Yarn-A-Go-Go

$1000000 Whatever

Am I the only one in the whole world who thought Million Dollar Baby was (boxing scenes aside) overblown and emotionally manipulative? I was so MAD at that movie. And (no spoilers) I don't mind a movie that makes me weep, not at all. Give me some Steel Magnolias. But this, no. No, thanks.

Roadie Rules

This delighted me. Yet another good-writin' Stephanie from Canada. What up widdat? I will utilize point 5c tonight at the show. Yup.

And because I've got nothing else for ya right now -- what I'm working on now:

Wool-ease. Yes, really. Yet another retro-prep, because that's the best pattern ever. Mindless knitting. I'm loving it.

And me? Mindless, as well. Have a great weekend, all. Oscars AND the L Word on Sunday night, what could be better?

Linkage

One more night (tonight) at work and then I'm off for four days. Tomorrow night I'm going to Janine's Dulaan knit-in (has anyone lately written about how freaking great Janine is? And it's not just because she is generous and warm and sweet, but she's also smart and funny and a brilliant designer, and she's the best thing to come out of the Pacific Northwest in a long time. Ryan, darlin', I know you miss her. But I'm so glad you introduced us via email those months ago). Oh, and you did all see Cuzzin Tom has a website now, right? He's going to Mon-frickin'-golia, as Ryan says. I can't even imagine how the internet works out there. (Aside: When my friend was in Ethiopia, I was trying to teach her dad how to use email. He never quite got it, because I was never effective at explaining exactly HOW the email knew how to find her. He thought it was like throwing a letter into the wind and hoping it found the right continent.)

Oh, and then after the knit-in, Lala's band The Whoreshoes is playing at the Odeon (really late, like when-the-Spaniards-eat late). You should come. They're super. And I would say that even if I weren't all head-over-heels. (Although if I weren't, and didn't know her, and saw the band, I'd totally hit on her. It was bound to happen eventually.)

And hey, while I'm a mad and crazy linker, a huge shout-out goes to Tracy, who rescued Lala the other night while she was searching her trunk for the change needed to order the best burrito in the world. Tracy said something like, "Not to sound weird and all, but are you Lala? Rachael's girlfriend?" And then they chatted and she gave Lala the last fifty cents she was short. I owe you, girl. Come to the show, I'll buy you a drink.

Additionally,

Then I pulled my cast-on (180 stitches) bottom of a sweater out of my bag and pulled the needle right out of about fifteen stitches. I was still on the first row, so I put 'em back on with some difficulty. It wasn't until row four that I noticed I'd twisted it when I'd replaced the original stitches.

Grrr.

I'm going to drive VERY slowly to work.

But honestly? I had a phone call from m'girl, and I ate, count them, four Cadbury Creme Eggs. I'm actually in a much better mood now. Oooh! Coffee! I think I need more coffee.

Now, to rip.

Whinge

It's one of those late afternoons where I can't get off the couch. I thought about running, but I'm just too tired. I'll go tomorrow morning, after work. I got stuck working a 14 hour shift until 9am this morning, on my Monday, which means when I went to bed this morning I'd been up for something like 26 hours. I wanted to get an eight-hour sleep and sleep till 6pm, but instead Adah started jumping on my head at 4pm. I got up, but I got up surly.

I hate getting up surly like that. (She hates it, too.... wink, nudge.) I growled my way to feeding them, growled my way to making coffee.  I rubbed my eyes after petting the cats (I'm allergic), and while I was running my eyes under water, I bumped my forehead on the faucet and then stuck myself in the eyeball with the allergy eye-drops.

Oh, and I'm nursing a grand bruise on my left forearm -- it's where I caught the weight of my body as I fell going up the front stairs yesterday. I suppose falling going up stairs beats falling while going down them, but it still sucks. (My most spectacular fall up stairs was when I tripped while holding beer bottles. They broke on the concrete stairs right before I landed on them, cutting my stomach in fine little stripes. Nothing serious, but annoying and highly embarrassing. Plus I had to buy more beer. I was a little late to the party.)

And my eyelashes hurt.

Grumble. I only grumble like this when I'm this tired. Or when I'm out of Cadbury Creme Eggs. Which I'm not, so I should just eat one and shut up. Right? Right.

Digit would like you to know that he is not grumpy for once in his life. Transference, you know.

Heh.

