Neighborknitter

I've Moved!

2008-10-14T12:12:00.003-05:00

Figuratively this time! Neighborknitter is now HERE.

In the last few weeks, with my interests shifting rapidly and wildly, I started to contemplate a whole new blog (feel free to burst into an altered Aladdin- "a whoooole neeew blog... a brand-new page on which to tyyyype"- you parents know of that which I sing). I did it, wrote a few posts and it feels like it just might stick. I warn you now, this one has little to do with knitting. Lots more chatter and coffee talk and deep thoughts by Neighborknitter. If that doesn't sell you, it also has lots more pictures of Dory and even a recent one of The Hubba (henceforth to be known as Matthew) and I from last Halloween. Good, good stuff, people.

Again, the new blog is here and goes by the name Good Mama Mojo.

So a big, huge sincere thanks for all the Neighborknitter support. I hope my readers- those few, dedicated folks- do come over and check the new site out.

I've not entirely given up on Neighborknitter. Yet. I think this was one interesting little site, with lots of good stories and lots of good pictures particularly of a few dogs I know. I just think, well, life's gotten bigger, so the blog should too. And IF Neighborknitter is done and I do stop posting knitting pics, I WILL start posting them over on my new blog.

If I ever actually finish any of these projects...

UT vs. Auburn... Huh

2008-09-27T12:00:00.003-05:00

We're off to a good friend's house to watch the game. It's Dory's first UT party! We're looking forward to seeing our friends far more than seeing the game, which considering we're in the heart of Vol country and they're Auburn grads is saying a lot...

So instead of focusing on the game I thought, let's focus on adorable babies! One baby specifically and her growth to be exact.

Dory at almost five weeks, first Vols game of the year. She seems to be saying, "Alright Coach Fulmer- show me what you got."

Dory at eight and a half weeks, fourth game. I think the feeling is clear. "You've GOT to be kidding me."

Go Vols.

Sigh

2008-09-02T09:46:00.005-05:00

I should have written this post yesterday, when we were still excited and the outcome wasn't decided. But you know what it's like- busy with baby, busy with dinner (first time making cornbread!), busy with baby, busy with dogs, busy with baby....

Instead I can only report, if you've not heard, the Vols did not win their first game of the year. They lost to unranked UCLA in overtime, 24-27. No cute baby pictures or delicious cornbread can change that...

...but they do take some of the sting away.

Firsts!

2008-08-28T09:48:00.006-05:00

First Bath:
This was left, literally, in the hands of her Big Daddy. There was no way I was holding our tiny, slippery, wiggly baby over the hard sink and granite countertops. So his job was to bathe and my job was to take pictures and say "oooo, careful!" every two minutes.

First Party:

The party was close family, all celebrating my birthday, but let's be honest- no one cared, least of all me (and that's saying something- I think we all remember stories of birthdays past). This was an excuse for everyone to get together and see Dory.

This is pretty much what people did the entire time. Someone held Dory and the rest of us stood around them talking about how beautiful she is.

First Playtime:

First Grocery Store Visit:
I popped her in the baby sling and off she and I went. No pictures though. People gave me funny enough looks carrying her in sling. I think if I'd been walking around trying to take pictures of us at the same time, we might have been asked to leave.

First Adult Beverage:
Mine, not hers! After eleven months (OHMYGOD that's almost a year) of living the life of a teetotaler, I decided, around her four week birthday, I was chancing a drink.

I nursed her, handed her to Big Daddy (maybe The Hubba's new blog name- it's what I'm now in the habit of calling him), and partook of about ten ounces of one of his home-brewed beers. A red. Delicious. Mind you, I didn't have long to enjoy it. I actually drank it at light speed, assuming the faster I got it into my body, the faster it left my body, and therefore wouldn't influence her next feeding. So, in some ways, even the first adult beverage was about Dory.

I know it won't be this way forever, this complete and total focus on one little person. But for the time, I love it. I thought, when I was pregnant, I'd be glad for the baby to get here so we could start talking about something else. Small backfire there. All we really seem to want to talk about is her. Sure other stuff creeps in. Dave Matthews Band and their sad news. The dogs. The house. The upcoming football season (starts tonight by the way! Hallelujah!). But somehow it always comes back to Dory.

Who probably thinks she's found herself in the house of the most boring conversationalists EVER.

Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

2008-08-11T17:50:00.004-05:00

She's here.

She's been here for almost two weeks.

Born July 29th, at 1:07 pm, Baby B is a beautiful 7 lb, 12 oz Baby Girl. Her name is Dorothy Grace. She has beautiful blue eyes, dark hair that slowly grows lighter every day, the sweetest round cheeks imaginable and the hearts of her parents. We can't look away from her, we can't put her down, we can't seem to do almost anything else. Hence blogging nearly two weeks after the big event. If the option is "Hold Dory" or do... well, something that isn't Hold Dory, Hold Dory wins every single time. I knit for about three minutes yesterday and it was the first time since the night before her birth and, to be completely honest, I was wearing her in a Moby wrap at the time, so it didn't exactly count as not Holding Dory. She's in the Moby as I type this post, so, again, even though I'm blogging, I'm still Holding Dory. This should be the new national pastime, except I absolutely refuse to share.

I won't write more now. Announcing her presence here in this world seems like the most meaningful thing I could say right now. Instead, here are a few pictures from her amazing and illustrious little life.

About an hour after her birth with her Daddy...

Two days after her birth...

And, somehow still getting prettier every single day, one week after her birth...

I know I'm the most prejudiced person on this earth (except her Dad and grandparents) but isn't she just heavenly?

A Bit of Nostalgia

2008-07-26T08:43:00.002-05:00

...7...

I have a surprising revelation, one that might shock you: Life can change dramatically in a year. I know, it's startling. Allow me to walk you through this discovery I made today.

Knowing there's a baby coming (has anyone mentioned that? August 2nd, my friends, the general due date), I've been thinking a lot about... reading. Because this is who I am. Basically, there might be a wee bit of downtime between nursing and sleeping (the two things I'm informed I'll do pretty much round the clock) and it would be nice to have some good book to sink into when not otherwise occupied. I'm just weird about this, but I like to have a book handy. I know other experienced moms might laugh and say "Reading, right, that's going to happen." They could be right, but better prepared than staring at a wall with nothing to do. For me, hell is a waiting room with no reading material.

