Yarn-A-Go-Go

Vacation

So here’s the sitch: I gave my month’s notice at my apartment.

I have done something either incredibly smart, or infinitely stupid. We’ll just see. My realtor thinks the lender is happy with me, and that I’m getting funded, and that I’ll be a homeowner in less than a week and a half.

I’ll believe it when the key is in my hand.

But today is the last day of the month. If I don’t give my notice today, then I lose over a grand in another month’s rent. As I can barely afford toilet paper right now, that’s not the best option. If I really do get the condo (o joy), then I’d like to be out of here on November 1st, not December 1st.

My realtor said I should give notice. She trusts her lender. She also trusts me, apparently, since I’ll be moving in with her family if this all falls through. I didn’t tell her that, of course, but I’m sure she won’t mind. I won’t get in the way. They won’t mind the cats....

Jeesh. I feel, I feel.... I feel too much and too scared, and in situations like that I tend to just shut off, shut down. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m pre-writing this so that it posts at the moment I’m picking Em up at the airport. And then, peeps, I’m not blogging for a week. I mean it this time. I DO! I know I always say that, and then I pop in for just a few minutes which turns into fourteen paragraphs. Not this time. I might not even check email. Just fancy! I’m just going to be ferrying our Em around, showing her this grand place I live, eating, drinking, knitting, and being happy. Like we were in School Products in New York:

ArtFibers, here we come. (Hey, speaking of ArtFibers, who were the two Canadians who came in the store and knew who Kira was through my blog? Fess up! I thought that was cool.)

And Mom and Bethany are coming in to town on Sunday night, so it’ll be a partay! I can’t wait. It’ll be good to have my brain switched off for a little while – La’s been doing a good job distracting me (ahem) and Em will do a good job, too. A different job, to be sure. (Stop it. This is how rumors start. Bad bloggers.)

I’ll miss you. Mwah!

Give In

Best cell-phone quote heard recently:
“That’s such a waste of a perfectly good trip down the Amazon!”

I came THIS close to spinning around and demanding to know more. What a stunning sentence. But I was in the grocery store, and I needed to buy a metric ton of ice cream. And how. You know that feeling? It's when you need chocolate brownie ice cream with that caramel/butterscotch hot topping and you need it like ten minutes ago and god forgive the little old lady who cuts in front of you in line because there is NO mercy shown even if she is wearing the most fabulous yellow fluffy duck slippers you've ever seen. I put it off all day Sunday, and it wasn’t until the evening when I finally had to give in. Moral? Give in earlier. Works for many things, says I.

I don’t actually have a metric ton of ice cream. A simple half-gallon is all. Well, considerably less by now. But if anyone in the Bay Area needs eggs, would you please let me know? I was supposed to bring three dozen hard-boiled eggs to the run site on Sunday morning. What I didn’t tell you was this: I didn’t run on Sunday. It was only an eight miler, and I chose instead to feel the pain of my shin splints. Not that they’re much worse than they ever are, which is to say they’re painful, but nothing out of the ordinary, but I was on VACATION. And there was a GIRL involved. And the lack of a POT. See how large letters increase the whinge factor? (Seriously, the biggest pot I own would comfortably boil about five eggs, or a quarter-bag of spaghetti. Shows you how much I know. It would have taken a LONG time to boil 36 eggs, no? Aren’t these grand excuses? I like ‘em all.) But I had already bought the eggs. They now overwhelm me every time I open the fridge door. Devilled egg, anyone?

Next Sunday is 20 miles, and I can’t escape that madness. The Divine Ms. Em will be in town for it, so she’ll be able to vouch for the gimpiness that will follow. [Dude, ants IN the keyboard are so not okay.]

Today is for cleaning (Em might not understand how friendly the ants are in the bathroom—I swear Oakland is just one big-ass anthill) and knitting. I’d love to finish up the Rowan sweater I’m workin’, and I’d also like to cast on something easy and small, like socks or something. I have a feeling I’m going to be knitting and talking a LOT in the next few days. O joy divine.

(Several links I'm loving: Iris does The Rachael, the Em, and models the new Iris Pose in her fabulous new sweater, Clairedelune. And Ryan writes the tell-all-end-all If You're Thinking About Blogging article. It's wonderful. Check.)

