Yarn-A-Go-Go

What Fun!

There is a dog on my shoulder.

I dyed my hair last night in preparation for today's excitement. I had to. The gray is not so much gray anymore but silver, and it had been rather shocking. This is a better look, I think. And I wanted to look good: The Romance Writers of America Conference started today!

Luckily, it started with a knitting meet-up, or I think I might have expired of nerves. I met up with Theresa, Bronwyn, and Tara at the Marriott and I took them on an abbreviated tour of the city -- Artfibers, Imagiknit, and Taqueria Cancun. No yarn trip is ever complete without Mexican food, I always say.

Back at the conference, I wandered and met people. I was worried that meeting writers would be hard, but I swear, it was as easy as meeting knitters. And in Imagiknit, I did both: I met a woman named Patricia (who was wearing a lovely February Lady Sweater) who was in town attending the convention with Debbie Macomber, who was right there and fondled the yarn I was holding.

I ended the day bringing home nothing but the new Knitscene magazine (I really like that one, do you?). And I outed myself a couple of times, something I've been vaguely worried about. With fellow knitters, I wasn't worried. But I had a long conversation with a loud, opinionated, very cool Cuban woman, and decided to try it out. "You know, it's weird, I write straight romance, but I'm married to a girl." She just leaned forward and asked, "What is THAT like?" Then she proceeded to tell me about the straight woman writer she was working with who wrote gay male erotica. It's a different world, I tell you. A good one.

I am tired. I want a glass of wine and maybe some sushi. I most definitely do NOT want to go out to buy dog food, but I fear an uprising if I don't.

Little Mama Tattoo!

I so hella heart my new tattoo.

Before:

(Image flipped due to being taken on the MacBook -- this is my right arm.)

On a suggestion from RedSilvia (who is ultra-hip and cool and to be trusted in matters like these), I booked an appointment with Tanja Nixx, the owner of the famous Lyle Tuttle Tattooing in North Beach, San Francisco. I'd found a couple of hearts online that I liked, and I told Lala I wanted forget-me-nots (my favorite flower and one of my mother's favorites, too) and a kiwi bird, so she played around with images and photoshopped something that I liked enough to present to Tanja. And then Tanja made magic with it. She gave me the EXACT tattoo that I wanted. I'd been worried that when I got it done, it wouldn't be right (a valid and normal worry, probably). I worried that it would be too small, or crooked, or just Not What I Wanted, even though I couldn't quite articulate what it was that I did want.

But Tanja. She got it right, man. So right.

During:

After:

Isn't it phenomenal? It's perfect. I love it. I also love Tanja -- she is good people. She also has a cozy tattoo shop, something I didn't know existed. I was relaxed. And it really didn't hurt, that was the crazy part. At its worst, it felt like when you're scratching a mosquito bite -- hurts so good. Really. I didn't believe it when people said that tattoos don't hurt. And I think that a tattoo elsewhere might hurt a GREAT deal. But let's face it, this part of my arm is not anywhere close to a bone, and while a couple of places stung for a second, mostly it was just fun. And the endorphins! Those are great! I've felt that high only a couple of times before while running, and it's totally worth it.

Oh, closer? Okay. This is hours afterward, obviously fresh but still looking good:

Here I am a little bit red and feeling really tired from the day, but LOVING it:

Yep. The funny part is that this is so much for ME. Mom would have found it kind of silly, I think, if not outright ridiculous. So it's funny to memorialize her this way. But she would have liked it because I liked it. Hooray!

Working for the Weekend!

Know where I am?

IN BED! By choice! It's after ten in the morning, and I am NOT AT WORK for the first time since June.

I am dizzy with the possibilities. Three days off. I was planning on having a pajama weekend to end all pajama weekends, but instead I have SO MUCH I want to do.

Or I could just chill. Like Waylon:

WEEKEND PLANS

1. I want to deal with cat litter issues. Doesn't that sound like FUN? We've found the cats really, really like the Cat Attract litter, just like they say they will, and that's solved a lot of problems, but I still have to hide the box in the kitchen by making a curtain and deal with making the box inaccessible to Clara who still tries to steal her "cat treats." It's disgusting and not allowed. Must deal with that.