So this book. It has a few requirements. It needs to be interesting, yes, enough to hold my attention, but it also needs to be dull enough I can put it down again without bother, without irritation, not thinking "oh, just two more pages, hold your horses, Just Born Little One." Not really the feelings I want to cultivate towards our first child (or any other child for that matter). The solution being it needs to be something I've read, but still care about.

I think anyone who remembers this blog from last year (and how could you not?) might remember this same month, almost to the day, a little something called Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows arrived in bookstores around the world. Because of this, I remember exactly what I was doing: moving into a new house.

Funny association, I know. But we had just bought this gorgeous home (though I say it myself) in Greensboro and literally the same day that Harry Potter came out, we were moving ourselves in. This was a baaaad day. How could it not be? It was the two of us doing the moving (meaning, The Hubba and about twenty-five percent of another person) and not only that, I insisted we stay up past midnight, to go buy HPATDH so I would have the book first thing in the morning. The Hubba, because he is wonderful and I had bought him a new Playstation game the day before, acquiesced.

But the next day, Saturday, that was a great day. I remember, we got up and unpacked enough to be able to eat food off plates and a few other small necessities and then we both agreed, that's it, we're done, time to relax. We filled the fridge with easy to make snacks and sandwiches and a variety pack of Magic Hat Beer and we hunkered down. He settled himself in front of his game and I settled myself in front of an enormous hardback and that is how we spent the weekend.

I thought about that this morning as I dug the Deathly Hallows out and cracked it open for maybe the fifth or sixth time. Because here we are, almost one year later to the day, and life is a bit different now. We live in an entirely new house. That new house happens to be in an entirely different state. Biggest of all, we're about to have a whole third person living here with us and this could happen today or three weeks from now.

My life is amazing. That's not a brag or boast of any kind. It's completely personal. For what suits and pleases me, my life is amazing. Oh sure, tweaking can always happen, things can always get better. And situations will come up, as they have even this month, that throw you off kilter, force you to make the decision I can be worried or I can be happy- what do I choose? (For me it's about a sixty-forty split leaning towards happy. I'm working on upping that number.) But as life stands right now, I am one of those people who will honestly say, I have got a swell deal. I love my husband, I love my house, I love my dogs, I'm about to have a baby, and I'm pretty darned fond of me too.

So it's interesting to me to look back at only a year ago- a year!- and realize how much has changed. And yet, how little. Because, except for the Magic Hat and the boxes needing to be unpacked, I imagine we'll spend this weekend almost exactly the same way, hunkered down, him with his newest game and me with my HPATDH and it will be two very well spent days. I wish I had some marvelous conclusion to draw from this, to pull it all together, a bit like Daniel Stern, as older and wiser voice-over Kevin, always did on The Wonder Years, but I don't.

I'm just really, really happy and mighty, mighty grateful.

And only a little bit sad over the lack of Magic Hat.

All Baby, All the Time

2008-07-18T08:32:00.004-05:00

It does feel a little like that. For instance, I don't know if there's a room in our house right now (except the dogs' room; they won't have it) that doesn't have a stash of baby stuff, either prominently displayed or stuck in a corner. At the moment, I'm sitting at our kitchen table and heaped in front of me are beautiful baby gift bags full of cloth diapers waiting to go in the wash. In our living room, you'd find bags that hold the motley collection of: a Pregnancy Scrapbook, a few baby onesies, a mobile my friend Elizabeth gave us and a second car seat base. The den remains covered up in strollers, car seats, a first car seat base, gift bags, more baby clothes, and some older-age items (in the sense Baby won't need these for several months) we still haven't found places for like the Bumbo Seat and the Baby Einstein Musical Motion Activity Jumper. I'm not entirely sure what developmental skills come from this last one, but I'm betting it has something to do with NASA.

So, for the sake of taking the blog where our home seems to be headed, I've added some new links on the sidebar. These are all resources we've used in our efforts for a natural, family-based childbirth. Our Bradley Method Birth classes, which despite the cost I joked about earlier, I would highly, highly recommend, the Lisa Ross Birth Center here in Knoxville, where Baby will make his or her grand entrance, how to find a La Leche League in your area and more info on cloth diapers from a reliable and non-biased source (that is, they're biased towards cloth diapers but not on types or brands).

The funny thing is, before Baby, we weren't the least bit crunchy. We ate meat revved up on steroids, we drank milk full of hormones, we never considered what types of cleansers we sprayed on the surfaces of our home and I thought epidurals seemed a grand idea, right behind scheduled C-sections. I'd say the closest thing to natural living we had was a fondness for Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. And then- as the old saying goes- the stick turned blue and suddenly I was a lot more aware of what we put in and on and around our bodies. From foods, to personal hygiene, to home sanitizers and dog food. Yep, even the dogs have gone granola with their Nutro Ultra Dog Food and Paul Newman's Organic Peanut Butter Dog Treats.

Not to say we've done this all at one time or that everything is now completely organic. Oh no. I'd say we're about fifty to sixty percent there most of the time and I feel good about that. If that's as far as we ever get, I'll be fine with it. It does take more money, time, and effort, so we pick and choose what we can do and stay easy about the rest.

Also we've gotten a lot of help from our friends. Preggers Tip: If you're up the pole, as our Irish friends say, and thinking about cloth diapers- register for them! There are tons of great online stores with registries and you might be lucky, like us, and discover you even have local stores selling cloth diaper products- other than BRU, I mean. We've been fantastically overwhelmed by them and have very little left to get.

But these are my pregnancy resources thus far and, overall, I've been nothing but thrilled. I like the fact The Hubba and I have made aware, conscious decisions about how we want to do this, even in the face of some gentle criticism. I love knowing how much thought and time we've put into Baby B's arrival and presence here.

And now I've just gotten too preachy for my own good. If it helps, as I write, I'm drinking a delicious Pineapple-Orange Juice from Tropicana, full of sugar and probably not a real pineapple or orange in sight. And it's given me just a touch of heartburn.

Have a lurrrvely weekend!

I Love Presents!

