to my dear readers’ good thoughts AND Christy and Mom listening to me growl last night. And the hot bath helped, as did all the drugs I could find in my medicine cabinet – the panicked “two of these and one of these and oh, this can’t hurt, either!” kind of pill-popping. Not to worry, I don’t mix and match much, and we’re talking marrying tylenol with sudafed, but whatever I did, it worked. That migraine never quite latched. It was still revving up when I went to sleep, and when I woke, it was GONE.

Like magic.

I feel better equipped this morning to wrestle with printing the Rogue pattern, which I REALLY want to start in the lavender Lush (50% wool, 50% angora, ooooohhhhh). But if I can’t make it print, I have socks to do, and that’s just fine. Why did it feel like the end of the world last night?

Sometimes it’s the little things. The big problems I am equipped to handle. Those I can usually take and process and work with on my own. I’m strong enough for them. The little things like last night (did I tell you I dropped a glass full of water that then shorted out the teakettle? Grrr) are the things that make me crawl on the carpet (which I found out last night I REALLY have to have shampooed) in self-pitying misery.

Over it. And I’m happy that I get a long drive today. Usually I don’t look forward to it, but today I am. It’s raining softly, and it has been since last night, so I expect I’ll chase the rain during the four-hour drive south. The kitties are going with me, and Digit came back from his morning run, so I’m not worried about trapping him. I have a couple of new CDs to listen to and I plan on turning the brain off (except for the Steer Avoid Brake part) and relaxing. And hugging little mama by the end of the day!

I’ll be back on Thursday, prolly won’t post till Friday. So have a good week, all. And thanks.

Grrrrr.January 26, 2004

No Koigu. Not the boys’ fault – they’re a shipping marvel. So no starting Cromarty this weekend (which starts tomorrow, Tuesday morning, when I drive Home).

No Imitrex. I was a very good girl and dropped the Rx off on Friday. My pharmacy is open all day and most of every night, so I was confident that I’d either pick it up before the next migraine or at the onset of one. This is the onset. And they lost the damn prescription. When they found it (twenty bright-light minutes later), there was no strength written on it. So they have to wait until tomorrow to contact my doctor to fill it. I can pick it up before I leave, yes. But the base-of-the-skull pain is building and this thing’s gonna be full-blown by midnight.

And I have cramps. (Yes, I see the migraine PMS connection. And I don’t like it.)

I want two things: A glass of wine. And a good cry. Both would only make the migraine worse, so I’ll settle for a bath and a cup of Sleepytime tea instead. And this rant, which helps a little.

The only positive thing is that I bought a cone of Classic Elite Lush in a discontinued lavender color and it arrived today. Maybe I’ll start Rogue this weekend instead. And I get to see the little mama tomorrow and Mariko on Wednesday. Things will look better in the morning, I know. They always do. But for now I need the lights out. Kay?

A kiss and a growl to you. Just like Digit (who's worrying me by not coming when called tonight). See what he’s doing with this catnip Mousie?

Let’s all get our frustration out like that. Kill a catnip mouse or two. (Although yesterday he brought a really big-ass rat from outside. Oy. That makes my head hurt more to think about. G'night.)

** Addendum: An hour and a half later of being stupid and Not Going to Bed Where I Belong, I give up. Digit finally came in, so that’s one worry resolved. But Rogue’s last 5 pages aren’t printing. I give up. I’m knitting socks all weekend. Screw it. Bed. NOW.

Dancin'

Went out last night to a club in the City to hear some bands. My friend Jes Muse (her real name) is in a band called the Hunks. They were up second, after a one-man band. Now, let me tell you. This was bizarre. Bee-zare. His name was Fauntleroy. He wore a shiny purple sateen three-piece suit. He had a beard and a mustache, and was obviously either totally crazy or on something that you can’t buy at Safeway. He had Casio-sound coming out of his laptop that was plugged into the speakers. When he sang he jerked and twitched. He was a little tone-deaf.

But get this. He had the most amazing Tom Waits kind of timing, a very alarming use of language (this was NOT someone with whom I’d want to share a seat on Greyhound), and he completely won over the small crowd. We went from blatant snickering to rather shamefaced amusement to astonished admiration. Dude was working it. The tall skinny boys in the crowd wearing leather and spikes stopped touching their messy hair self-consciously. It went from Fauntleroy’s only friend boogying in the front row to all of us shaking our hips a little.

I don’t know why it touched me so much. And taught me again that you can’t judge a book by its cover. I’m ALWAYS wrong about covers.

Jes’s band was fabulous. Took a little warming up, but they’re good girl-punk, and Jes is freaking amazing on the drums. That kind of rhythm held in the body? I can’t imagine what that would feel like. My friend Rachel and I were the only ones really dancin' it up, but we just couldn't help ourselves. When you have to dance, you gotta move.

Now if only the boy next door played his drum set like that....

Today, PLEASE keep your minds focused on USPS. I want that lovely Koigu box from the boys to arrive TODAY. If it doesn't, then I have no Koigu for the trip home for my weekend (going to see the little mama again). I want to start Cromarty! Now now now. If that doesn't happen, then I'm taking the cashmere down south with me. But I'm just not sure exactly what I'm going to DO with the cashmere. It's too bulky and tweedy for Rogue, and I just don't know.... Thinking about a simple raglan vee-neck pullover. How can I go wrong? (Oh, the fear of Going Wrong with cashmere....) Hmm. Idears?

The Q WordJanuary 25, 2004

There ain't nothing like a bacon-egg-n-cheese biscuit meal from McDonalds. With coffee. I know loving it is wrong, but I don't wanna be right. Let's talk grease. Lovely, salty goodness. And I have to say, their coffee ain't bad, either.

Work is, so far, pretty quiet. Of course, the Q word is not allowed to be uttered in this room. If it is, then something awful happens and it's suddenly very Not Quiet. And if you're the one who said it, it's all your fault. So I'm not gonna say it. I'll just write it. Don't tell.