2. I need to go get a new Roomba. The one I have is about to die, and it never quite completes a full cycle. I am ALL about keeping the Costco receipt, and every time one dies (it's not that well-made but when it works it WORKS), I box it up, take it back and get a new one. That will only work until Costco stops carrying them, as Costco is wont to do, and then I'll have to deal with the warranty people at Roomba, but until then, I'm a Costco-standing-in-line fool. And I usually abhor going to Costco. (I'm vacuuming right now, actually. While lying in bed. Ain't THAT broken yet.)

3. I'd like to make another dress. Maybe. If the mood strikes.

4. I have nothing to knit while at the Romance Writers of America conference next week. I'm working on a green tank which isn't holding my interest, and I'm also doing the Sodera Socks (Ravelry link - so sexy!), but they require too much looking down. I need some eyes-free knitting, in sweater form, I think. Maybe the February-Lady-Sweater, perhaps? Like the rest of the free world?

5. Crap! Roomba just died! I heard it. Costco today, for sure.

6. Perfume. I want to wear perfume. My sister Christy (who is a perfume blogger -- Smell the Glove is a must-read) gave me two wonderful perfumes (one of which is Guerlain's Sous le Vent, oh my, and the other one I love but forgot the name and I don't want to get out of bed and get it) for my birthday, and it was perfect timing. I don't wear perfume when I'm sad, and I've been too sad in the last few months to risk perfume-wearing. Even happy days could be suddenly clouded with grief, and I didn't want to risk spoiling a perfectly wonderful scent forever. But I'm ready. (I had a good dream about Mom last night. Finally. I don't think I wrote about the horrifying dreams I had for weeks after she died, corporeal dreams, dreams I'll never get over. But finally, last night I dreamed that the sisters and I were on a pier, and Clara was swimming in the ocean next to us, happily splashing away as she does. In the dream I took a picture of her, and on the screen of the digital camera, I could see Mom dog-paddling (ha!) next to Clara. None of us could see her with our eyes, but we could see her when we took pictures of Clara. Grinning at us in delight from the water. Grinning like "I'm right here, don't you know that?" Weird dream, in that she was always a little afraid of the ocean, but a lovely one. The dream I've been waiting for.) Now I can wear perfume again. There is still grief, but it fits in my body now.

7. Other fun things I'm doing this weekend: Cheetahs on the Moon and 5 Cent Coffee tonight at the Eagle's Tavern in San Francisco. Tomorrow night: hot tub and massage with Lala courtesy of beloved friends. Saturday: Tattoo! More to follow on that.

8. I suppose I'll get up now. Don't have to. But I'm gonna. Woot!

Coffee

Starbucks. Come on. You're hurting me. You know that I usually don't get coffee on the way to work in the morning. I like to save my pennies and spend them on more important things, like yarn and kitty litter. I can make my own coffee. But this working twenty-four 12-hour days in a row, I've been needing java brewed FOR me.

And I don't want to talk.

That's why I go through the drive-through, yo. Because if I walk in, then I actually have to SEE you at five in the morning. I don't WANT to. So I stay in my car, and when you tweet, "Good MORNING, thank you for choosing Starbucks, and how are YOU today?" I don't want to anwer you. I am NOT fine yet, because I have no coffee, and I don't want to have to break that to you, so I say, "Fine," and wait for you to ask me what I'll be having on this fantabulous day.

I totally get that might be the rule. You might hate having to say that. That's cool. But when I drive up and hand you my money, and you take it and then lean OUT the window while we're waiting for the coffee to come up and say, "So! How ARE you today? What's going on? How's your day? What'cha got going on?" that's just too much. I don't make eye contact because I CAN'T. I am trying not to roar away, leaving my precious coffee behind.

I so appreciate service professionals who know how to read people. When I waited tables, I tried to be really conscious of it. You can tell, immediately, who wants to engage and laugh and joke with you, and you can tell the person who would really to just tell you their order and then get lost in their book. Laugh and joke with one, be courteous but no more to the other. That gets you the tips.

Please. Just hand me coffee.

PS - I have discovered that you can make pseudo-poached eggs in the microwave! Put a little water, maybe 1/4 cup, into a cereal bowl, break two eggs into the water, and nuke for about a minute (with something covering the bowl in case the eggs blow up -- something that hasn't happened yet but I hear it might). Meanwhile, your piece of bread is toasting. In about a minute, you have something I've always called chipped egg (poached eggs and buttered toast, all chopped up) which I thought was actually a phrase people used, but I just googled it and I think they don't. But it's fun to say chipped egg. Real breakfast! At work! So nice!