2008-07-16T19:17:00.010-05:00

I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but somehow I went from being a pregnant girl with no baby showers to a pregnant girl with three baby showers. One given by a friend of mine, Elizabeth for most of my friends, one given by Suz Knitter for our family, and one given by Janie, a friend of my mom's, and each vying passionately for winner of Most Kick-Ass Shower ever. No doubt the Kick-Ass shows how not typical these Baby Parties were.

I won't attempt to relive even the highlights of all of them, but I thought I'd post some of the more interesting gifts. Not to offend anyone who's gift might not be posted! All our gifts were tremendous- I say this sincerely. We got GREAT gifts. I didn't know what to expect when The Hubba (who might be called Matty too as my memory is not what it used to be and well, consistency just isn't one of my top three qualities right now) and I registered. He had the gift gun and I had the know-how, which was sad as I hadn't a clue and nearly everything we saw I exclaimed, "Are you kidding me? It costs how much?!" My grandfather would have been proud. I was more than a little shocked (re: horrified) by the entire Babies R Us experience.

But, good heavens, did people step up. We got bouncy chairs, walker-things, traveling systems (thanks you Matty's Granny! that system alone scared the bejeezus out of me- Graco does not mess around), baby hangers, play jungles, clothes, baby hangers, books, decorations for the nursery, and baby hangers (people are really nuts about those tiny hangers, huh? We're still finding stacks of tiny white plastic hangers in the most random places). We were gifted and blessed and treated and it's been amazing.

For blog purposes, though, I cannot display all our booty. So here were some of the more interesting highlights!

An extravaganza of handmade UT baby goodies, all knit and crocheted by the glorious Miz Knotty:

She is an absolute star. The UT booties-sneakers were my favorite.

A Pack n' Play (thanks to Matty's parents!):

Also known as the HMS Baby. Seriously, I think the point of PnP is if we ever really upset Baby, he or she will have a seaworthy vessel in which to set sail. This thing is HUGE.

The aforementioned Travel System (again, thanks to Matty's Granny!):

Makes you think there should be lights and sirens and perhaps one of those automatic parallel park gadgets such as Lexus now offers.

Cloth diapers:

While we've gotten some funny looks over our decision to CD (and trust me- I throw no stones- I've already apologized to Knitty Yoda several times over my own unhelpful comments and raised eyebrows on this subject back when she decided to cloth diaper their second Little One), we've also gotten a tremendous amount of support. And that support has come in the form of cloth diapers themselves! So while I'm sure I'll post more about this new and fascinating subject later, for now I'm just mighty appreciative of having such a great start.

Super high-tech digital monitors from Pops and Suz Knitter (this was on top of the shower AND they paid for our Bradley Method Class- if you're curious, learning how to birth naturally ain't cheap):

I had to mention the monitors because of the response at the shower. Here I am pulling out cute booties and tiny onesies that Baby wears for about a second and everyone "oos" and "ahs" and it's lovely and I pull out these very fancy and incredibly useful monitors and there's a general "nice, nice, show us more tiny clothes!" consensus. So I now think we, as a people, are far more interested in fashion than life-saving devices, yes?

A three-volume set of Sandra Boynton books from Mum Knitter:

Oh, and she's buying us our rocking chair for the nursery. Have I mentioned how incredibly generous the people in our lives are?

Speaking of generous, all of our baby furniture, handed down to us by my Cousin Shannon:

I still can't get over this one. This was the end-all, be-all in fantastic, necessary gifts AND such a stress relief. I promise being 36 weeks pregnant with no nursery furniture in sight isn't nearly as much fun as it sounds. But Shannon said it was give it to us or sell it in a yard sale and she'd rather give it to blood and this is exactly the kind of comment that makes you so happy you moved home and have family right down the road from you.

And finally- the pièce de résistance, though I rank nothing any better or more important than any other gift- this one- well, see for yourself:

(It's a little hard to see in the picture but on the onesie there's a bicycle that says "Dave Matthews Band." Sigh.)

Anyone who knows anything about last year for us knows Knitty Yoda's gift... I don't have words for it. So instead, let's allow the clothes to speak for themselves. Listen! I think I hear the faint reprise of Lie in Our Graves...

If this were a Mastercard commercial I think it would read something like:

Baby Pack n' Play: A lot of money
Baby Travel System: Tons of cash
Bradley Method Class: get our your ATM card
Nursery Room Rocking Chair: That is gonna cost you
Baby Dave Matthews Band clothes: Priceless

This Is Your 36 Week Update

2008-07-08T09:33:00.006-05:00

Hello Bloggerland!

More updates from the pregnancy front. First, contrast and compare, as my high school English teachers used to say:

30 weeks

36 weeks

(I decided to stick with the headless pregnant woman shots for now, though I will, when I've actually thought to do these pictures when I'm not steps away from going to bed, throw in a head shot too!)

Fuller, I think, would be the word for that. Rounder. Bigger beyond belief, maybe?

Baby is sailing right along on the growth front and we're officially in the final stretch of pregnancy world. There's an interesting mix of conversation around the subject of our due date. Both in our Bradley classes and at the birthing center (where Baby will be making his or her appearance) we hear: "don't expect the baby before your due date! Most new moms (who aren't induced) are at least a week late! Maybe two weeks! Don't be discouraged." This is quickly followed up with something along the lines of "You're 36 weeks! Baby could come any time! Have your bags packed, car seat installed, gas tank full, thank you notes written, mountains you've ever wanted to climb climbed, foods you've ever wanted to eat eaten... Baby could be here tomorrow!"

This back-and-forth just makes me laugh. The Hubba and I, admittedly, are more than prepared for a late baby. We're expecting a week after the due date, possibly more. We're verrrrry prepared for late.

We are not, as much, prepared for early. For instance, if Baby came, oh, I dunno, tomorrow, there might be some frantic packing around here, some throwing of things into suitcases, some "oh God, oh God, we can't leave until I've laundered all the cloth diapers the thousand times the instructions insist on," some "I'm not going until this last thank you card is written," some hurling of unattached car seats into the trunk with a to-be-fixed-in-at-a-later-date attitude. So, at this point, a late baby is not a bad thing in my world.