Broke

Whew. Escrow is open. And I’m freaked out. They’ve already called me and said, “Don’t you have any more money? Anywhere? We thought you had more money....” Sigh. I DON’T have any more money. I really want Taco Bell right now, but I’d feel too guilty.

But I did go thrift-store shopping after opening escrow (because if I can’t have any fun a’tall, I’m not good for anything). And I so scored. Check:

50% wool, 35% silk, and 15% linen, this Old Man sweater is SO soft and light and warm. It’s way OMS (Old Man Style), so I lurve it. And if I end up hating it, it’ll be excellent stuff to rip and remake. I think it was a dollar ninety-nine.

And these:

$5.99 Docs, baybee. And they sparkle a little from the greenish/goldish paint. I like sparkle.

Okay, no more spending money. All right? I’ve got to save a little bit for when Em is in town. (We’ll be thrifty, darling, but we’ll still have FUN.) Instead, I’ll leave you with a pic of some free fun:

That’s Lala’s wonderful Miss Idaho, a five pound long-haired chihuahua (and I don’t want to argue about it). I tell you what, holding her makes you a rock star. Every single person who walks by wants to talk to you and ask you questions and tell you their stories. And if they don’t, they’re not human.

And La with the dog of her heart, Harriet:

These were taken at the Berkeley Old-Time music festival, at the free string-band contest. Did I mention I had a great weekend?

Quickly

It’s been a busy weekend, and this is just a note to say if I owe you an email, please hang on a bit. This vacation stuff is great, but I’m not getting anything done. Oh, but I’m having fun. And more fun is in store—my own Em will be here soon, and then NEITHER of us will be blogging much.

Oh, and woot! My offer on the condo of my dreams was really accepted! We open escrow tomorrow morning (Monday). I’m trying to remember that escrows fall through ALL the time (it just doesn’t seem right to pluralize that word: escrows. Huh). I’m trying not to get too excited until (if and when) the key is in my hot and sweaty nervous hand. But I’m letting myself dream a leetle bit more now. I was at a party last night eyeing their paint job....

I’ll just quickly give you one snippet of my weekend: Last night, I was sitting in the living room of a hundred-year old house realizing again that everything comes full circle. I have been in living rooms where music is being played a million times. Okay, almost a million. I was raised in the living room hearing Dad sing “You Ain’t Going Nowhere” and thinking vaguely that it was a little strange—it wasn’t what the other kids were doing. We didn’t have cable. We read. We made things. We hung out with the grown-ups while they sang. And last night, I sat next to Lala at this house-warming party. She had her banjo, Alice had her guitar, and Jerry knew almost every verse of every standard folk song and played great guitar and harmonica. There were eight of us, and we must have sat around singing and jamming for a good two hours at least, jumping in with any words and harmony we could remember for Joni/Bob/Joan/Lucinda/Dolly/Alison songs. This was after the party had moved in from outside, leaving the belly-dancing rug out in the cold. It felt right. Y'know?

Hey, this Mary Gauthier album is insanely wonderful. Go have a listen. Mwah!

Tap tap

It's possible they're going to accept my offer on the condo I fell in love with yesterday.

I'm freaking OUT.

But okay. I'm brave enough to go into this. I am. I think.

Tap tap tap tap. Those are my toes tapping the wall. It's always more interesting for toes to tap walls, I think. They're so used to floors. Gets boring. (Speaking of toes, I just trimmed the cats' claws, and there was no blood anywhere, on any of us. It's just a damn good day.)

Tap tap tap tap.

A friend pointed out the other day that I'm:
1. Falling in love (well, I done fell, ackshally)
2. Buying a home
3. Training for a marathon
4. Finishing a novel (or I should be: get on it, Rachael!)

All at the same damn time. Holy cow. And I'm knitting a lot. I HAVE to be knitting a lot, don't I? If I weren't, I'd take up smoking again, I swear I would.

Have a great weekend, all. I'm going to be busy, and I'm going to have fun. I hope y'all do, too.

Wishing

I just got back from looking at a condo. Lord, I was all a’flutter even before I opened the door (okay, my realtor’s brother opened the door because they NEVER let me use the keys. But I was hot on his leetle heels). I know the golden rule of house hunting is not to get your hopes up. But someone (was it Maggi?) pointed out that I’m strong enough to bounce back easily enough if I’m disappointed. This place, yes. I’ll let myself dream a little. It’s only a four-unit place, sixty years old, and small, and has a claw-foot tub and real wooden floors, and I could only keep about six balls of yarn in it (hello, ebay sale!), and my heart, mind, and soul feel happy and rested and good when I think about it.