Home!

Good things about being home:

1. Lala! She came home early last night from work, and we had time to take the dogs for a walk TOGETHER before I went to bed. Clara ran in and out of the creek, and Harriet jogged along, giving no evidence of her sixteen years. Miss Idaho was very small and quite fast.

2. Bed. Our own bed, with the fan in the window that blows right on me, all night, so that I get chilled and then I have to snuggle under the covers. I love that.

3. Gin-and-tonic. Well, that's not a Being Home thing, but it was a Last Night thing -- Lala brought home some tonic and made me one. Nothing better on a warm evening after dogs have been fed and walked.

4. Cats. Digit. Oh, we missed each other. There was much drool last night.

Bad things about being home:

There isn't one. Okay, if there HAD to be one, it's a phantom cat-smell (important hyphen placement there; it isn't a phantom-cat). It's in the kitchen, and we just can't find it. It's not strong, but I have an extremely strong sniffer, and it's making me crazy. Stupid little schimttens have been doing better since we've been using the Feliway and that super cat-litter, but I think we're missing a spot that needs to be cleaned. I freakin' hate that smell (just pee, no one knows how to spray, thank GOD). Lala ominously mentioned we might have to move the dryer to find it. Ack.

Another good thing: Tomatoes getting bigger. Oh, and a porch swing. Lots of yarn. Hardwood floors and bare feet. Yep.

Schmitten

I found a kitten this morning. I was driving to work and I saw it, sitting peacefully right on the white line, just out of traffic's way. I thought, huh. That's weird. That kitten isn't running away from the cars whizzing right in front of her. I passed her, and two seconds later I realized she must be hurt. I pulled over. Ran back. Picked her up.

She was about 16 weeks old, I'd guess, just at that age where they start to put on weight and fill out and lengthen. She was white and fluffy, with dark smudges at the paws, nose and ear-tips. I approached. She just sat there and looked at me. There was a trace of blood at her lips. I picked her up. She didn't fight me, not at first. I walked as gently and as quickly as I could to my car, half a block up the street. When I opened the door of the car, she started to fight, but I held on, and tucked her into a spot by the wheel-wheel on the passenger-side floor. She curled up and just looked at me. I drove to work, just two more blocks down the road.

I made calls. I'm only visiting the area and I didn't know who to call first. The best I could find that early was an emergency vet thirty minutes up the road. I couldn't take that kind of time off. There was no one to work my position, and it would have been at least an hour round-trip. I wouldn't be allowed to leave.

So I called the animal shelter. I found out where the supervisor was. I drove the two blocks to meet her at the police department (I didn't even ask permission to leave -- I was scared they'd say no, just said I'd be right back), and I loaded the kitten into the crate. There was more blood coming out of the kitten's mouth, and she could only crawl on her belly when she entered the crate -- she couldn't bear weight anymore.

The animal shelter woman nodded at me. I opened my mouth. She gave me a look. I didn't ask. I couldn't.

So I can still tell myself that perhaps the supervisor fell in love with the fluffy thing and got the thousands-of-dollars emergency surgery she needed and will adopt her to a loving, happy, indoor-cat home. But really, I know that she was put down. I know that she was dying and by stopping to pick her up I helped to ease her misery by getting her out of it sooner. If I'd left her to die on the road it could have taken hours or even a day.

But I cried the whole time I drove back to work (all three blocks) and I bawled a message to Lala's phone. Then I wiped my eyes and blew my nose and felt like a monster and went inside and did my work and ignored the others when they laughed at me. Good-natured, non-animal-people kind of laughter. But still. It was a really shitty start to the day.

The day got better. I'm done with my 14-day stint up here. I drive home tomorrow, and I'm going to take the Lost Coast home. The long way. I think a drive along the coast is just what I need. (PS to the locals: KHUM a RAD station. Luckies! You all non-locals might like it, too. I heard good bluegrass, David Byrne, Death Cab for Cutie, and Jack Johnson back-to-back. Listen HERE.)

Curl Up And Dye

Always been my favorite beauty salon name. I've seen about three of them in my life, and it kills me (HA!) every time.