I think this bewilders people who really believe we should be having babies as early as possible, somewhere around the once-it-gets-a-tad-uncomfortable stage- for a lot of people about the halfway mark. As we cruise into July, I hear a lot about the weather and the need for a quick birth. Anything from sweetly sympathetic "are you ready to NOT be pregnant?" to "oh my God, how dare that baby be born in the summer, doesn't he know it's the South in July!" Poor Baby. Not really fair to her at all, but I've noticed people will have funny attitudes when it comes to blaming unborn little ones for issues completely out of his or her control (such as when his parents decided to gets bus-zay, thereby determining a due date).

As far as the heat goes, I have fantastic news. Yes, it's warm. Yes, this extra weight gathered right at the center of my body does make life a little slower, more awkward, sweatier in general. The good news, though, the really great, spectacular news that so many seem to forget when giving me a woebegone look and shaking their heads- we have central heat and air! I don't ever have to be anywhere warmer than 72 degrees if I choose. Between the house, the car, and pretty much any other indoor place, I can be, to paraphrase some rapper or maybe athlete that my preggy brain has completely forgotten, "as cool as I wanna be." This is something to appreciate.

Besides that, the day-to-day pregnancy is somehow amazing and ordinary at the same time. Somehow the fact something is actually making my stomach jump around, a sight easily viewed by the naked human eye, something is getting hiccups (yes, hiccups!) inside my belly, something is pushing and shoving and doing a little light tap-dancing in my stomach, makes me marvel and yet, at the same time, shrug nonchalantly and say, "Oh, yep, that's the baby." Isn't that wild? I can't think of anything else to compare it to.

I've got lots of knitted items to show, both Baby and not-Baby, as the world seems to divide up these days. I'll post them in the next few days!

Hoping all out there in internetland are well and somehow surviving the heat...

2008-05-31T08:58:00.003-05:00

Realizing, as the thought has finally dawned on me, that I won't be pregnant forever, I decided to post a shot of my new and far more round than I might have ever believed possible physique. These pictures were taken over Memorial Day, when I was right at my 30 weeks mark.

In the last thirty weeks, it really hadn't dawned on me to record this event. I don't know how- moving and whatnot got in my way, I guess. Also, the feeling "eh, we've got eons! No rush. Of course, we'll take pictures! But we'll wait. Until we've gotten settled in our new home. Until we're closer to the baby's birth. Until the belly gets really big..."

Folks, that time is upon us. We are settled in a new house (whoo-hoo! didn't mean to slip that one in here, but I seem to be on a once a week blog-plan- I know that's being generous- so I fit news in where I can. I'll post more about the house later, but for now- it's awesome). We are close to the baby's birth. The belly is really big.

Kind of spooky how that sneaks up on a person. Sure, I'm living in this body, stuff is happening, old clothes aren't fitting properly, new maternity clothes are shockingly comfortable... but it's not until you're staring into the one-inch screen of a Sony camera to suddenly realize "My GOD, I'm pregnant."

And now I have the photos to prove it.

Baby Love

2008-05-21T08:49:00.006-05:00

I'm knitting again! It's so exciting, a bit like being back up on the horse after years in the city or Ralph Nader every time the presidential election rolls around- whoo-hoo I'm on the job!

My knits are hardly surprising. Not at all. You expected it right? Baby knits of course!

Blankets in the obligatory UT orange. (Funny story, I mentioned to The Hubba I was going to knit a blanket and I was going to the yarn store to pick out the yarn. To which he brightly responded "Hey, I'll come, I want to help pick it out." I was surprised and delighted. Though not as surprised by his next words: "We can find UT orange!")

My first soaker. We intend to cloth diaper and I admit, a big part of the motivation was finding out I could knit covers for cloth diapers. Better for baby's skin? Yes, definitely. Better for the environment? Absolutely. More cost efficient? You betcha. I can knit soakers and pants for it? SIGN ME UP!

These have both been a lot of fun. The blanket is great to pick up for a constant, fairly easy knit. The soakers are simple, quick, and I'm already on my second one (intention pre-baby- at least six). But that's not really where the baby knitting is. That's not my real passion.

No, I've fallen and I've fallen hard and it's not for soakers and it's not blankets. Can you guess? If you've ever read this blog before it went on the months-off fritz, can you possibly guess what's won my heart?

Yep.

Baby socks.

Oooo.

Awwww.

They are the perfect baby knit. First: socks. We all know how I feel about socks. Second: quick. Now you've rarely heard me complain about the time of a sock because I don't think they are time consuming, or at least the delight factor to time ratio is always well balanced in my opinion. Which is why baby socks are like crack to me. Or, as I've never been a big dope fiend (witness phrase "dope fiend" which was popular once- in the twenties), baby socks are the wine/English hot tea/sleeping on my back I'm not allowed during pregnancy- they are soooo goooood.

Baby socks also hit that baby goo-spot for me that baby clothes don't. Most people- women particularly- see baby clothes and dissolve into a puddle of "awwww, that is SO CUTE!" When spoken by a female those last two words tend to hit glass-shattering levels. I see them and think "hey, tiny clothes. That cost as much as people clothes and a baby wears for about a minute. Practical."

I am not, though, the hard-hearted baby wench I once thought. Because I finished that first UT orange baby sock and I broke my own record of "awwwwww." I'm on a tear now, already finding my next gender-neutral scrap sock yarn to whip out a second pair. And even as I knit these socks, I'm thinking about the next pair, about checking my LYS (I have two great ones in Knoxville and several others in the nearby areas- HOORAY!), maybe some yellow, maybe green, ooo, I could mix and match, toe and heel in one color, sock body in the other, than swap them out- whoa.

Just got a bit light headed. Might want to sit down. And, hey, while I'm sitting here, might as well pick up those double pointed needles. I mean, look, I'm practically at the zigzag bind-off. Just a few quick stitches, just to take the edge off. I won't finish just a round or tw-

Whoa. That is good.

Notice Any Changes?