But we’ll see. I’ll land on my feet (or stay on them here) just fine. Deep breath.

Lala likes her gauntlet whatchamacallits! They keep her warm at work! That makes me happy. She totally played hookie with me yesterday and we had one of those perfect unexpected days, wandering Telegraph and stepping over trippin’ kids from Marin, shopping for CDs and books, doing a whole lot of nothing and having a completely wonderful time. This is a fabulous vacation. Why have I never stayed at home for vacation before?

Well, that’s probably because I thought it would end up like today did—running errands all over Oakland, waiting in line at TWO smog check stations (oh, you’ve been randomly selected to go to a Test-Only station. Sorry you waited behind three cars for us to tell you that, but you have to go to Berkeley, good thing you brought your knitting), paying bills and cleaning up after ants (boy, are they messy when they throw their little ant-parties—all those teeny tiny beer bottles and spray cheese everywhere...). But yesterday totally made today’s errands worthwhile. (Along with the errands, I got to see Celia, who works at the same place Christy does. Go say hi to her. She's cool. And Christy gave me cookies! She's the BEST, I tell you.)

Yes, I Knit Sometimes

I’ve been working on that Rowan Denim People cardigan which continues apace. I started it for Strawberry, so I’d have something to work on during the music and at camp, and I only have to finish the left front and make the right front, and I’ll be done. No pics, though, ‘cause they’re boring. It WAS totally fun to create a pocket within the work. Never done that before, don’t know why.

And Christy’s birthday present! No modeled shots, since I forgot to bring my camera with us when we went out, but the chair shall stand in, eh?

It’s the Yarn Harlot’s wonderful, incredibly easy pattern, found here. And the stripe is inspired by this fabulous poncho. I know, I was once a poncho mocker, too (and that’s just so fun to say; try it! Poncho mocker). And I still can’t see myself wearing one. I am just not That Cool. But Christy looked great in it. Take my word for it.

Don’tcha love a tassel? No, wait, it’s fringe. I always call it the wrong thing. (Yarn: Dale Sisik, 3 balls red, two black (they probably have real names, I just didn't keep the ball-bands because I'm like that, you know).)

And I gotta show you Lala’s gift. She’s one of those who feels the cold easily, and she works in a building where they keep the temperature at a comfortable forty-six degrees Fahrenheit, so she deserved these:

(Gauntlet patten: IK Winter 2003; Yarn: Frog Tree Alpaca, one ball made both gauntlets. Wait. Are they gauntlets? They might just be fingerless gloves. Whatever. I like to say gauntlet, too.)

Do you appreciate my fine duplicate stitch skills? Do you? Nah, I don’t either. Screw that. Yesterday I sent to Christy a picture of the first banjo I painstakingly duplicate stitched, and she confirmed what I believed—it looked more like the female symbol. Or a crop circle. Or a crop circle summoning female aliens. I ripped it out twice, swore a hell of a lot, and then just roughly embroidered that damn banjo on. The La was fun, though. And La IS fun. Have you noticed? I am smitten. Enamored. Charmed. And a whole lot of things I couldn’t put on a blog my mother reads.

Blushing off now.... Mwah!

** Late addition -- I rarely post quiz results, but this one is too deeply funny. It's a truly tasteless quiz. I love it. Thanks, Mindy!

Grover on Ecstasy

You're funny, you're loveable, you're entertaining,
you like to call yourself "Super
Grover!"--You're obviously on ecstasy.
But that's why we love you. Be careful, ok?


Which Sesame Street Muppet's Dark Secret Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Claw This

This is odd. I totally want to blog, but I’m having a hard time finding words I think interesting enough to place here. I’m not bored, I’m just content and happy and tired and relaxed, and while it’s wonderful to feel this way, it doesn’t make the best blog fodder. The cats are napping in the sun, no one’s peed today (well, not in any bad places, anyway), I have plenty of TiVo cued up for this afternoon—a private screening of Underworld, even though I heard it sucked, followed by Bend it Like Beckham, because it’s so cute. I’m learning how to duplicate stitch. I hate it, so far, thanks. But it’s far, far better than intarsia.