I took a break today. It was well-deserved, my only break in the last 12 days of 12-hour shifts. All my work was caught up for a moment. My coworkers were working, but not on things I could help with. So I took a break. And I gotta say, I wish ALL breaks were like this one:

I hopped in my car and sped up the road. I'd heard there was a used bookstore on Main in Fortuna (Rainy Day Books), and I found it, in a small alley behind a candy shop. It was SO worth seeking out. It was the kind of bookstore I would open if I ever opened one. Pretty well-organized (VERY well-organized for a used bookstore), and an excellent selection. On one table I counted four of my favorite books sitting together, randomly. A very good sign. The owner was so sweet, maybe my age, pretty eyes. There was a windchime outside. I bought books. Life was so good.

I'd also heard there was a yarn shop in town. I looked up the address: no, that couldn't be it -- I drove that way every day to the dispatch center. I'd have seen it, right?

From the road, all I'd seen from the side was the Salon part. I never would have thought to strain my eyes to read the first part of the sign. Dude. Dude! Do you love it? That yellow sign is a big ad for Red Heart, and they had a Lion Brand neon sign to go with the salon neon that you can't see in that picture. I walked in, expecting the worst. And at first, I thought it would live up to my expectations. Miles of Red Heart. Miles of acrylic in the worst degree. Check. Yes. There it all was.

But then, another room. Another room full of the GOOD stuff. I didn't have time, and I didn't want to spend money, so I only got a skein of Trekking XXL, but I was so pleased and happy to be there. And at the back of the enormous shop, sure enough, there was another room full of women getting their hair done. How great would that be? While the color sets, you browse the shelves? Knit under the dryer? I think it's incredibly weird and very, very smart.

Then I was back to work, less than an hour gone. Messages were stacked to the ceiling, but it was worth it. Books and yarn. What more do I need? (Well, I need home. I need Lala. Sisters. Walks with dogs. But I go home on Tuesday after what will have been a 16-day deployment, including travel time, and MAN will I be happy to be there. And then I turn around and work 8 more 12-hour days in row. At the end of this, I will have worked 24 days in a row without a day off. And then a three-day weekend. Which will be the pajama-weekend to end ALL pajama weekends. Thus sayeth me.)

Edited to add: Right after I posted this, I walked into the bathroom to run a bath. I stood next to the hotel tub, turned on the tap, watched the water, then lifted the shower button the tap. And then I stood there, getting soaked by the showerhead, while the shower sprayed all over the room (of course the curtain was pulled back) while I tried to figure out what I'd done wrong and how I could fix it. I think I'm a little tired.

Cool.

Dude. I'm having such a good time.

I'm working in an expanded dispatch center which is running resources for four federal complexes, plus a bunch of state fires. A complex is a name for a group of fires. Each complex is made of 20-30 individual fires. So my team is working on around 125 forest fires, all started by dry lightning that occurred three weeks ago. Seriously, wow.

Every single thing they have to work with on those fires came through this center. Their personnel: the firefighters, the management, the helicopter crew members, the radio operators, the prison crews, the hired hand-crews. Their equipment: the engines, the hoses, the airplanes, the chainsaws. The supply: the computers, the port-a-potties, the food, the paperclips. Also: travel to and from, hotel stays, ground support for getting people from all over the country and the world TO each fire where they need to go. It's kind of like party-planning for a really awful, enormous party which requires really big toys.

It's mind-boggling. And this is only for a small fraction of the fires burning here -- there are other tens of other expanded dispatch centers in every national forest district, in different counties and areas of California.

(Don't tell the people I'm talking to all day on the phone, but I'm on the coast. It's cool here. They're battling with pulling the bugs out of their fax machines that are run on generator-power, sweating in the 114 degree heat, and we're out here comfortable in the all-day fog. And while what we're doing is important and vital, what they're doing is scary and necessary and amazing, so props to them. Mad props.)

Lala sez

Could you blog that we have a free show on Friday? It's Friday at the
Oakland Museum, and we go on at 7 on the side stage.
You can tell them that they need to stand in for you! Especially if
they're hot. And into letting little dogs out in the middle of the
night.

Our set is from 7p-7:30p on the SIDE STAGE.  Come early, stay late!

Best of the Bay Show
Friday, July 11th, 7pm - midnight
Oakland Museum of California
1000 Oak Street. Oakland
www.EastBayExpress.com/Promotions

Thots

Tiny flowers in the grass. At most, a quarter of an inch across.