2008-04-24T11:36:00.005-05:00

I fully intended to at least mention this before making the official change over in the sidebar there. For particularly astute readers (like Barbara- hi Barbara! Really hope you're well!), you might have seen my location has changed from dear old Greensboro, NC back home to Knoxberg, Tennis Shoe, as Mom would call it when I was little.
Yup. Besides being pregnant these last many months, I've also been moving. Not actually moving the entire time. The month of March I stayed put in North Carolina, packing, and The Hubba lived with the family in Knoxville, as his company is ridiculously speedy about transfers, and on weekends we went back and forth, him coming to pack the NC house, me coming to TN to look for a house here... Exactly as much fun as it sounds.
Actually, that's not true. Maybe not the course I would recommend, but that's us. We get pregnant, look at each other and ask the question: So where do you REALLY want to live?
The odd thing is, even as I write that, I laugh and think, that's right, that's us. Maybe it should bother me, but (most of the time) it doesn't. Sure, there's some discomfort along the ride, but I must say, the payoff continues to amaze me. To make a decision based on what you want and follow it through- even where there are so many who insist, the timing's terrible, where's your planning, why have a baby now, why make this move now, ARE you the most irresponsible person ever- to feel the rightness of your desire in your belly, to see it in the eyes of the person you love and to know, this is the absolutely the Next Step and to do it, that's empowering. Not always smooth, not always easy, a bit bumpy, but empowering.
OK, more than a bit bumpy. I have had my afternoon sobs, repeating the very questions people- no doubt in an effort to be helpful- dear to us have severely asked. I have had days where I thought- well, that's it, I'm done, I'm turning in my card to the human race. I'm just going to sit here, in this bed, at two in the afternoon, reading Shopaholic and Baby for the twelfth thousand time and I'm not getting up until all of this is DONE and DECIDED and YOU can't make me change my mind. Most days like that, I do well to keep others out of it. Sometimes Mum Knitter or The Hubba got dragged into it. Still, in the length of a week, or a month, or a lifetime, those days were far fewer than the good ones- the days of excitement, expectation, joy.
And now we're here. Oh, we're far and away from settled. At the moment, a whole new family is settling into our old house, we and two dogs are at Mum Knitter's, along with all our worldly goods (all packed ramshackle into her garage) and Wally and Barkley are hanging at the kennel until the right house comes down the road to us. I'd love it to be tomorrow, or better yet, today, but in the meantime, there's having a cozy bed to sleep in, having at least two dogs to cuddle, waking up with The Hubba every morning, having this healthy baby romping around in my tummy, afternoons trawling Knoxville with Mum Knitter, lunches with Pops Knitter, baby blankets to knit, birthing classes, walks to take, old friends to get back in touch, old friends to stay in touch with...
I hope all you lovely people in Internetland are well. I hope to stay in better (i.e. more consistent) contact. There's so much to be excited about it!
Sending lots of Knoxville with the power of North Carolina best wishes to you all.

And if you happen to hear of a 3 bed, 2 bath home with a fenced yard and maybe the perfect place for a baby, do let me know...

So Other News...

2008-04-13T20:36:00.006-05:00

I'm back blogging. Really. Truly. I mean it this time. I'm a blogger who once again blogs.
As a blogger who blogs, I've thought about possible blogging material. What's going on? What's new, what's happening, something I might report back to the Internet? Hmm... something to report.
Dogs are good! Dave Matthews Band is still together! I'm pregnant! Spring is here! What? What was that?
Thought I'd try to slip that by you, you clever readers! The Hubba and I are expecting a baby! Have been, actually, for a little while. About six months along. Six months by pregnancy math, which, if anyone is interested, is my kind of math in that it's a lot more fluid and fluctuating than other types of math. Somehow 40 weeks of pregnancy fits into nine months of the year. I don't get how, but I like it anyway.
So I'm six months and a bit pregnant and due at the start of August and baby's healthy and I'll answer the two questions we've been asked the most:
No, we're not going to find out the baby's gender.
No, neither of us feels at all suicidal over the question of what color to paint the nursery, or the number of yellow and green onesies we can expect in the upcoming months.
Seriously, the response we've had to the announcement we're not finding out the baby's sex is startling. It would make a person wonder how anyone ever lived before he or she could find out a baby's gender. How did we, as a culture, survive? Are people of my generation and earlier permanently scarred by the number of yellow and green outfits we had to to wear? Because, I'm getting the feeling the only more traumatic thing we could do to our soon-to-be-born offspring is go ahead with some random body piercings and maybe a few Angelina Jolie-esque tattoos done right there in the delivery room. Having many friends who didn't find out the baby's sex, I had no idea this was such a divisive issue. The majority of people want to know, have to know, no wonder the economy's in the state it's in- it's punishment for The Hubba and I not finding out the baby's gender!
OK, perhaps I exaggerate a bit. And lots of people are actually very supportive of it. But I admit, The Hubba and I have shared a laugh or two over the horror expressed by those of the Find-Out-the-Baby's-Gender-Before-We-Perish School of Thought.
I think I'll leave the World of the Internet with that thought tonight. We're pregnant! We're not finding out the baby's sex! Get used to it!
We are awfully excited. Excited and happy enough I won't even try to find some cute closing comment.
Except to maybe rock your world with the knowledge, I'd put a girl in blue. And not even flinch.

Ode to an iPod

2008-03-05T11:35:00.004-05:00

I'm back, after a long and unexplained absence, to say- God bless Steve Jobs. Without him there would be no Apple and while I don't want to give him all the credit, without his company and all the busy, hard-working inventors there, there'd be no iPod. And I am just so crazy about my iPod. I know I've mentioned it before. I've put it on lists of my favorite things, up against some pretty stiff competition like my Dyson vacuum or my Apple laptop itself and always the iPod has competed gracefully and finished with honor.
You can imagine the horror when, only a month or so ago, the iPod stopped working. Just out and out quit. Not quite three years old and DONE. No reason. Maybe the few times I dropped it on the floor, or outside or in the bathtub had something to do with it, but I'm no technician. All I knew was my beloved iPod would not charge, not on a barge, not for Marge and not for me. It was a sad, sad time.
Until I plugged the little guy in the other day, only for light to show on his cold, gray screen. Now the iPod plays, is fully charged, and, I believe, has forgiven me for previous dropping incidents.
So I say Hooray to the iPod! I know there's newer, flashier versions than my thick, clunky 4-gig guy, I know there's PC versions, ones that play radio, ones that play video, ones that keep track of your appointments and ones in night school working towards a law degree. By I'm happy with my shiny, scratched, filled up iPod.
Yes, there are a few other things happening in my life right now that I'll be blogging about later. Probably. But for now, we're all happy to have all our family members back in working order.