Michelle's got a booyyy-fr-eeeeend, Michelle's got a boiiiiy-frieeeennnnn-dddd......

I love this stuff. And her. And love.

Paris

Sorry I've been AWOL -- I was going to blog from work, but they've decided in their wisdom to remove the internet again, as our 1.5 page hits an hour were too much (of COURSE that looks like a lot per month -- the brass forgets that we're a 3-person 24-hour operation. Sheesh. Anyway.)

So I'll just lay on you some of the emails I've been getting from Mom and Christy, who are in Paris right now. Hope they won't mind, but they're too good not to share. Oh, I wish I was there, too.... 

From Mom:

Bonjour  -

Life in Paris is not so much pink as grey, though the city is beautiful anyway and right at the moment the sun is shining.   Our hotel is fine, a tiny place with about twenty rooms ranged up a steep circular staircase; we're on the fourth floor, so we're getting in shape fast.   Room is bare bones but comfortable; to get to the bathroom you go up a short flight of stairs and step out into the void  -  actually go onto an outdoor landing and into the little room on the other side of it.   Fun at night.   

Location is great, looking down on a tiny triangular park on the Ile de la Cité, in the middle of the Seine, minutes from Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle. So far, in addition to just rambling, we've been to the Rodin Museum and the Musée d'Orsay, where we spent yesterday afternoon happily surrounded by Impressionist paintings.   

Good (and frequent) food, lots of walking, always with an eye on the sky.   It's cold, but our layers of clothing keep us warm; rain this morning but the sun is out now;  possibility of snow tomorrow, but we're planning a three-day trip to Mont St Michel, over on the coast.    Not much shopping yet, but plenty of temptation.

We're in an internet cafe, and now they're playing Piaf  -  someone must have looked over my shoulder.  A short letter is all you're going to get because it takes me forever to navigate this crazy European keyboard  -  more soon.

And from Christy:

I just made reservations for the train to Mt. St. Michel - we are staying in Pontorson. Remember when we stayed there? And I ordered that big huge plate of mussels without knowing what it was and we ate the whole thing and giggled. That was fun.

Man, I'm tired.  this woman is running me ragged.  I tried to go back to sleep after breakfast this morning and she only let me sleep for, like 20 minutes before she made me get up again.

Oh, my god. I remember how she wore OUT my feet in Italy. Two months after cancer surgery, she walked my little legs off. I couldn't keep up. (And word to the wise: She kicks in her sleep. Get two beds, Christy. I mean it.)

Y(e)arn for Yarn?

So. I want things. You know how sometimes you feel selfish for wanting something? I do, a little bit. But I'll tell you what I want.

I want to take my girl to Maryland Sheep and Wool. But I'm house-poor. After the mortgage payment and reg'lar bills, I've got nothin' left at the tail end of the paycheck. So I need a plan.

World? Meet the plan. A new Cafepress Store! All proceeds go (totally selfishly) to getting me'n'La to the barns.

Woot!

ArtFibers Alpaca

That's such a non-creative name for a sweater, isn't it? What shall we name the baby, people? Let's call it.... Oh, screw it. I can't think of anything good, so I'll just show ya.

Yes, it's rather a cleavagey sweater. I did have that in mind when I made it (nice side note: At Stitches, Interweave Knits' Sandi said she liked it and would like to see something from me! Woot! I don't know if I'm up to the math, but there are programs that would help with that, I'm sure.... What's your favorite?)

Specs:
Yarn: ArtFibers Jadis, alpaca -- It was made as a store model for them.
Pattern: Made it up, and took the fair isle design from an out of print book called Fabulous Fair Isle.  Kira at the store will be able to use their software to design the same pattern for you iffen you want, and I'm going to write a page of mods for the fair isle/crochet bits.

The obligatory, and rather manic, Rachael (I was running late for work, as usual):

On the bed:

And a close up of the actual color:

Yep, that's a crocheted border edging that came out of desperation. For some reason I thought a three row moss stitch border wouldn't roll. And then it rolled (surprise! gotcha!) and I freaked out, thinking, oh, man, this was free yarn, shop-model yarn, I better fix it. So I slapped the crochet on, and it's the part that people seem to like best. Who knew? I'm pretty happy with it.

And know what else I'm happy with? A fabulous little thrift store find that curled my toes in deep red love. Check this out:

This is Estonian, hand-made, and had the Cyrillic tags still attached. Okay, it's a kid's sweater. Who cares? I call it sexy (which means tight, in most languages).

