Mossy Cottage Knits

Allison To the Rescue!

(No posting Friday, Dear Readers.)

Even after four years of having this blog, I’m still surprised at how it comes through for me when I least—and I mean least—expect it.

Long-time readers may remember how much I hate going to the car mechanic. It’s one of the places that falls squarely into the category of being in Manland, the others being auto-supply stores, big-box stores, paint-supply stores, car dealerships, tire stores, and hardware stores. I define ManLand as a place where there's so much testosterone it edges out the oxygen, making it a little hard to breathe, and the night janitors have to squeegee it off the walls or maybe suck it into containers, the way the GhostBusters suck ghosts into that little blinking box, and the mechanic's is definitely one of them.

Yesterday I had to take my car to ManLand because they and I are doing a little dosey-do over whether or not I have an oil leak. Not only that, but—egads!—I had to go to a new location which was just different enough to add to the adrenaline that was already coursing through my body. (The only thing worse would be an alternative world where you had to go to a mechanic to have dental work done. Shudder.)

It doesn’t help that, after you’ve survived the questions you don’t understand and the turning over of your car to the Grand Master Auto Torturer—which is always A Process because I have to make multiple checks to make sure I haven’t left any essential knitting tools behind. Or my key card. Or my lunch. Or my knapsack.—there’s the uncomfortable shuttle waiting room, where you have to scoop handfuls of testosterone off the seat before you can sit down, and then you have to sit uncomfortably close to people you don’t know, all of whom are a little edgy because they want/need to be Somewhere Else. Thank God for the Mismatched Baby Socks so I could busy myself with unpicking and reknitting a Kitchenered toe that had gone all kaplooie. And thank God for bad eyesight so I could hold the sock up close to my face and pretend what I was doing was really, really important. Of course, not as important as the guy to my left who was so engrossed in all of his foo-foo, high-tech, executive, time-saving gadgets that he kept missing the shuttle drivers when they came in to pick up passengers. Which meant that all his foo-foo, high-tech, executive, time-saving gadgets were doing for him was...making him late. Neener, neener.

So I was not having a good morning. Then three or four of us, including, I think, Gadget Guy, clambered into the shuttle and—there it was—from the front of the shuttle, a voice saying “Are you Ryan?” And that’s how I met Alison (Allison? Allyson?), a blog reader (and knitter!) who recognized me from the photos and was brave enough to ask if I was, well, me. And, immediately, my morning improved by leaps and bounds. Hi, Alison/Allison/Allyson, if you’re out there. It was so nice to meet you, you have no idea.

I finished the third Mismatched sock and, although none of the three match each other exactly in color, they do at least share some family genetics, even if it’s way back in the evolutionary tree, an Ice Age or two ago. I’ll try to get a photo before these are whisked off the maw-to-be.

And since I’m on a good Kooky Kraft roll, here’s one more. This is super picture-heavy but worth the wait. At the very least, you have to see the kitchen. Amazing. Link.

Posted by Ryan at August 22, 2007 12:02 PM