I received a call yesterday from one of Mom's angels. Mariko says he doesn't like fanfare, so let's just call him J. J gave my mother information, something she's finding very little of elsewhere lately. I couldn't tell him enough how much we appreciated someone who took an interest in her. I think I embarrassed him a little. But really, things like that mean the world when you feel like hell and there's little relief to be found. Mom's still feeling poorly and tired and shaky, and now they're second-guessing her hyper-thyroid diagnosis. IT'S SO FRUSTRATING. And that's how *I* feel. Can't even imagine how she feels.

Anyway. Thank you, J. Thank you, Mariko.

(I know you shouldn't tease an angel, but did you know Mariko is scared of Santa? Go see her insane brother for the funniest proof ever (scroll down to the 20th). I'm going home to see the little mama for my weekend, and I'll take Mariko out for coffee to make up for this. But I had to. It's the cutest.)

P.S. It's not quiet anymore. My bad.

Remember the Radical Homosexual Agenda? January 24, 2004

"They constantly manipulate facts, and when things don't work out as they want, they run to mama and whine."

Seems as if the AFA isn't, in fact, going to take its poll on whether Americans favor same-sex marriage to Capitol Hill, as they had originally said. Hmmm. I wonder why? Humorous, but disappointing just the same. (Thanks for JStrizzy for the link.)

Four Weeks Behind

I got the best sleep last night! No knitting done at all, just bound off a Secret Project (pics to follow in the next few days) and called it good. I took a hot bubble bath, which I used to be good at doing every night, but I've fallen out of the habit recently. I tried to catch up a little with my New Yorkers (four weeks behind right now) and I got to bed at a decent time. I slept until ten minutes before the alarm would have gone off.

I took Alice Starmore's Celtic Collection to bed with me. I'm going to make Cromarty (breathe deeply, in, out -- I'm a wee bit frightened, this being my first A.S.) and I wanted to READ the pattern. You know, really understand the construction. Of course, I can't get past the very SECOND instruction, k1b. WTF? Amy, help! Is that knit one through the back loop? That's the only abbreviation they don't explain in the back of the book. And it's the second thing I'd have to do after casting on. Lord.

I'm going to do it in Koigu Kersti, from the boys, and can I just tell ya? They cut a deal with me like no deal has ever been cut. Also, I got to talk to Rob on the phone, as they were cruising -- I mean looking -- for a new home for Threadbear. I hate it that they have to move their business, but we'll all pull together and order LOTS of yarn from them to make the transition a little easier, huh? We'll sacrifice a bit. Won't that be terrible? Ordering yarn? Stop it. And Rob? Fireball, that's all I'm gonna say.

So I read Cromarty. That made for sweet dreams. And I tried to get further with my Proust, which the - girls - and I are reading, but I swann..... I'm loving the book -- it's rich like fruitcake and heavy cream, and it makes me drowsy and dreamy in the same way. Oh, it's lovely. And narcotic-like.

All right. I'm bored with myself and work is busy, so I'm outta here. Have a great weekend. Mwah!

Bleary January 23, 2004

Now would be a good morning to say:

Think about Stitches West. Less than a month away! Seriously, if you're in the Western Hemisphere (alison, you're the only one from whom I'll accept an excuse), you should come. Mariko and I are planning on Friday breakfast in Jack London Square at Jack's, followed by a morning of excess at the Marketplace, and possibly lunch at Le Cheval (I haven't asked her about that one yet...) I have to work all day Saturday, but I'll be back on Sunday for a class and more shopping.

You know you wanna.

Absolutely too damn sleepy to write much more today. Yesterday I had lunch AND dinner out, and both meals were heavy Italian creamy pasta dishes with a beer. My pants SO don't fit right today. And all that food kept me awake, so instead of going to sleep at ten and getting up at four this morning (had to be at work at five), I finally got to sleep about one-thirty. And why is it that on the nights I can't sleep, Digit can't either? He growls and paces at the windows, using my hips for purchase to get at the window next to my bed (and he had more to purchase last night, that's fer sure).

This is painful. I'm a sleep-gal. Not that good at it, but it's my favorite sport. Need. More. Coffee. Want some?

It's your Friday! You did it! (and thanks for the EXCELLENT comments. What would I do without you?)
*yawn*

Go Look!January 22, 2004

I love Maeve's new Peachy-keen sweater. And her sleeve lengthening tutorial below it is fabulous. Do you think she'll lengthen my bolero for me if I ask nicely?

Quite Silly

Hokay. I did something dumb last night. Not Very Dumb, only slightly silly, but now I’m regretting it. There are nights, very few and far between, when I like to go home and look at personals on either Planet Out or Craigslist. (Free is good.) I can admit that here, since we’re all internet junkies, right? And I’ve made excellent real life friends from both places (and met at least one crazy, but hell, that can happen any-damn-where). But I still feel dumb about it, and I’ll tell ya why in a sec.

I went to see Big Fish last night. I remember someone (maybe Em?) said they had been and had cried for the last 30 minutes of it. I thought to myself, Eh, I don’t cry at movies anymore. Or books, really. I must getting old and hard.

Oh, lord. I sobbed. Really. Those great big gulping sobs that are hard to breathe around. Granted, I’d only had three hours sleep, but that wasn’t it. It was just good. Really good. Some part of the movie (the big-ness of the peripheral stories?) kept reminding me of The Princess Bride, with a little less levity and little more Tim Burton-ness. Gawd, I love him. I ran out of kleenex from my pocket and had to use the sock I was knitting. Don’t tell Christy. Sniff.

But the movie, while it was the PERFECT see-alone movie, left me feeling so lonely. I NEVER feel lonely. (Exaggerator that I am, never usually means once every four or five months. Pretty standard marker.) I went to Christy’s house, but we watched Sex and the City, and her boyfriend came over. Both good things, but both exacerbated said situation.