Here's a bit closer:

Cute, non? Shoot, I wish I'd made it.

All right. Nuff. Have a great weekend, all. Love on your loved ones, okay? MWAH!

The Wind

I have to make Mariah. I do. As Claudia says, we could all use lots more cabled hoodies. Okay. I'm paraphrasing. But I think she would agree. Right, C?

When I was at the ginormous Thrift Town in El Sobrante the other day (best thrift store in the Bay Area, I'm convinced), I found an Irish sweater, a deep dark variegated green one, huge and lofty and scratchy and wonderful. I clicked away from KnitPicks just a minute ago, where I was dithering about ordering that yummy merino, and I've decided I will indeed rip the sweater up and make the Mariah sweater. (The name does make think of "they call the wind," and I'm wondering if I'll get over that while knitting.) I'm broke, and even cheap yarn ain't cheap enough right now. But I always worry while ripping that I won't have enough yarn to make what I want (remember my cashmere? Still haven't used that stuff....), and once you run out of that kind of yarn, it's all about math and muddling. I don't muddle well.

But I do sometimes take really spectacularly fabulous photos. I won't even post it right on the front of the site here, in case people are eating and scrolling my site -- I wouldn't want to jolt you right out of those fabulous handknit socks you're wearing. But this is proof that Lala and I are the hottest couple anywhere. Or at least in Oakland. Or in that ice cream shop, anyway. No, I guess her normal-looking brother and sister-in-law were there, too, so I can only say that we were the hottest couple seated in our chairs at that exact moment. Yep. Popup photo here. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Sleepy

See, I was going to tell you something. I know I was. I had that thought, that oh! I'll blog that! And it was good and funny and enlightening. I'm sure it must have been. But now I'm freaked OUT on sugar and can't remember what it was.

I went to Long's Drugs earlier and finally tracked down some Cadbury Creme Eggs (after running to three other stores earlier today in a tragically fruitless search). I bought ten. I actually went in meaning to buy some Excedrin Migraine for the headache I felt coming, but my hands were so full of eggs I just went to the counter. I have my priorities.

I told the checker, "Just don't count them. Not yet."
He said, "You don't want them all in one basket, do you?"

Anyway. Four eggs later and I'm hitting a new sugar low for 4:31 in the morning. If this post suddenly looks like this: ;alkshd aiolw ; lsdfkase; xcoix e gjvds e xd LKjh s -- it's because my forehead has hit the keyboard. (And of course I chase the eggs with milk. It's perfect if you're not at work. Might as well hand me a sleeping pill.)

My car is full of clean laundry, but I absolutely hate that at 5am, when I get off work, I'll have to go home and make the bed. All I want to do is get in it, not stuff a queen-sized comforter in a full-sized duvet cover. And Digit will help. He gets under the sheets and growls terribly and purrs at the same time, attacking all the bed mice he can find. Fun on a normal day. I'm predicting annoying today. But oh, well. I'll be asleep soon enough, god willing and the creeks don't rise.
a
sldja ;
sdk hsd ;a ;isd fhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Hearts and Flowers

Happy Valentine's Day! Now, I normally dislike a Hallmark holiday as much as the next person, but this weekend was great. I'm only going to write a little bit, because I have to leave and get more Cadbury Creme Eggs. I'm all out, and that ain't right.

A coupla snippets:

I stood next to Lala in the Atlas Cafe on Saturday night, listening to the Mercury Dimes play bluegrass (she says it's old time -- maybe it's bluegrassy old time). I realized I was with my date, listening to fiddle music. That was big. I was perfectly happy. Then we went with a bunch of folks and crashed the square dance (five of us got in for $10 total, instead of the $12 per head we should have paid -- Camilla is very blond). I made my girl dizzy spinnin' her around.

Sunday, Lala and I went to Stitches, and shopped for yarn (I mostly picked up sock yarn stuff, nothin' exciting). But I realized, yet again, she's flipping perfect for me. It's really rather ridiculous. Old time music, to yarn, to being lazy together all day today. I couldn't have dreamed up a better person, period, full stop, let alone one that would love me back like this. I'm rich, and happy, and luckier than hell. (And she's H.O.T.)

