And the Rain, Rain, Rain Came Down, Down, Down

"No matter how rich you become, how famous or powerful, when you die the size of your funeral will still pretty much depend on the weather." Michael Pritchard

I'm back! Great trip home that lasted a day longer than expected due to rain. I won't bore you with weather descriptions (I really exhausted my ark metaphors this weekend) except to say the weather lady used words like "severe" and "drenching" to describe it. And yes, a wedding was my reason to be in town. An outside wedding.

Which actually came off nicely (in doors) and, via tents, still managed to incorporate the outdoors. Everyone looked beautiful and, as all shoes were equally muddy by the end of the evening, no one seemed to mind the miserable climate. Mum Knitter accompanied me, as The Hubba had to work Saturday morning. She and I might have been extras from "The Golden Girls" (far, far younger and much cuter of course but with that same biting wit), me commenting on the chickens, while Mum held the steering wheel in a death-grip (probably to keep from belting me) as we navigated tiny, winding country backroads, in the dark, at about fourteen miles an hour, rain smacking the windshield and probably a right turn signal flashing. I won't recount the "Trying to Change from Fancy Wedding Dress to Movie-Appropriate Clothing" that took place at a Buddy's Bar-B-Q, but it was good times, folks, good times.

Approximately zero knitting got done, except that I did, I think, bring another one to the fold by teaching Mum K. the rudiments of knitting. She claimed "I want to knit scarves" and I said "Of course, scarves, no problem," and rubbed my hands together and cackled. It's a bit like being a crack-dealer, I think, being a knitter who teaches someone else the trade. You hook them in with "just a nice scarf" and pretty soon they're combing the city, wild eyed, hair sticking up in points and horns, resembling Sigourney Weaver as The Gatekeeper, all the while trying to play it cool, but fingers twitching, as they mutter at innocent shopkeepers, "Who do you know with a ball of Debbie Bliss Cashmerino, Dye Lot 1707? That's all I need, just the one ball, and then I'm done. Really. That's all I need. Just one."

Sunday morning and late Sunday evening we worked with a pair of Clover Bamboo size 7 needles and some Rainbow Brite colored cotton yarn to create a swatch. Except for the bind-off, which she found troublesome (I recommended she just leave her knitting needle in and start a whole new trend) Mum K. did great and was making respectable knit stitches in no time. I think I now get marks for my second convert (Alyssa from the Hilton Head extravagazna being my very first sell). I left Mum K. with the yarn and the needles and assurances she could give them back anytime. Ya'll, I'm nothing if not a thoughtful dealer.

I think only a few more trips and I'll have Suz Knitter (Second Mom in Command) itching for a bit of cotton and bamboo. To all the Knitter Queenpins out there, a question: If I bring in Pops Knitter and The Hubba does that mean I have my own Family, so to speak? And if so, do they have to call me the Yarnmother?