So, driving home, I decided to go to the local gay bar and have a drink. Maybe dance. Sounds good, right? Then I pictured what always happens when I go in alone – I sit at the bar with my 7&seven, smile at everyone, they smile back and I leave, a little embarrassed. Women aren’t easy to talk to. Men? I’ll talk to any man, in any bar, anytime. Women are harder. So I drove home, made myself a 7&San Pellegrino Aranciata (the Trader-Joe’s-shopping version of the drink) and read online ads for fun. Sometimes I like to respond to them. Sometimes I make friends. But last night I posted my own on CL. (Search for yarn, it’s the only one.)

The reason I feel Quite Silly is that now that I’m awake and rested this morning, I’m got a full inbox of sensitive sweet responses and I’m NOT LONELY in the slightest. Have no reason to believe I’ll feel that way again anytime soon. I like being single and I don’t want to change that status right now. Can I call them in four or five months, when the mood strikes again? No? I just feel a little guilty sometimes, as if I should be making the effort to find the One, but the last year and a half of single-dom (never before had) has been bliss.

So now I feel like an ass. One girl I might go on a date with, just ‘cause her note was perfect. If she wants to. That one doesn’t feel weird. But the others, like the one who wrote, “I am currently reading Cash-flow Quadrant by Robert Kawasaki and Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill,” but sounded so good-hearted, what do I do? Definitely NOT go on a date, and I have to write back, but what do I say?

It’s my own stoopid pickle. This is why you don’t post after a tall glass of fancy. And I was so much more excited this morning to read my comments from you all! Those are the ones that matter to me. Erg.

I need to go yarn-shopping now, to make myself feel better. My friend Kira and I are meeting for lunch in the City and I’m going to ImagiKnit for the first time. That might do the trick, no?

BeatriceJanuary 21, 2004

Isn’t that amazing? Riona, in my comments, said that Our Lady of Venice, my new yarn lady shown there on the left, is named Beatrice! She met her a couple of weeks ago while she was there (hold on. Must shake off my jealousy. Okay. One more sec. All right, back to the blog). I swear, it’s the perfect name (and a variant of alison’s new pal’s name, which just makes it all that much better). I knew you could get a LOT out of this blogging thing, but the very name of the yarn lady in the most beautiful city in the world? In less than a day? Yowzer.

Killed ants yesterday. I actually became Very Lazy right after I wrote the post about having a busy day planned. Isn’t that the way? The second you admit you’ve got a ton of crap to do is the second you realize you’ll die if you don’t take a nap on the couch. And I don’t even nap. So I went in the kitchen and just peeked at the sugar bowl. Just took a quick look, to see if I could just chuck a few dry goods and get rid of their food source, sending them on their way kindly and gently.

THIS is what I saw. Don’t click if you’re squeamish. Theresa in SC, don’t. You can’t handle it.

So I cleaned. Damn it. They’re still around today, but in fewer numbers and I’m hoping for the best.

And I wrote, too! I haven’t been talking about it, don’t want to jinx myself, but I think I’m back in the saddle. I took a break over the holidays that I felt terribly guilty about, but did it anyway. I lost all motivation and lost some belief in the book, too.

But I know by now that confidence in your own writing is completely situational and subjective. If I wake up and my hair looks great and my cheeks are naturally pink and the sun is shining and Digit is purring and my coffee turns out perfectly, then the novel is a sterling example of the creative originality of the Great First Novel. If I stub my toe on the way to the bathroom and ants are marching and I can’t find the phone and I'm sneezing from allergies, then the novel is a blithering, self-indulgent collection of silly, trite, overused words, strung together like a candy necklace from the dime-store. Cheap, ready to break, and attractive only to six-legged pests and already grubby hands.

Slight exaggeration, perhaps. But know what? I just need to finish it. And then start really writing/revising it. You’ve heard that before. I’m 490 pages in and I feel the end coming. No, I mean it this time. I have no idea what’s going to happen, exactly, but I’m confident my characters are going to take me there. They’ve brought me this far. Just have to write. Every day. And I have been.

So has Bethany! Tell me it’s not just me – her posts slay me. Especially this one. If you have any Robert Earl Keen or Steve Earle CDs, put one on before you read her. They’re her soundtrack.

And lastly, gratuitous cute kitty shot. Adah, sleeping:

You Like It!January 20, 2004

Yay! I swear to God, I don’t know what my problem was in making a banner. I understand how to do so, I understand quite a bit of Photoshop, I get the pixel widths and what’s necessary to make a banner fit and for the LIFE of me, I’ve never been able to do it. I just get too frustrated and give up. But with Max’s patient help, I did it. And now it’s centered. (That was the hardest bit, actually. But Max kept encouraging me. Seriously, I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep at night if it remained off center.)

Wasn’t I the luckiest girl to catch this shot? It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen: I’d already been to (and held a PACE flag in) a peace march in the Lido (this was just days after Shrub declared the war in March), and that evening, as dusk was damply falling, I leaned over the side of the vaporetto to see THIS. Venetians, out for the purpose of peace. You don’t march in Venice, you row. I couldn’t scramble off the boat fast enough to stand and drink it in. I wore my PACE pin wherever I went.

And for the occasion of my new banner, a new Venice Lady! This is the woman who runs the only yarn shop I’ve ever stumbled into in Italy. She knew a kindred spirit when she saw one, and we spent a happy half-hour talking about yarn. Well, that’s pushing it, perhaps. I spoke my crappy barely intelligible wrong-tensed Italian, and she pretended to know what I meant. In yarn, though, you only really need one word: Seta. Silk. Oh, yes. After that, every time I tramped past her door, I grinned and did a little skip and she waved back wildly. At night, I sat in my rented flat (a lovely two weeks in Venice....) and knitted, watching Italian game shows and drinking hardy local red.

I wish I knew her name. I forgot to ask.

Had a lovely big breakfast with a friend this morning that has prepared me for the rest of my day: Ant killing. I’ve decided not to bomb the place. I hate poison. Makes me feel itchy and mean and like I’m a step away from growing a third ear. I’m just going to throw out all my dry goods (the ants are in everything), clean with 409, and start over. Everything in Tupperware this time. The only thing I’m dreading is that moment that the ants clamber up my arms. You know the moment. Moving the peanut butter jar, only touching it with two fingers, you still manage to get eighty-seven ants up to your elbow. I've already got the tricks lined up: cucumber rinds, orange oil, cinnamon.... My house'll smell like a fancy organic restaurant.

