So sorry for the radio silence, Dear Readers. I love the blog and all a’ y’all as much as ever but, you know, Life and How It Sucketh. That, and I haven’t been knitting much because:
a) I haven’t been knitting much
b) The sock I was making for my friend in Ottawa—which I had already restarted—got Bennified. He chewed the yarn apart and mangled one of the needles. I still haven’t gotten past the state of rolling my eyes, shaking my head and slumping my shoulders when I look at it, all of which, in combination, are not conducive to knitting.
c) The Good-Enough Gansey is getting to the point where calculations are required, starting with a converting a mess o’ centimeter measurements to inches, and then cobbling together gauge information and body measurements and measurements from two different patterns and trying to understand how my fabric is going to behave once blocked, and whenever I get close to calculations and math and anything that involves solving for “x”—inertia sets in.
d) The carpal tunnel has been a real bear.
Oh, and not to mention that I’ve been as sick as a dawg for the last four days. Hack! Cough! Snort! Gasp! Lovely...
Oh, and not to mention that I’m supposed to leave for the cruise tomorrow at 6 a.m. and majorly important cruise-like things like, oh, buying clothes, are yet to be done (see “sick/dawg” above).
Interesting thing about the cruise. (As an aside, for those of you of the straight persuasion who may not be in the know, Olivia is, in their own words, “the largest promoter of lesbian travel and services in the world, chartering entire ships, resorts and tours ranging from intimate boutique voyages in the Galapagos and France to Caribbean cruises on ships holding 2,000 women.”) When I was thinking about the cruise, because I tend to be unrealistically egalitarian and Pollyanna-ish, I was worrying that it might be uncomfortable for the stewards, cabin people and servers and such, many of whom come from conservative, Third-World countries, to be stuck on a boat with 2,000 lesbians. I thought surely there would be an uptick in staff suicides or, at the very least, food and drink would be served to us from quite far away, using tongs; a phalanx of cleaning staff would follow us wherever we went, wearing face masks and sanitizing things as quickly as we touched them, used them or sat on them; and amulets would appear in strange places in our staterooms. Quite the opposite, apparently. From what I’ve gathered from the Oliva forums, the cruise staffs bid quite heatedly against each other to be on the Olivia cruises, because they say the passengers are more happy, helpful, and generous than most, and the fact that we’re lesbians don’t make them no never mind. I think that’s spectacular. And it makes me feel better to know we’re not weirding out the people around us.
So, it’s Fort Lauderdale tomorrow—which means I can put a 23rd notch on my State Belt; très exciting, perhaps a little more than it would be for a normal person—and the Caribbean on Sunday. Dunno if I’ll be able to post while I’m gone because I hear Internet access on the boat is spendy and spotty, but I will try.
Note to self: Remember to pack Courage heart.
Toodles for now, Dear Readers!
I’m posting something, anything, just to get the screaming read “vot” off my monitor, especially since the time of votting is long past.
Noodled away at the Ottawa Sock this weekend but have discovered that I’m having a severe flare-up of carpal tunnel, complete with some mind-numbingly horrendous thumb pain, and am seriously wondering how long I will be able to continue to knit. There’s a real pick-me-up, eh? As much as I appreciate the Elizabeth Zimmerman saying, “"Knit on with confidence and hope, through all crises," what do you when knitting is the crisis?
On a lighter note, I went shopping this weekend for a jacket for the formal evening on the cruise. I zeroed in on a black jacket with gold sparkles, and tried it on with many skirts and in many sizes, so there was a lot of on-ning and off-ing. When I finally left the fitting room, I discovered I was awash in gold sparkles: my hair, eyelashes, dingy gray sweatshirt, jeans, hands, face, shoes, knapsack... Brushed it off as best I could but still walked around with a slightly “Disco Queen” air for the rest of the day.
Fast forward to the evening. I pick Benny up for a snuggle and he manages to scratch me on his enthusiastic way up to my shoulder. I look in the mirror and pull down the neck of my t-shirt to see how bad the damage is and, sure enough—a long, raw, red scratch…covered in gold sparkles. Painful but, hey, decorative!
There. Is the "vot" gone?
Many years ago, during the low-level scandal of Dan Quayle and the extra “e” on “potato[e],” I came across a sign in one of our local neighborhoods that said, “Dan Quayle says get out and vot.” It has stuck with me ever since, so I say to you:
Not much to report in the knitting arena, but not through lack of trying. I went to Ferals last night, determined to work on the Good-Enough Gansey, but not ten minutes into my arrival at the bookstore, we were all hustled out in response to a fire alarm. After we trooped back to our table, we “had” (tongue in cheek here) to eat carrot cake in celebration (?) of Janine’s move back to California so my focus was more on my plate of cake (or would that be "plat of cak?") than on my knitting. And then a loud improvisational jazz band started not 20 feet from us...and I was done. So no progress has been made.
But I am happy to report that I’m knitting a pair of socks! For someone! This is a Big Step Forward in My Break With the Past. Remember the pen-pal from Ottawa? Yep, her. I don’t know who’s benefitting more, me for being able to mentally and emotionally move on to knitting socks for someone new, or her for getting some socks knit out of truly stunning navy blue, wine red and forest green Trekking. Either way, it’s been liberating, and doesn’t fall under the category of “boyfriend sweater curse” (can you believe there’s actually a Wikipedia entry for that?!) because she’s neither a boyfriend nor a girlfriend (and I don’t believe there’s such a thing as the “Pen-Pal Curse." Maybe I better check Wikpedia just to be sure...nope, no such thing.). I figured she merited some hand-knit socks because of the number of times she’s made me belly-laugh over the last couple of months. Her emails are hysterical. Like this one: “Hi, how are you doing today? Oh, sorry, wait; hold on. Have to leave the room for a minute. Cat farted…
Okay, I’m back.”
Maybe I have a juvenile sense of humor (maybe?) but to actually write that scenario into an email?—that made me larf and larf. I think that deserves a pair of socks.