Oh, this is getting sappy, innit? I'll break it up. Romantic vignette: For a year I lived literally around the corner from a porn store, and Lala lived not far from the same one for about three years. Now that she's in my old place, we pass it all the time, and comment on its clientele seen going in and out (as Valentine's Day approached this year, it became Valentine Headquarters, as declared the large red sign outside). The other night, as we made our usual jokes about going in, we actually looked at each other and said, "Wanna?" So we did, and we wandered the store giggling and pointing and probably pissing off the more serious customers.

But I did have a point. It's this: The magazines are sorted by, well, tastes, and in with all the jugs magazines was BUST. As in Debbie Stoller. As in the clerks had never even opened the magazine; they must have just going by name. Either that or the clerk was getting a good laugh on the guys who bought it.

Heh.

Now that's what V-Day is all about. Now off for creme eggs. And milk. A perfect dinner.

Why haven't I ever crocheted sweaters together instead of sewing? I hate sewing! I like crochet! And it looks good, too, a bonus. I'm so excited about this new knowledge.

I still can't decide on Stitches. I was thinking about going with La on Sunday, but I'm not sure now. I'm kinda broke. Read that: really broke. And I have enough yarn. But what if there's something there that I have to have? See, whatever I would "have" to buy would probably be a kit, since I don't need any more stash yarn, and kits are 'spensive. I can't afford a wheel yet, and I know where I want to go to get one when I can, anyway. I have no special projects. I don't want to take any classes (not that I could anyway -- everything but Seaming An Afghan With Embroidery Floss In a Very Dark Room is full). We shall see. The weekend is pretty booked anyway, and it might be good to have some down time....

Tomorrow I have a training class way down in Redwood City, wherever that is, so I'll be offline. Please have a great weekend y'all, with or without yarn purchases. MWAH!

Aminals!

Lots of aminals today, lots. Mostly because Lala will lose her mind and begin yapping if I don't tell you what we did on Sunday. Oh, sweet Sunday.

We went to the Chihuahua Cha-Cha! (Only I kept forgetting its name and calling it the Chi-hooa-hooa hula, which is even more fun to say. Try it.) It was in San Francisco, in this little pocketbook park on Corona Hill overlooking the City and the bay. When we finally found it, we saw a few dogs mingling around, and I thought maybe there would be a couple of little dogs for Miss Idaho to play with. Then we turned the corner and saw the dog run -- omigod, how does one handle this much cuteness without keeling over dead? Thirty or forty chihuahuas (chihuahai?) in one place, and approximately two owners a piece.

Oh, oh, oh. And two or three of them actually made Miss Idaho look big, something a five pound dog can seldom look.

Look at my girls' smiles! Harriet had a ball, too. She's chihuahua-identified, y'know. (Cari, there was also a whippet who made me miss my East Coast kids -- kisses to both.)

And here's Miss Idaho (on the far left), being Very Brave:

This one had a hand-knit scarf:

Some were leapers:

And others were just there to pick up on chicks:

The only thing good about leaving the Ultimate Park of Cuteness was the fact that on the street, away from all the other little dogs who might have continued to steal the limelight that she deserves, Miss Idaho turned back into a rock star, which was a relief.

And lets not forget about the other ones. By popular demand, a photo of the fat Digit:

He hides his weight well, doesn't he? Well, I'll tell you the truth -- he knew I was taking this photo and he sucked it in. But this candid one from the rear shows the real deal (although he would like you to know that the camera adds at least five pounds):

And to Grace's Ramona, Adah says MWAH!

To those of you concerned about my yarn-binge yesterday -- I ended up with two colors of WoolEase for a stripey pullover, $18. That's what I'm talking 'bout. Maybe I'll throw a cable or two in, dunno. I just need something easy and fast. (Lala, sugar, put your hand down.)

Diverted

I was just totally being good, and I was going to work on seaming my alpaca ArtFibers sweater and then take a nap before work, since I was up at 630am, and have to work tonight all night until 5am, but Bethany just called. A Michael's run is calling me -- I need a new Must-Have, and I need it to fit, and more than that, I need it to cost less than thirty bucks. Do you think that's do-able? I don't mind if it's crapyarn, I really don't. I just need some cables, and I need 'em fast. I'm fiending, man. Don't get in my way.

Digit would like you to know that he's gotten very, very fat since we moved here. Oh, dear.