Urgh. And then a nap, and then a ten hour midnight overtime shift tonight.

(And for those keeping track, Mom’s got a thyroid scan this afternoon (she’s taken that radioactive pill and no one can hug her for a day – SO much worse than Raid) and hopefully she’ll be on real meds soon. She’s feeling a wee bit better today, thanks in NO small part to our angel Mariko, who asked another angel doctor friend for advice. Mom’s just reassured to know that YES, she IS in the middle of a medical emergency, no WONDER she feels so horrid. Mariko can never know the depth of our gratitude. She gave us the key phrases, the words to use, the things to ask for, what to insist upon. I tear up a leetle just thinking about it. And the rest of you? Those prayers are good stuff, the real thing. We love and thank you.)

If I get rid of all the ants, can I knit a while? Please? And I will write, too. Okay, I think it’s now officially a Busy Day.

New BannerJanuary 19, 2004

What do you think? Too busy? Nice rainbows? (Those are Italian Pace flags -- I was lucky enough to catch a Venetian peace march last March.)

I can't decide. Too sleepy to do so. You tell me what your opinion is. Pah-leez?

Rushed

Here's what I’ve been working on lately. But Bethany, if you click, you’ll immediately lose the entire hard-drive on your computer, with all the stuff you’ve listed on it, all the roadside attractions you must see on your trip. Even if you ain’t using right now. I’ve cursed it. Don’t click. (Those of you who can click, everyone else, that is, I’m doing this in a funky order, you think? Attaching things that aren’t usually attached till later. Just felt like it.)

Beth! Don’t!

No more time now: Off to work for my last day before my weekend. My weekend, however will be taken up by one midnight overtime shift and killing ants. They’ve invaded and they’re working on carrying out my new couch. I can hardly stand to go to work right now.... I’ll have nothing left.....

Oh! The L Word rocks. Season premiere last night, and WOW! Could be because there’s such a dearth of lesbian anything on television, but I was impressed. Rather true to life, with its Dating Flowcharts and scamming on the same people, night after night, and Baby Making (except it’s Hollywood and every lesbian bordered on Too Beautiful. Eh. I suppose I can take it).

You Know You WannaJanuary 18, 2004

make THIS.

Wowzer. She rocks.

And go see my pal Joanna who has two new FOs. And Bethany has a 100 Things list that rocks so hard I decided that yes, she is just too cool to be related to me and/or Christy.

ForgetfulJanuary 17, 2004

You all rock, in a big way. (And the one knitting a prayer? You know who you are. You are a blessing.) And a whole bunch of you expressed indignance and/or shock that Mom's still with this particular doctor. The best I can do is directly quote Em's comment, who was spot-on:

"I have no idea what's wrong with you"? "I can't help you"? Are you sure she's a doctor? Is there a place to register some sort of legal complaint against this woman? Because I assume that the reason little mama hasn't switched doctors is due to the way our nation's health care is set up, and this is all entangled with insurance, which then means maybe that complaints won't do anything. Still, it's bullshit. Bullshit. Thank god the ER people know their jobs and helped her.

That's exactly it. The way she's locked into this particular health plan means she HAS to see this terror of a doctor. It's a small area, and the only other doctor that's possibly available to her apparently works in a migrant-health clinic, and Mom hasn't had any luck tracking him down. But I'm pleased to say that she saw the nurse yesterday, who was great and helpful and smart. The little mama swears she'll never see That Doctor again, not if she can help it. She's going with the nurse, all the way. Yeah.

I know I had more things to write about but now I can't think of them. This is why you shouldn't put off blogging because you're comfy on the couch and don't want to reach for the computer. And damn it, I'm just now remembering that I left some feta/spinach pizza in my fridge that was supposed to be lunch. What that means is I'm fishing in my brain for the Forgotten Things and coming up with the wrong ones. Shoot.

One thing I remember. Go see Marcia. She summed it all up in her Wednesday post.

And I'm going to write today. Really write. Okay? Hold me to it. I'm back in the saddle.

Latebreaking FunJanuary 16, 2004

Like Brooke said,

Let's Play with the Homophobes Again!

"Would you vote for a presidential candidate who supports same-sex marriage or civil unions?"

Go to the poll at the Traditional Values Coalition and tell 'em whether you would or not. When I voted, 62% were saying "Hey-ell no, I'd like to vote against love, please." When explored, it really is a rather spiteful, hateful site. Ah, well. Maybe we'll get that percentage turned around, huh?

Tirade

Back at home now. Little "h," that is. The drive was again non-eventful, except for the howling of the cats. They've been so good for the past few trips, but last night's drive really upset them. And it didn't end when we got home: Digit spent most of the night up and growling at the windows until I lost all control and put him out at midnight, raccoons and possums bedamned. Then I worried and got up at half-hour intervals until four when he deigned to come back in, muddy and self-satisfied.Then I was up at six for work.

Yawn.

Mom's feeling a leetle better, though tired and wobbly-pinned. She's been newly diagnosed with hypoglycemia, which has been making her shaky and ill. She had to make an emergency room visit right before I went home, and they're the ones who actually diagnosed this particular problem. Not her doctor, oh, no. That would be too easy. (Have I mentioned how much I abhor her doctor?) So armed with multiple test results, she was supposed to see her doctor today, FINALLY, after an agonizing, sick, three week wait.

The office called her yesterday at 5:03pm to tell her, oh, you'll actually be seeing a nurse tomorrow, not the doctor. Mom was so flabbergasted she could only gulp and say okay. When she told me what they said, I pitched a fit and made her call back to find out the reason for the switch. But they're canny. That's why they call AFTER five o'clock -- the phones roll right to the answering service.

Bastards. Fuckheads.