Durrr... and Yay!

2007-11-28T09:24:00.000-05:00

Pretending it won't happen isn't going to change it. There is a certain holiday, about, by my calculations, twenty-nine days away and it's time to look at that number and panic.

NO- wait- do something about it. Anyone else voting for a January fifteen Christmas? Anyone? A-anyone?

I like Christmas. Actually, I love Christmas. Even with Christmas Eve gift buying, I'm a huge fan. It's just- well- there was this thing last year. This knitting-for-everyone thing. This no-handmade-gift-left-behind thing.

And last year, I had a plan. I even started a few gifts in August and September. I was, at first, ahead of the curve. Ahead of the curve and I still finished around 12:01 Christmas morning. And I was ahead at this time last year.

Not as much this year. Not at all actually. I'm having a pretty tricky time of it, in fact.

Here are my dilemmas: One- there's not that much time to knit that many things. B- I haven't really sorted out who would really like a handmade gift and who would be fine with a $25 giftcard to Best Buy. Tricky.

Even if one wanted a handmade gift, there's the question of: what kind of gift? Because we all know my preference. Hand me my size 0 DPNs and I'll whip out a half dozen pairs of socks between now and then (mind you, I might not like it by the end, but I'll start with gusto). However. Not everyone has the same fixation with handknit socks as moi.

So then what? What can feasibly get done between now and then? Hats sure. Quick, easy-to-knit, I could churn out plenty of those. But no one I know really needs a hat. This is the Southeast baby- we wear hats as fashion accessories, not life-saving devices. Ditto on gloves. Double ditto on scarves.

A plan, then, began for some small gifts for the many lovely people I know. A plan for- what's my second favorite knitted item? Survey says... dishcloths!

This plan- this crafty, brilliant, genius plan- has one teeny-tiny-meenie-moe hitch: it requires me to write the pattern. I know, right?

At the moment, that means, I've got graph paper (regular), graph paper (knitter style- thanks for the hint Miz Knotty!), one finished dishcloth, some waste yarn, a sewing needle, instructions on duplicate stitch and the makings of a headache.

But I'll persevere. I believe- deep, deep, deep down- that though I never learned even the rudiments of sewing (or if I did, it's all leaked out of my brain since then), I can get this duplicate stitch thing down. As far as the pattern goes, let's just pray I start channeling the spirit of my still-living father, in all his mathematical-geometrical-algebraic glory because St. Claus knows I need it.

On the yay front, though- one nearly finished pair of Jaywalkers!

The last on my plan for one pair of handknit socks per everyday of the week. Next step? World Domination.

Year of Dave '07- Conclusion

2007-11-26T08:12:00.000-05:00

(Y’all, I’ve read through it again, and I warn you now, it’s beyond long- beyond all reason really, where length is concerned. That said, if you’re still in, bring coffee, bring Red Bull, bring a full-bodied California Chardonnay with an aroma of pear and oak if you’re going to do this in one sitting…
Also, there is * language * and for once, it’s not $%&* out. I do, in fact, when I’m not on best behavior use * language * and it seemed right here, so just another head’s up.)

As this year starts to wind down, I’ve been thinking about our Summer of Shows. I realize most people read that one post about One Year, Ten Shows and thought “Stalker!” Those people are absolutely right, though only on the surface I think.

It’s funny how things come up, little opportunities, all the time, and so often, I, at least, have thought, “Nah, I’ll catch it next time.” Next trip, next encounter, next year, next lifetime maybe. Different reasons not to seize the moment arise. Not enough money. Not enough time. Too much fear.

In December last year, DMB announced a two-night show in Las Vegas, set for March ’07. The attempt to secure tickets as a Christmas gift for The Hubba failed. It never had a shot, really. But, even without the surprise, we did get tickets and we, in cahoots with our divine friends, the Hajeks, did go to Las Vegas in March ’07. And this trip was unlike any trip I’d ever been on before. I wrote several funny posts (I know, I flatter myself) about it, and there were lots of funny times. But there was still more in it then I was willing to admit to the worldwideweb. We met a member of Dave Matthews Band in the most beautiful moment of perfect timing you could imagine. I married the man I was already married to again and was brought up starkly to realize I loved him far, far, far more now than I ever realized possible when we first pulled that stunt in ’02. I worried about money and considered denying myself experiences because of it and then got over it. I spent time with friends who adored their son in a way that made them want to do it all over again and they changed my way of looking at that topic.

At some point, home again, The Hubba and I decided to consider Vegas the start of something bigger, to make it an event, a year of something. Not all at once, but after the Summer Tour was announced, and over about a week, the idea of seeing them five times grew to seven, to nine, and eventually to ten. We would see them ten times, we said. We decided this in April and bought tickets to nine more shows. We decided this with no idea of how to afford so many hotels, plane tickets, gas (almost as bad as plane tickets). We couldn’t know then he would be moved to a different branch, some thirty miles away, in May (this being work lingo, not some suggestion of tree-leaping on his part) or that we, too, would move in July or that I’d have two different jobs in the course of the concerts or- or- or. You know the “or’s”. All the little things that come up and you can never plan for all of them. Car difficulties, surprise weddings, hotels fully booked. I don’t think they creep up on you; I think they spring.

The thing that some of you, not privy to the many meltdowns of the past, might not know is, I’d never been a creature of change. While I am one hundred percent glad to have had the childhood I did, and I’m so appreciative of all the people involved in it doing the best they could to make sure it was a good one… I’m also pretty sure (and this is with no professional help here, so bear with me) a lot of beliefs got “set”, so to speak, in me. If I could know as much as possible in advance, control as much of that as I could, then I would be… I’m not really sure, I was little, but the word that springs to mind now is: secure. Safe. I’d be under control.

The thing about those trips? They weren’t ME. I wasn’t someone who hauled off, throwing a thousand dollars at concert tickets, no plan in sight, no idea of getting from one place to the next, or where or when or how or what might come up. At least, the ME I was didn’t do that.

That’s the thing (funny how the thing always changes huh?). That wasn’t ME anymore either. Shifts happened in my personal plates tectonics, causing, through their tiny, subtle movements over time, huge changes to the ME that I knew.