Couches

Went to the Parkway last night to watch The House of Flying Daggers. Now, the Parkway is the best theater in Oakland. Really. It's an old art-deco place, just around the corner from the best bar (Baggy's) and the best restaurant (Merritt Bakery) in Oakland, and it's an institution. Movies are five bucks. They sell pizzas, medium for eight bucks. The sell beer by the PITCHER, people. Candy bars are a buck. They have audience appreciation nights, where it's free entrance. Last month, Time Bandits. This month, American Pie.

And the best part? There are couches. You're hanging out, watching the show, all relaxed on your couch, watching strangers hang out on other couches. They used to be kind of old and a little smelly, but they got all new ones from Ikea with washable covers. It's like hanging out at a party in your really big living room, and everyone's cordial, but you don't have to worry about mixing. Yeah. That's it.

They get second-run releases, which is why it took me a while to get around to seeing the movie, but damn. It's worth the hype. One of the loveliest films I've ever seen -- the colors by themselves make up an additional character. And every character is gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. Ridiculously gorgeous. The kind of gorgeousness that doesn't actually occur in real life because if it did, nothing would ever get done.

Now I'm at work on a ten-hour overtime shift (it was supposed to be five, but I'm being nice. Nice and greedy for the money, that is. I've got this nasty yarn habit to support, you know).

NoMeme

So, darlings.

I have to break it to you. Are you sitting down? A nice cuppa to hand?

I can NOT do the music/movie memes. I just can't. I hang my head in shame. I am a bad, bad blogger. I've been tagged by the best, coolest bloggers in blogland, and while DaisyWinifred got to me first (did Wales start this thing? Wales has a lot to answer for), and I semi-answered in her comments, I just can't.

I don't know what my block is, but it's like a tic. I look at the questions, and my nose starts to twitch. I sneeze. I am reminded of the moment on a date where the person sitting across from you at the table asks, "So, what's your favorite book?" and your mind not only forgets every book you've ever read, but you understand that you could never date, let alone have sex with, a person who believes that it's acceptable to have only one Favorite Book. (Although, if held dangling over a cliff by a very mean person, I would have to answer The Light Princess by George MacDonald, but once he lifted me back up to the top, I'd politely explain while dusting myself off that such false constraints only limit one as a creative human being. Like having only one favorite ice cream flavor. Yegads. The horror.)

Man, I just glazed off and stared into space, trying to do it again. I can't. My memory precludes me from actually remembering what movies I've seen or music I've heard lately. I saw The Princess Bride the other night, for the bajillionteenth time. And I'm listening to Keren Ann and Iron & Wine pretty much constantly lately.

Does that count? My beloved taggers (and you are), please forgive your Rachael of Very Little Brain. And come watch a movie with me.

Random Thoughts While Running

1. The iPod Shuffle (I got the $99 one because I'm cheap that way) is the coolest toy I've bought in years. I'm only not running today because I need a day to rest, but I want to run! With my toy! Run all day! Run everywhere! It's sick.

2. Having someone else fill it for you is a lesson in acceptance, because there's no way you can figure out what you're listening to. (Although if a song is just so damn good, all poppy with a banjo backline, you can memorize the chorus and learn later by googling that you're listening to Tegan and Sara's "Living Room." I didn't even think I liked them.)

3. Lala may tell people that she's all, like, country'n'western and old time, and people may believe that line as they watch her play the banjo, guitar, lap steel, pedal steel, fiddle, mandolin, mandola, accordion, harmonica and what-all else, but she's got the soul of a house party DJ. Really. I was running through Mills with "Because the party ain't started till the speakers blow, no no no," playing in my head, realizing this. Sure, there are some twangy songs on my playlist, but most of 'em had a bumpin' bass line.

4. The iPod Shuffle is so cute that people smile at you as you run past. Much as I would like to think they were checking out my rack as they stared at my chest, they were mostly straight-looking girls, and you could almost see the thought-bubble above their heads: Oh, there's one! And it is that adorable!

And now, if you need something to do, you can go cull sheep. Poor, poor lambikins....

Off to Buffalo

My lightning-fast flashes of memory loss are getting more frequent, or maybe it’s just that someone is around more often to witness them. And laugh at them. The other morning I was kicking clothes around, looking at my feet, completely unable to find where I’d put my socks, which I had JUST seen. Kick. Kick. Where the fuck? Kick some more. How do you misplace socks you’ve just seen?