(I told Mom that's why daughters are good at taking care of their mamas: They can do all the swearing that the mama doesn't want to do.)

Close your ears.
fuckers fuckers fuckers.
fuckers.

That's okay, that doctor has NEVER done anything for Mom. She folds her arms and says, over and over, "I don't know what's wrong with you. This is not my field. I have no idea how to help you."

This is her primary care doctor, mind you. The nurse she'll be seeing today has actually helped her in the past, giving her advice and diagnoses and referrals, so that's something. It's just the principle. Ya know?

Deep breath.

Mom felt well enough yesterday to go with me to the movies. We went to a matinee of Calendar Girls. Delightful little movie, and Helen Mirren was a hoot. But what was a bigger hoot was the audience. Arroyo Grande, where my parents live, is quite the retirement area. And they were ALL at the movie yesterday. Mom and I were the youngest there. I walked in with my popcorn and had to search the sea of white heads to find my mom's waving arm. There must have been a hundred and fifty seniors packed into the stadium seating. One nursing home had come in a large bus.

And those seniors? Worse than teenagers. They hooted and hollered and yelled at each other. Cell phones going off all over the theatre. It was hysterical.

Now it's my Monday. But it's probably your Friday, so congrats! You made it!

And the nurse said,January 14, 2004

“Looked good.”

Those were really good words to hear. Deep sigh of relief. Of course, we had all YOUR thoughts with us, which helped immensely. AND I sent Mom in to the hospital wearing my only (so far) cashmere sweater.

One should ALWAYS go to the hospital in cashmere. I was vastly annoyed when they made her change. Grumble. I left the sweater out, though, on top of everything else. When in need, I reach for the good stuff, and I encouraged the little mama to do the same. She’s tucked up now, hopefully sleeping. And I hope to do the same soon....

(Seriously, I’m such a cash-ho. I’ve tried everything I can think of with that plastic yarn crap, made a top-down raglan to the armholes, started a bucket-o-chic, started a sock (even put on a lightning bolt, rock-alongers). It’s awful. Horrible. And worse, I’m out of the Koigu I brought (finished the sock) and I didn’t bring anything else! The withdrawal has me jumpy.)

Twitch. Twitch.

But happy twitches. Thanks, y’all, for all the well-wishes. What would I do without you? And no more – this dial-up is too slow for impatient, tired me. Go say hi to Bethany who has good news, too.

I’m at Home. January 13, 2004

It was a good drive down the coast, but I felt disconnected. Looking back, I can hardly remember driving today. I played music, even though I had a book-on-CD on the seat next to me. I didn’t stop for too many snacks. The cats didn’t howl much. I had the distinct feeling that the car was moving me. That sounds weird, but I think I mean this: Instead of riding in the car, I was very conscious that it was pushing my body forward. That make sense? Dunno. Not a lot of traffic. I got two Krispy Kreme donuts at the outset to sugar-high me up. (I have to say, I have a lot riding on White Castle hamburgers now. We got Krispy Kreme from the east, thinking they MUST be over-hyped, but heck no, they weren’t. They are as good as the legend had foretold. Now, as I plan my Spring Fling east, I’m thinking about those discrete little bite-sized hamburgers. Are they really as good as they say?)

The little mama is doing all right. She’s such a trooper. This tells you something about her: Today, while she had some time to slay, she watched the DVD of Winged Migration and loved it so much she played some of it back again. Inn’at great? I’m not going to watch it, meself. I know myself well enough to know that I’d be one of three things by the end: vastly irritated, motion-sick, or too emotionally invested in the birds’ welfare.

Thinking about the drive again.

Why do people tail-gate?

There’s absolutely no reason to EVER tail-gate. ‘Cept maybe at a football game, I suppose. Having never been to a football game, I can only imagine the fantastic tail-gate parties that must occur at such events. (Two years ago, the Raiders were playing the *Can’t Remember the Team’s Name* on one of those hotter’n’hell late autumn day. One of those days when the wind whipped everything for miles, including the coals from the hibachis left cooling while their owners were inside the stadium watching the game. Eighteen cars burned up in the parking lot. Can you imagine? The Raider Nation coming out to find their SUVs torched? It was a losing game, too, if I remember correctly....)

Rambled enough. Knitted a bunch today on what promises to be a crappy little pullover made from two strands of crappy yarn held together. I was hoping crap + crap would = fabulousness, but hell, I shoulda known better. Been a long time since I worked with anything acrylic (we’re talking Red Heart here, folks. The anti-cashmere. It’s kind of interesting in science project kind of way).

Here’s a thought I can’t get out of my head: A candy-colored Noro Lo-Tech sweat. Ooohhhhh. Off to bed with me now. G’night.

HomeJanuary 12, 2004

Taking a quick trip Home this weekend (my weekend, that is, which by now you know is the opposite of YOUR weekend).

Home, I’m sure you know is vastly different from home. For me, Home is the Central Coast, just south of San Luis Obispo, a little town called Arroyo Grande. Little h home is Oakland. There’s a world of difference between Home and home, and some of those differences are:

Strawberries
Clam chowder
Little Mama
Fog
Pops
No TV channels, cell phone reception, or fast internet connection

Therefore, when at Home, I knit a lot. Mom’s got some physical stuff going on, and I’m going home to kick some ass. Nicely. Sweetly. But firmly. Her doctors don’t seem to take her seriously, and how can you blame them? She’s the cutest thing ever. But HEY! She don’t feel so hot. They need to fix ‘er. Or I’ll know the reason why. I’m the biggest pushover in the world, seriously. Too Nice, according to all who know me, especially exes. But not when it comes to my family. Just try it. *balled fists*

Bethany'll hate me, but here's a shot of the little Mama and Bethy on a bench where we eat donuts in the mornings. (That was the last we saw of that leather jacket hung over the end of the bench -- Beth's heart is still broken about it. We drove away and left it behind. Shoot.)

Non-sequitur: Iris Dement makes me happy.