Squeamish? Spoiler here—stop now. * I need to trim the cats’ nails. The other morning, as Adah was walking over and around and over and around (and over and around) my head at four in the freaking morning, I flipped her off the pillow, as I often do. It doesn’t deter her in the slightest, but it makes me feel better. This time, though, I got a claw through my eyelid. All the way through. It wasn’t on purpose, it was just what she hit when she went over my head. I screamed. Loudly. When I was in the bathroom washing it, the soap went through my eyelid and burned my eye. Isn’t that deesgusting? Luckily, the claw didn’t hit the eyeball at all, and I’ve kept antibiotic on it for two days, and it’s almost all healed, but still. Please. I was mad at her for a whole day, and it wasn’t even her fault. Bad me. We’ve made up now, but then she escaped this morning and came back covered in mud, so we’re still glaring at each other a bit. Teenagers. What are you gonna do?

God, I’m back to having no words. Just wanna sit on the swing outside and look at the sunny day and think about knitting and eat chips. Happy.

Bull

Oh, it’s good to be home. I’ve been running hard lately, literally and figuratively. Yesterday I woke up at 6:15am and started getting ready to go run in San Francisco. As I was padding around the apartment, I heard an odd noise. I thought, “funny, that sounds like rain. I know it’s NOT rain, so I wonder what it could be? A leak perhaps? A pipe trickling? A sprinkler left running? Strange, sounds JUST like rain.”

Well, yeah. It was rain.

Marama picked me up at 7am, and we drove into town. We got there really early, and sat in her warm, dry car, watching the runners gather in the dripping dark. She was a rock, I have to say. I kept making these little noises in my throat, small whines of discontent. I’m usually really good at staying strong, but yesterday I kept starting sentences like, “We could always make this run up later in the week....” and “Breakfast.... Mocha.... Bacon....” I was hoping she would finish the sentences for me and peel out of our parking spot, flying past those silly wet runners, laughing out our rolled-up windows.

But no. We slogged into the muddy meeting area and ran. I will admit it did not rain on us. It stopped when we started. But it was still sloppy and I give us twelve extra points (my own special scale of nothingness) just for not running away. Yesterday was a short eight mile run. I can’t believe I can type that, let alone think it. Shin splints hurt today, for some reason. Still frustrating, but I can manage.

It was sister Christy’s birthday yesterday! Hooray! At some point this week, I’ll get my camera out of my car and download the pics of her poncho that I made. She liked it! She really did! I was hoping she would... It’s only the second poncho I’ve ever made, and quite possibly the last, but I have to admit there was a small part of me that was covetous when I finished it. It’s red, with a black stripe for a border, black fringe, using the Harlot’s pattern. Couldn’t have been easier or quicker, and she likes it!

She wore it when we went to the Hootenanny yesterday. (I can’t believe my computer recognizes that as a word.) It was one of those Pretty Damn Hip afternoons in the City, at a warehouse/bar out in the back of beyond, behind the Giants stadium on the water. A bunch of bands were playing including the Whoreshoes, and you know I have rather a vested interest in them. I’d actually never seen them play, and I was really impressed. Even had I not known the very cute band member, they would have been my favorite of the day, hands down. And we got to eat hot links and drink beer and dance a little, and best of all (after the music, of course), there was a mechanical bull!

Okay, I look silly, but damn it, those are hand-knitted socks.

More house-hunting and bidding today, and I’m plumb tuckered out. Hey! Didja see, Cari got married? Whoo hoo! Remember when he proposed on their LOVEseat? I love a good ending.

Change Is Good

I know, it couldn't be much further from the last skin, could it? But I'm feeling rather.... industrial. Industrious, no. But I'm lovin' hard on Oaktown. This is part of the freeway called the Maze*, and I drive under it every day. Something about that concrete makes me happy. More gray, for the skies that are coming. I am mad for fall and winter.

* This is another part of it:

At one point, there are eight different overpasses flying over and under each other. Modern-day buttresses, people. I love that I know where all the exits lead and how to find my way through and around the city streets, and I love flying on the top level, the 980 split to the 880, past the Greyhound station, looking left to the Oakland skyline and right to San Francisco lights. Home is good.