Then I noticed I was wearing them, and had forgotten I had already put them on, and apparently hadn’t NOTICED them while looking at my feet kicking through the clothes.

And the other night when I went out, I wanted a change from the silver hoop earrings I always wear, so I went through my jewelry box, picked out a pair I’ve honestly never seen before, and wore them. I have no recollection of buying or receiving them, and if someone held them up and asked “Have you seen these before?” I would truthfully (in my memory, anyway) answer “No.” Which was kind of cool, because although presumably they’re mine, it was just like getting a present. From myself!

(I never lose things, though, except sunglasses (and they totally don’t count) because I’m overly-anal about a place for everything. This is out of necessity, not out of a deep need for order.)

I think Lala is finally beginning to realize that my memory might, just possibly, be worse than hers. Which is a hard thing to imagine. You know, you tell someone that you can’t remember anything, ever, and that’s a hard thing to believe. Plus, she’s always had the worst memory that she’s ever known. I like that about her.

The other day, we were walking, and she said something like,
“I’ve never seen that XYZ before.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I’ve never noticed it.”
“We had this conversation the last time we walked here, and remember you said that XYZ must have caused ABC to feel GHI?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”

Of course, because I’m me, I’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to remember what the letters stood for, but I can’t. They’re gone. But my phone number when I was four was 222-1806. Circumference can be calculated using 2PiR, which I remember is two times 3.14etcetera times the radius, and diameter can be calculated using PiRsquared. Columbus = 1492. Magna Carta = 1215. I think, anyway. I’m not going to check.

I had too much larnin’ as a kid. That’s my new theory. I thought too much and I read too much. I’m out of memory, and I SO can’t afford a new hard drive. Sigh.

But you know what I can afford? This:

Oh, yes. I got it (borrowing against my tax refund). I’m going to run now. With my tunes. (Actually, with Lala’s tunes since I couldn’t quite make it work yesterday because while I’m good at computers, she’s great at them. Especially those Mac products. Makes the shuffle component more interesting. I actually really have no idea what I’m listening to.)

Amy!

Guess who I got to meet? I shouldn't say meet, 'cause I know the girl, and she was my friend way before we met yesterday, but I got to have dinner with Amy last night.

Look how adorable she is:

Amy has been special to me for years now. She was one of the first knit-bloggers I ever connected with, the first one to make me think about making my old blog into more of a knit-blog (and we see how that worked -- one knitting comment a month or so, isn't that right?), the first lesbian I knew who knitted. Honestly, I kinda thought I was the only one before that.

And last night, while in town on business, she drove up from San Jose to hang out with me. Honestly? I could have set up a Knit-Out in her honor, and perhaps I should have, but I was greedy. I wanted her all to myself. We had SO much to talk about.

She reminded me of an email I'd sent her a while back -- she had been writing to me about her new girlfriend, Sandra, and how wonderful she was, and how big a love it was turning into. I wrote back something like, "That is SO great! But I'm not gonna do it. No dating for me, nope." I met Lala two weeks later. Yep. She quoted me to myself: "I met a banjo girl...."

And ladies? Her ring is GORGEOUS. I mean, it's kind of ridiculous how perfectly it suits her, and I can tell Sandra suits her perfectly, too. I'm so happy for her, and I'm so happy that I got to spend the evening with her. We went to La Med on College (and I thought of all the mornings after running I'd spent there with Marama), and then back to my place, where Lala met us. We sat and talked until 12:30 without even realizing the time. Again, the only weirdness is how NOT weird it was. It's odd that you can sit on a couch and laugh over Remember-Whens when you haven't ever hugged each before that very night. But I'm here to tell you you can.

For those of you setting up new(ish) blogs and wondering how all these crazy connections happen? They happen like this. You pick the blogs that you love (I've noticed rings of friendships often happen with blogs that are about the same age) and you comment. You email. You think about those bloggers, and you keep them in your mind as you go about your day. For example, without looking at my calendar, I know that tomorrow is Maggi's birthday, and I feel shame that her gift is still in my bag next to me, and not winging its way across the states right now, but I know she'll love me anyway, even with my post-office phobia. And when I had a question about her gift, dearest Greta and Newly-Post-Office Savvy Ann helped me.

It takes energy and time, and none of us have enough of either, but what you can put out there will come back to you in some form. I promise. Evidenced here: Amy came to visit! Hoooray!