Off to pack a little (surreptitiously – if Digit gets wind of my road trip, he’ll won’t come back in tomorrow morning after his necessary potty run. Don’t tell him).

addendumJanuary 11, 2004

Oh, and go say hi to my knittin' friend Laura, who has a new blog here and a preggers one here. And alison also posted an Eye Up shot of a hat, too! And Anne just slays me, no matter what.

1-11!

I had eight hours off last night, got off at 11pm after a fourteen hour shift and I'm now back, at 7am for a twelve hour shift. I always forget that eight hours off doesn't mean eight hours sleep. If you get off work and are asleep in bed in an hour, and get up one hour before you have to sit down at your terminal, you're still only getting 6 hours. And who goes right to sleep like that? Not me, man. I'm thinking too many wild cashmere thoughts.

Like this, hanging in my bathroom:

That's sin on a stick, baybee. It's proving rather a pain in the ass to wind into balls. The swift and winder are ESSENTIAL, but it kind of sticks to itself on the swift, making the winding slow and tedious. It'll be worth it, it'll be worth it, it'll be worth, I tell myself.

Of course, soon I'll be spinning cashmere, I assume. My blog-friends are such freaking enablers. I love them, madly.

And one of them sent me a little treat not long ago, a glorious cone of some buttery yellow wool which I happily wound up into balls (I told someone the other day that I love winding so much that I'm about to wind the cat). Then I married it with a strand of the Paton's Classic Wool in light natural that I used for the Must-Bolero and started working it into another Bucket-O-Chic (having given my blue one to Bethy--it looked way better on her).

I love the way this one turned out! BonneMarie ROCKS!

Now, for a full work day. I'm going to try to take it easy and hope the citizens are in happy, mellow moods. Yeah. Well, I'll be in one, so that's all that matters. Enjoy your day.

Cashmere WhoreJanuary 9, 2004

I have now officially gone crazy. You heard it here first.

Went to Marshalls with my friend Marama and found a little something. Okay, a big something. A big, cushy cashmere sweater, size men's large. It was kind of gray/brown tweedy, and I LOVED it. I wore it around the store, begging Marama to tell me it was WAY too big for me.

- Nah, it's all right.
- No, TELL me it's too big.
- It's kinda cute in that sloppy weekend way.
- I canNOT buy it.
- Fine. Don't buy it, then.
- I HAVE to buy it.

Then I told her I was gonna buy it and rip it apart for the yarn. She looked at me like I had grown a third ear. But come on -- it was huge, and the yarn itself was pretty heavy-gauge, as cashmere goes. Standing in the Marshalls aisle, I studied it: Looked to be about 6 thin plies, threads of gray, brown and a soft off-white. I examined the seams: It was made in pieces, not in the round, but I could see the seaming okay, and I thought I could do it. I figgered it would either be the best or the worst fifty bucks I had ever spent. (Fifty bucks! Imagine! At Marshalls! It had originally been two hundred, then marked to ninety-nine when it hit the discount store, and then another 50% off by the time I arrived. Meant to be, I tell you.)

Got home, and got nervous. So I tried it on.

Yep, a leetle big. Then I sat down and started snipping. Okay, ripping up sweaters is HARD. Especially when it's fifty bucks of glorious cashmere. (Some people love it, some are ambivalent, but I am a cashmere whore. I mean it. It makes my stomach drop to touch the good stuff.)

I worked for about three hours on it and now it's mostly in pieces and I managed to get one sleeve unravelled. I put it into a loose, curly skein using the swift, then wet the strands and hung them in the bathroom from a coat hanger, another coat hanger hung from the bottom (with a box of shower-curtain rings attached for weight.) When they're dry, and straighter, I'm gonna wind them into balls.

Dude. Good thing I got that ballwinder and swift! (But if I hadn't, I prolly wouldn't have bought the sweater. Damn. Chicken or the egg?)

I hope it works I hope it works I hope it works. I want to make a nice, simple V-neck raglan, in this thick cashmere sin. Oh, yes. I'll keep you posted.

And just for Friday fun, here's where Adah slept last night. I didn't have the heart to move her. It's my overflow yarn basket, where I had thrown a couple of sweaters. And yes, that's Indulgence to the left. Shhh.

P.S. Got some Imitrex from the doc yesterday for the migraines. Whoopee!

Fly AwayJanuary 7, 2004

We put Bethany on the plane this morning. For those of you following her adventures, she’s my little sister (twenty-four, but I’ll call her Kiddo ‘til she’s eighty-two) and she’s out on the road, seeing the big ole country in her pickup truck named Tach. She left the truck in long-term parking in Atlanta in order to fly back for Christmas (which, you saw, was AWESOME) and now she’s back to the rambles. (Lord, I hope no one broke into her truck over the holiday. Cross your fingers for her....)

And you know how Mapquest is either really right or really wrong? Wrong this time, yep (I use Yahoo maps, myself). Got a leetle bit lost on our way to San Jose airport, but Bethany and I are so incredibly, overly fixated on being early that we managed to dump her curbside about two hours early. This was AFTER getting lost, and hitting a horrid snarl of traffic from a big accident, and two donuts each.

Here we is:

See, darling Greta? My sunglasses! Now, I’m home to play catch-up, all those things like bills and laundry that need to be done now that the fun is over.... (And a whole pile of yarn from the Boys needs to be swifted and ball-wound. Have I told you how much fun a swift and ball-winder are? Seriously, put a yarn purchase or two on hold and buy these things iffen you don’t already have them. When you get up to speed and the yarn is flying, FLYING, I tell you, onto the winder, it’s comparable to the feeling you get downhill skiing. Just for a second, but it’s there, I promise.)

Oh! Almost forgot: Go see The Station Agent. What a brilliant little jewel of a movie, enjoyable from the first moment to the last. Sigh. A good, wake-up-the-next-morning-and-think-Oh-That-Was-Nice-kind-of-movie. Enjoy.

January 6, 2004

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the comments on Orange Alert! Wore her last night to the movies, and she was warrrrmmmm.... (but not overly so, love Paton's Classic Merino.)