Would you call it faith? Belief? Faith The Hubba and I could sort out flight schedules, unknown subways, and bill payments? Belief hotels would be available, funds would arise, middle-of-the-night dog emergencies could be overcome?

But was there something more? More to these trips than simply the face value of travel concerns, planning and finance? I think so. Some part of me hoped or believed or knew this kind of adventure would be worth it.

Adventure. Hold that thought.

I’ve always wanted to be one of those steady, unshakeable, constant people. Stable in the face of the good and the bad. Anchored. To me that meant predictability. Staidness.

Which created a pretty strong conflict with the part of me that wanted to go out and live like it was 1999.

An author I love, Marian Keyes, once described herself as devoid of an “off button.” That statement leapt off the page; I knew exactly how she felt. In that case, Marian was applying it to her battle with alcoholism (also, maybe, her love of chocolates), but in my case, I knew my lack of an off button was bigger than that, was more.

I had these two sides, the one that wanted to see and do and taste and smell and be and have- Go! Live! Big things are happening! There was also the one who wanted me to sit down, stop wanting, balance your checkbook, vacuum, who knows what might come of that, I don’t trust you for a second, just suck it up, there are starving children in China, for God’s sake. If you’ve never experienced that push-pull, trust me, it is exactly as fun as it sounds.

The second side, the Hall Monitor side, really started to fall apart about three years ago, around the time we moved to Chicago. Mind you, I was a mess long before The Hubba’s promotion and subsequent transfer, but Good God, I did not want to let go of this life I knew and didn’t like very much at all. So I put on the best face I could for my parents and friends, and mentally pitched a fit, and drove to Chicago to find the dark house we’d bought that I’d only seen once before and was convinced was more than we could afford and I had the best break down possible for me, being someone who saw breakdowns as an off-limits game reserved strictly for life’s wusses.

Once we had a house to bring the dogs to, I got to Chicago, a month behind The Hubba, at the end of December. My fall apart lasted, fairly consistently, until March, a sort of ritual, this day OK, this day not so good, this day OH HELL, this day OK- you see the pattern. That length of time seemed about all my mental state, even with breaks of good news, like finally selling the house in Knoxville, and being with The Hubba again, could stand. Around the same time, my mom came to visit and before she left, she left me a book.

I didn’t really want to read this book, but when one is lying in bed and cannot stomach the idea of unpacking boxes into a home one doesn’t like and one is a natural-born reader and there are unread pages lying on the bedstand…

I read it. I read it and I wanted to believe it. The message, summed up, said: “Life is supposed to be good.” The idea of it, when read deeper, suggested all experiences, wanted and unwanted, coming up in your day-to-day life, are your own creation.

That’s a bitch to read when you’ve been passively going along for the last six months, a little pissed at your husband, a little pissed at your parents, a little pissed at your dogs and really mega super-huge pissed at life in general and whatever fool thought this whole thing up.

But there it was. In front of me, what was evidence enough for me, saying me and my sad mental state of affairs had brought all this about.

I tell you now, breakdowns (even mini ones, lived out in bits over a period of months) are about the best thing that can ever happen to a person. Is that just me who thinks that? I think most of us- no, wait, why get general? I know I am the kind of person who will continue to butt my head at a situation, no matter how fruitless, how painful, how trying, over and over in the hopes that this next time I will have a different result (sometime I’ll tell you about my dad’s brick analogy; it’s a classic). In this case, the wall on which I cracked my skull was: I will continue to expect the worst, I will be frustrated and agitated, I will take the lonely moral high ground of right, I will dislike and criticize and in the midst of all this something will change and I will feel better.

I know it seems like a solid plan.

And here was one book, then another, then a CD, by different folks, with no real ties to each other, saying that dull old platitude, Life is what you make it. This information absolutely falls under the general heading “Self-Help.” And there was nothing I really wanted to do more than Self-Help myself into some kind of happy. Maybe that’s not entirely true. At the time, if there’d been a genie with a magic wand, who’d promised to get rid of all my fear and doubt and worry with one little flick, I’d have taken him up on it. But he never showed, so Self-Help it was.

It is almost three years later and I write these words now and I think back on that girl, in the bed, in Chicago, and I just want to hug her neck. Thank God she broke down, Thank Buddha she gave up, Thank Vishnu she took a little help when it came to her. I never did see a professional or attempt any kind of medication (unless you count eating and that is just as easily blamed on the Chicago cold-blubber warmth idea I came up with and it never failed to amaze me how far, far more people in sub-zero Chicago, on average, were thin, than in the South, where you could sweat out five pounds just walking from your car to the Wal-Mart in July- yet I digress), but, in my eyes, opening up to the literature out there to help people was the same. It makes sense, for a cerebral bookworm like me that, put it in the pages of a book and I will believe.

There was no action I could take to change anything. There was no fixit answer I could produce, no cureall, no genie I could find to make it better. Remember the song about going on a bear hunt? We’re going on a bear hunt (going on a bear hunt), we’re gonna hunt some bears (gonna hunt some bears). Eventually, in the song, you reach a place where you can’t go over it, can’t go under it, can’t go around it. You’ve got to go through it.

In my whole sticky equation the only power I had, the one step I could take in that moment, was to change the way I felt. I could sink under this avalanche of worry, fear, depression, anger. Or I could try to find one crack, one nook, one foothold in the rocks that might- might- lead to up to something else, something better.

HA! Easy. Life is hard, life is a struggle, life is liberally peppered with frustration and well salted with disappointment, maybe something good happens if you work really, really hard, save for a really, really long time, maybe the good comes when you retire, hoping you don’t die first. What easy thinking to change.

New thoughts took some time, I realized. At a Weight Watchers meeting I attended, I had a leader point out no one gained all that extra weight in a month, why expect to lose it so fast? That reasoning always struck me as darned sensible. Of course it would take time! Mind you, changing thoughts had to be faster than changing diets. These were just my thoughts; eating, now that was something important. Surely less than a month to become as bright and sunny on the inside as I tried to appear to the world on the outside shouldn’t be too hard (see above statements again for recalling about where my mental state was). One month. A whole new me.

It took a little longer. About 1,005 days so far and counting.

Yet. Those little shifts. Waking up in the morning and finding one reason the day might be salvageable. And yes, first thing in the morning, I was trying to save my day. Talk about stuck huh?