Two thoughts, one bigger than the other:

1. The reason I am so tired every night: Although I always work 12 hours shifts, I am not usually THINKING so hard for twelve hours straight without a break. (Also, I'm going on my seventh day now). I know how to do my job at home, so I just do it. Here, I'm constantly having to ask questions. How do I find a cultural specialist from the Yurok tribe to go to the fire that's close to the Hoopa when he's not listed in the national system and he doesn't have a house phone? How do you track an engine that's now being staffed with all new personnel, some of whom still show attached to another engine miles away? Dunno. I'm learning. It's great. I love being outside of my comfort zone. In most things. Not when it comes to pillows, though. Hells no. I need a flat pillow. Period.

2. You people make me a better person. Everything is linked, I know that. Everything is connected. The fact that you send me love and the best comments anyone ever had leaves me with exponentially more love to send out. I have learned more about compassion in the last month than in my whole 36 years. I've learned that love isn't just words said out loud, it's action. The washing of dishes. The emptying of a bedpan. A smile. Any motion that's driven by compassion is love. So from me to you, I send love in these typed words.

2.1    I am sooo tired that I'm more touchy-feely than normal, and that could be explained by the fact that I'm in Humboldt, I think (no, not THAT. Come on). I believe they're pretty granola up here. But I mean it.

Cows!

     Hello.

Still up north on the fires. Last night, my birthday, I went on a long drive. I didn't really what else to do. I'd had to change hotels, and the new one wasn't half as inspiriing as the old one -- the old one had a view, and this new one had.... well.... it didn't. Nor did it have the internets (no ANTM! Oh, no!), so I dropped my stuff and went out driving.

Oh, my. I went to Ferndale. It was gorgeous, much prettier than it looks above -- huge field with nothing in sight but an odd farmhouse or occasional Victorian. And cows. And sheep! Hooray! That low fog that was actively rolling in as I drove. It smelled so good, fresh mown grass, and hay, and sheep, and ocean.

I didn't stop, really, except to say hello to my friends the cows. I just drove. And it was amazing. I kept driving. I found a windy road that led out of town, and I followed my nose. About an hour later, just when I was thinking "oh, crap, I'll have to turn around and go back the way I came if I can remember what I did," I ran across the highway. Of course, I was all turned around and ended up going the wrong way on the highway and had to turn around, but around that kind of beauty, who cares?

That was a good birthday present. And everyone guarantees that when I get home, I get more birthdays treats! Sushi. I want sushi. Anyone have a sushi recommendation in Eureka? Mmm?

Almost Birthday

Last year or the year before my mother called on my birthday and got my cell phone. She sang me a message, which I've been saving every 21 days as it gets close to expiration in my voice mail.

I've been terrified of hearing it. So I listened to it tonight, in my hotel room, a day early. Just to get it over with. I was already crying, what more could it hurt?

Her voice. Her New Zealand accent. She sang, and said she hoped she talked to me later, and told me to have a lovely day.

Her voice was so damn quick on the machine. So bright. So her.

Now that I've started typing, I can't stop crying.

I've been doing so WELL. Being up here working the fires has been great. I'm so far from anything I know, anything I love. I'm so busy and working so hard, learning so much, for long hours. It's driven most other thoughts out of my mind.

My room looks over the Eel River, and the fog is rolling in for the night. I don't know what to do. I love fireworks, never miss them, but do I want to go chase them tonight? In a strange town? I did hear where there'll be a show, but do I want to be around that many happy little families? I don't think I do.

So. Now I've been sitting here for long minutes, staring at this post, watching the fog roll in and the parking lot below fill up with firefighters from all over the nation. I keep writing sentences and erasing them. For some reason, whenever I'm sad about Mom and writing about it here, I think about that ugly email I got the night Mom first got sick (don't go looking for it -- all reference has been deleted). Sometimes now, when writing about Mom, my words feel stifled. I don't want that person to ever read my blog and gloat, reveling that all isn't perfect in my world. But sitting here, watching the sky, I just decided I'm going to stop thinking like that. All is perfect and just as it is supposed to be in my world, even with the loss of one of my favorite people. Underneath the grief, I am happy, as usual, and it makes me sad that there are people out there in the world, who deliberately try to cause other people pain. She even took her email a little further that same awful week, in something I won't write about here -- she was trying yet again to cause pain, but of course she failed in a big way. I'm glad she failed, because she was just being mean-spirited and small. But it makes me sad that she's that sad. It has to be sadness, right? That makes people want to be mean for the fun of it, that disguises itself as mad or hot-tempered or aggrievedly self-righteous or just mean? It's just sadness. It kind of sounds weird, I know, but it makes my heart hurt even more that some people are THIS SAD all the time. That the way I feel tonight is what maybe she feels all the time. I wish that weren't so. For anyone, ever.