Went to see Cold Mountain. Hmmm. I really don’t know how I feel about it, which is odd. I’m usually quite opinionated about movies (and lotsa other things, too, come to think of it). I enjoyed watching it. Mostly. I think. I remembered why I didn’t finish the book: It’s about WAR. I really hate war books and movies, ‘specially the ultra-realistic ones. This one had moments that saw me walking out of the theater.

(Didn’t tell my group this, but I left once during a particularly wrenching gonna-be-bloody-awful scene and came back after chatting with the candy people and washing my hands in the bathroom. And I couldn’t find my folks. I stood and stared at where I should have been sitting, but the group of four kicked back with their feet up on the railing in the front row were just too young. Shoulda been two guys and two gals, thirty-something range. The group I stared at was the same configuration, with a gap-seat for me where I should have been sitting, but they were all about nineteen. I TRIPPED for about three seconds. Then I giggled all the way back to my real seat down the hall in the right theater.)

It also had beautiful moments, incredible scenery (oh, Maggi, is that really North Carolina?), and truly stunning people (Jude AND Nicole? Perfect). Renee Zellweger, I have to admit, was amazing. I sat and actively enjoyed a great deal of it. Then I was grumpy upon leaving and remain rather ambivalent about it, and I’m still not sure why. Anyone seen it? Any thoughts?

Hey! More pop-culture:

Did you see Carrie’s arm-warmers on the Sex and the City premiere? Oh, my knit-gals are so cutting edge! Look:

Em’s:

Eve’s:

(And while we're on the subject of her, Eve’s finished pretty-pretty Wave-Along, too!)

Of course, Carrie’s armers were blue camo fabric, but the sentiment is the same. She would have probably preferred hand-knit.

And I just have to address one of my comments. La Brainy says of Orange Alert: “What a great sweater! Is there any colour that DOESN'T look good on you? :)” Darling, please. It’s all in the digital camera. You have to know that for most pictures I post, I’ve taken at least ten more. You’re seeing the good stuff.

What you’re not seeing is this, where I appear to be addressing the spirit world. Or this, where I have lost my arms. Snort. Damn, every time I look at those I crack the hell up.

Last day with Bethany before we put her on the plane tomorrow.... Off to play!

Orange AlertJanuary 4, 2004

A surefire way to beat those terrorism blues, I present to you Orange Alert.

A little closer:

And a detail :

It was meant to be a cardigan, but I like it so much that I think I'll wear it like this a while, whatcha think? I can always steek it later.....

Specs:
Made with Paton's Classic Merino in Paprika. It's knitted in the round from the bottom up. I roughly used Bonne Marie's rolled neckline from the Ribby Cardie and I stole those front cables right off my Must-Have. And the raglan decreases, although I'd like to take credit for them, are straight from a brilliant free pattern from Spelling Tuesday.

So basically, I didn't make anything up myself. Nope. But I did the math and the measurements and there was never a pattern in front of me, for the first time EVER in sweaterland. I think of it like writing fiction: I know there's nothing new under the sun, so it's all in the way you put it together (and I made sure I borrowed only from free patterns and a pattern I had purchased myself). Nobody ever did THIS exact sweater before (and no one ever will -- I thought I would remember to write everything down, but by the middle of the sweater I realized that I hadn't been making notes. Sigh).

Yippee!

Bethany wrote the other day:

I have a serious question I need help with. How in hell does one make time to read every book out there, see every movie, watch at least a few of the less pathetic television shows (and some that are so pathetic it's funny), knit a sweater every other week, cook gourmet dinners, find a mathematical equation to explain the platypus, make time for friends, and still find the time to fucking exercise?

Amen, sister. I've had several people ask me how I knit so fast. Here's the ugly truth: I don't really knit all that fast. I'm no Wendy, that's fer sure. But you have to understand, I don't clean my house much. I have those ceiling dust bunnies, you know the ones. I have no children. At present, I'm single, so I don't even have to spend time keeping someone else happy. (That makes it sound bad, but you know what I mean. It's nice to be happy with someone. But I REALLY like being happy with myself.) I work extended 10-14 hour shifts and get three days off a week. On my days off, I generally get about 6 or 7 hours of knitting time in -- some morning knitting with some evening TV time later, or a whole afternoon of sitting around with the needles. And even on days I work, I can sneak some knitting time in around the phone calls when it's not busy, and I get to knit with the TV or with a book until I go to bed. I do go out and play, sure, but what it comes down to is I knit a LOT. That's it.

And it makes me happy. And not to sound too much like Mr. Rodgers, but hey. You do, too. Mwah.

Nate Finishes Beer Cozy January 3, 2004

Feeling much, much better today, and THANK YOU for all the well-wishes. I've got a doctor's appointment on Thursday, which I promise I'll keep, and I'm gonna march right in there ask for Imitrex (or Maxalt, whatever. Just give me somethin!). Yes, ma'am. Got faith in modern science? Shore do.

So I'll fill you in a little more on what I didn't feel like filling in yesterday -- some more pictures! (Am I going overboard on pics? There are weeks when I hardly post any, when getting the camera out feels like a major pain in the ass, but when family's all around for the holidays, it's already out. So here y'are.)

Me in my new Bucket-O-Chic hat.

I *really* didn't want to join the camp of Bucket Makers because I can't wear hats. I have an enormous, man-sized head, and I look stoooopid in 99.99875% of hats. This one, while it does a little funny on me, kinda suits me. I'm so pleased, get this, that I'm gonna make another one!

And here's a shot of Thursday night's Knitting in the City group -- no band played that night, so there was no one to shush us. And yay! Joanna came! (But no good pics of her came out....)

We did, however, get more than our share of gawkers, one man trailing a band of his downcast-eyed women who said that in his country all the women knitted all the day long, and they even made CLOTHES. We kinda pulled on our sweaters and said things like, "Yeah? Uh-huh." He left happy that women were continuing the tradition. Ah, well. We do what we can.

Another man came up and said,
"Knitters. Jeesh. I have a highway patrol buddy and the other day he was following this woman who was KNITTING on the FREEWAY! She was weaving all over the road and not paying attention to anything. Can you believe that? She was KNITTING on the FREEWAY! He's flashing his lights and whooping his siren, and she just keeps on knitting and driving! So my buddy gets on his car loudspeaker and says, 'Pull over! Pull over!' And the lady in the car just puts her head out the window and screams, 'No, it's a cardigan!'"

Kira didn't think it was funny, but Beth and I liked it. Hee!

And here's Nate, a Very Nice Guy, who comes to knitting and works on his beer cozies about once every three months. On Thursday he finished his second one! Round of applause, everyone. Here it is, wrapped around a beer glass instead of the bottle it's intended for.

It takes a confident man to sit in a hip bar in SF with twelve knitting women, I tell you that. He's a smart one, though. He knows it's a chick-getter thing. The girls dig it.

Oh, and here's my progress on the sweater I'm making up as I go along. I'm calling it, in honor of the current terrorism level, Orange Alert.

Actually, last night I finished it up. Kind of. It was totally meant to be a cardie. But I'm loving it as a pullover. (Hee! Pull over!) I may leave it as such for a while and steek it later (crocheted steeks here are the BEST). Pictures and talk about the process later, I promise. It was FUN to do.

UghJanuary 2, 2004

Migraine today. I simply MUST get the doctor to give me something. (That means I have to both make and keep an appointment, something I'm terrible at doing.)

I've been fighting low-pressure headaches all week from the storms rolling through. But I'm finally (unfortunately) getting to the point where I can tell the difference between a bad headache and an impending migraine. There's a low heat in the base of my neck and tops of my shoulders that foretells what's gonna happen. That part hit about midnight last night and when I was still awake (and ready to die) at five am, I called in sick to work. The worst is over now, but I still can't face light (the monitor is turned down so low I can hardly read it) and noise is killing me. And the neighbor boy got drums for Christmas. I can't fuckin' wait for him to go back to school. He started playing at ten this morning, a not-unreasonable time, I suppose. But they have as little wall insulation as I do, it seems, as when he starts playing I think he's in the room next door to me, not across the driveway. The volume of it is ridiculous.

Kay. I've now headached and kvetched my way into being even grumpier. Excedrin does nothing, nor does Aleve or Tylenol or Advil. I've had all of 'em, all night and all morning. If I felt better, I'd go to the doc right now. As it is, I'm going back to bed. Erg. But I might take a sock to knit on. Yep. Hope your day is headache-free.

Two Oh Oh FourJanuary 1, 2004

The rain broke yesterday and allowed us to put the top down as the sisters drove down the coast. Bethany mostly rode in the back because she’s the youngest and we can still make her do things. That and she likes the view. That and she’s just a leetle hardier than Christy (Christy, yesterday alone, had 4267 good traits going for her, I counted, but being hardy in the face of cold wind wasn’t quite one of ‘em. She bravely volunteered for the backseat at one point and we drove about six minutes. Bethany looked up at the trees and said, “The view’s better in the back,” just as Christy yelled, “It’s FREEEEEEEZZZZZING!” They traded back.)

Oh, see? Here’s Bethy:

Here’s Christy:

After some shopping at Phipps General Store, where I bought olallieberry jam and we looked at the animals (chickens, peacocks, a couple of rangy goats, and a baby pot-bellied pig wedged between the boards and its huge snoring mother), we ended up at our destination: Duarte’s for lunch.

They put us in the back dining room, which is a long walk through two other dining areas, and then through the bar where only locals sit and where the juke is stocked with Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash. The back room still had its Christmas tree, which smelled like it had been sprayed with that fake tree scent. I was a little scared it would make the food taste like camp rations. But, oh, it did not. A crab melt and a Newcastle made the afternoon taste right. It was just us in the room, so we could be as stupid and loud as we liked. Which we were.

And the reason for the trip? Olallieberry pie. Christy had never tried it. And yep, it was just as good as I remembered. I’ve told you before, I don’t even LIKE pie. But this pie.... with its crust..... and the rich vanilla ice cream that places way more emphasis on the cream than the ice..... Here we are, in the midst of deep happiness (you'll notice I'm wearing Olallieberry, my homage to the pie):

It was the perfect ride, with only one brief stop at Fengari in Half Moon Bay where I only bought one skein of Lamb’s Pride – you’d have been proud of me. Oh, and a Sirdar pattern I liked. I think that’s it. Then back home, top up in the dark.

Bethany and I celebrated New Year’s in the best way possible, I think (I’ve always hated that Search for the New Year’s Party, where you end up fighting with your significant other and not wanting to kiss ANYONE at midnight). We flaked on all the other things we could have done, sent Christy off with her boyfriend to do the Search, bought champagne and those little wrapped cheeses, and invited Rachel and Kira out from the City. While waiting for them to arrive, I called Maggi, who’s even more darling than can be believed. She has the best southern accent, something I hadn’t ever imagined in her writing voice but now can’t get out of my head. It was really truly lovely to talk to my friend, live and in person. Aren’t we blessed?

Then I picked up the girls from BART, and we all sat around knitting and watching old taped Buffy episodes until the ball dropped.

(New Bucket-O-Chic on m'head -- need to block it a little still, but I love it.) I gamboled outside to let in the New Year and stood there, happily listening to the fireworks and the pops. And then I realized that although I live in north Oakland, it’s still Oakland, and there was an awful lot of gunfire, so I went back inside for more champers.

A good way to open the book of the new year, wasn’t it? Now we’re trapped inside in an enormous rainstorm that’s been pounding since two-thirty this morning. Digit just came in, a wet muddy snarly animal who hated like hell getting dried off. But he ain’t going out again, if that thunder I’m hearing means anything. Bethany’s in the tub, her favorite place, and I’m in my new favorite place, sitting on my grown-up loveseat, so all’s well. I hope all’s well in your corner of 2004, too. Peace to you.