Whew. Now that I've thought that out, dealt with the strange feeling that's been holding back my words sometimes, I feel better. The sky outside my window is GORGEOUS now, all pink fog rising above the steely river, the redwoods slanting into the hills. I'm not going to watch fireworks, and I'm fine with that. This year's holidays will be hard, and this is no small exception. So I've run a bath, and I'm going to read my book, and then I'm going to get into my HUGE high-thread-count nice-hotel sheets and watch more ANTM online, because contrary to what Lala says, America's Next Top Model is a better grief tool than old kung-fu movies. Any day. Happy fourth. Tomorrow, happy birthday to me (with all this overtime I'm making up here, I'm getting myself a big ole MOM tattoo. See if I won't). And my birthday wish is peace and joy to all who need it. That's a good wish. Yes.

Dress

[Hi, you sweet things. This is preblogged from the past. Right now I'm actually up north, at an expanded dispatch near Eureka, working  the fires that no doubt you've heard about. If I may brag about my dispatch center again: we're becoming known for having incident dispatchers qualified in lots of specialties -- we get requested across the state for big fires, and sometimes even other states borrow our dispatchers to work on their lines. I'll be up there for as long as two weeks, so if you don't hear from me for a while, don't worry.

In the meantime, pretend like I'm just writing this today:]

I had a one of those La Brainy thrift-store days a few days ago. In one spot (Thrift Town, El Sobrante), I scored a pair of Doc Martens for four bucks, and a pair of cowboy boots for ten.

AND, while I was cruising the store, a customer randomly walked up to me and gave me a clipped coupon for three dollars off.

I found a piece of fabric that was REALLY loud but I liked something about it. It was ninety-nine cents. When I got it home and unbundled it from its masking tape wrapping, it turned out to be about five yards. Dude. For bright red and shiny gold fabric, that was a little much, so I decided to use it as a muslin for testing a dress pattern I wanted to make.

I have never in my life succeeded in making a dress that I would dare to wear out of the house. Many, many skirts, yes. I can make a skirt. I can make a skirt in a half-hour. Out of a pillowcase. But not a dress.

So I decided to use my brain. I would just practice with this fabric. Instead of guessing at my measurements, I would actually take them. And then I made the size THAT WOULD FIT ME. Sewing does have an odd aspect to it: while I fit comfortably in size 10 or 12 jeans at most retailers, I am an 18 in sewing patterns. I'm a person who is comfortable in my skin, so that doesn't send me into a spin, but it makes me go, "huh." You know?

And in cutting the pattern pieces for this particular pattern (New Look 6375), I had to draft it out a bit, since the bust would work, but the waist was too small. I was so pleased with myself for thinking! For using my head! For realizing that no, my waist is NOT 30 inches, and no matter what I think it is, I need to cut the pattern for what will FIT. I think I am so used to knitting, where we regularly plan for negative ease, that I forget that cotton fabric is, well, a little less forgiving. Positive ease is my friend.

So I cut. And then cut the fabric pieces. Then I sewed. And I basted the bodice and tried it on (another stupid thing I've done in the past is just sew-sew-sew till done, try on, and realize I'm a moron for not trying on earlier). It fit! I sewed some more. Tried it on. Raised the hem. It fit even better!

The weird thing is, when it was done the dress looked good. In the practice fabric. The same fabric that Lala had wrinkled her nose at when I'd shown it to her. It did look outrageous in the bolt. And it looked pretty outrageous when made into a dress and lying flat. But on me, it kinda works. What do you think?

I'm so proud of myself! All I want to do is make dresses! Now I want to make one like this:

But if you want to buy this adorable little thing, it's HERE. I think I'm going to attempt it using Simplicity pattern 3774 (recommended to me by the nice gals at Pattern Review). Maybe I can make another one I can wear out of the house.

In the meantime, today when I went to the county fair I wore this:

It wasn't until after I put everything on that I realized I'd made the sweater (Bella) and the undertank (Coachella) and the skirt (those are martini glasses in black on the blue and green background). So I took a picture. I've come a long way, baby.

(Amy and the bunnies - email me! Thank you! So much!)