Still, thoughts came. I could cook something tasty for dinner. I’ve got a new book to read. I love my husband; maybe I won’t yell at him today. Sure I don’t have a house payment in my back pocket, but I can swing a meal right? At least it’s sunny. At least it’s started to warm up. Things can’t stay this way forever. Something’s gotta give. Hey, I love that movie! Maybe I’ll watch it.

Like I said, teeny-weeny, tiny baby steps. They did get easier though. I listened to lots of CDs, I read lots of books, I listened to more CDs (feel free to email me if you’d like some self-help pointers- I’ve pretty much got the gamut covered from Southern Baptist to people who channel to anything with Tom Hanks in it because who can’t feel better while watching TH?). I wore my mom out on the subject. She was the only person I felt comfortable talking to about this; maybe because she never said, “Just come home” and I was terrified, if one person suggested it, I’d be on the next plane to Knoxville. The Hubba lived through it too, but he worked a lot (who can blame him?) and I was so excited to see him when he got home, I tended to come out of my funk long enough for us to have a good couple hours together before bed. But mom pretty much lived the whole soundtrack, anywhere from “I hate this fucking place, I’m going to die here” to “I just took a walk, Spring is coming, maybe it’s not all disaster.” Thank all deities for the telephone and her willingness to listen. What a help it was to just get it outside of me.

All this to say, I started to feel better. Evidence didn’t necessarily pour in, proving the power of positive thinking (if you want to call it something as simple as that), but the fact I remembered what it was like to hope something good could happen was most of the evidence I needed. Sure a book deal or a million-dollar jackpot wouldn’t have hurt. But I was, over not much time at all, seeing life with a little more enthusiasm, I was writing, I was getting out and about, I even managed to go home for a week and have the startling realization, while home was beautiful and so many people I loved were there, all my crazy had never been about the place. It wasn't Chicago or Knoxville or the beach, selling shells and beads to pay for frozen drinks, an option I often considered. Wherever you took me, I would still be me. It wasn't Chicago's fault. Knoxville wasn't the answer. Talk about a humdinger.

The opportunity to move to North Carolina cropped up. We had no money, no idea how it could work out, how to sell the house, how, if The Hubba was there and I was still in Chicago, it would work out. It was an opportunity. We took it. And parts of it were brilliant and parts of it were rough. But over that fourteen month period in Chicago hope germinated inside me. Maybe life is supposed to be good. Maybe we are here for a good time. Maybe it is about the journey and the destination is the icing. Maybe.

In April this year, a little less than a year after our move from Chicago, I agreed whole-heartedly, to take a ten-concert tour with The Hubba. We struck both Vegas shows off our list and made ready for eight shows to come. Nine shows, it turns out, when you add in the Concert for Virginia Tech. In the last year, I saw DMB play in six different states, I traveled by plane three different times, I went as far west as I’ve ever been in this country, I slept in a car, I renewed my wedding vows, I saw John Mayer play my favorite song in two different states with the band, I met Oma and Opa, I saw the band play in three different time zones, I met Boyd Tinsley, I closed out the tour with my husband, with the band, on said husband’s birthday. And between all that The Hubba changed jobs, I did too, we left our old house and bought a new one.

What I realize now about that list of action, about those physical accomplishments (I use that word loosely, except for maybe where it concerns sleeping in a car- that was a physical accomplishment), what finally makes sense to me is- none of it was about the doing. It was about the idea of it. I know me well enough to know, if I honestly, on some basic level, didn’t think I could do it, I wouldn’t have gone. Which means some part of me, no matter how small, believed in me that much to say, “Yeah, alright, ten shows. Let’s do it.”

There was so much in this last year about The Hubba and I taking this adventure together. But even more than that, at the core, was ME taking this adventure at all.

Back to that word: adventure. As a noun “adventure |an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity” or as a verb “engage in hazardous and exciting activity, esp. the exploration of unknown territory.” Well, if you put it that way, I don’t know if you shouldn’t just call it Life. Maybe not life as I first thought it, life that’s meant to be controlled and molded and perfected, so nothing ever breaks, nothing moves, opportunity, another word for chance, isn’t taken. Let’s take another look.

It’s the “hazardous” bit that’s worrying, isn’t it? Yeees, I can see that now. Who wants hazardous? Maybe, sure, exciting comes with it. Unusual, that’s interesting too. Unknown territory has a certain ring to it. But… we just keep coming back to hazardous… That damned word just won’t change. Look, right there, it says it’s typical. Jesus. Forget exciting, unusual, unknown territory. Who wants that?

One word. Hazardous. One word that one person who works for the Apple laptop people decided best summed up the idea of adventure. And really, what the hell does that one person know anyway?

Maybe something. Sleeping in the front seat of a Honda Civic with a beach towel under my head for a pillow and another one as a blanket, that isn’t comfortable, that’s for sure.

However you might define it, I realize, the idea of it is starting to define me. Not as one who wants to take a big-game safari adventure in Africa. As one who’s started to realize, maybe my life, at least, doesn’t want to be kept tightly controlled, in a box that keeps the worry, the fear, those constant spooks, out. Maybe spooks, in whatever form they take- hotel in the middle of Latin America L.A., bills that haven’t gotten themselves paid yet, who knows how long we’ll even be in the house we just moved into?- are as ghostly and made of the same vapor as the name implies.

For a very, very, very long time (or as Mark Twain might suggest, a damned, damned, damned long time) I woke up every morning with my list of what to do, to make the day go by smoothly, sidestep kinks, avoid all potholes. What needs to be done? Who needs to be called? What needs to be paid? Where do I have to be? What time is it? Oh, hell, I’m already running behind. My lists soothed me; they gave me a sense of purpose, I would have said then. Now, looking back at that me, I think, God love her heart, all those lists gave her a sense of control. Talk about a spook.

These days, I take that old, dull platitude to heart. Life is what you make it. And when I wake up, I have a few thoughts like, This is going to be a great day. Oh look, it’s sunny! Or, Oh look, it’s rainy! What am I going to have for breakfast? Something tasty. The dogs can’t wait to eat; no wonder they’re rumbling around on the floor down there. I bet The Hubba’s going to have a great day. I’m really glad I can wiggle my fingers and toes. Gosh, I love having a comfy bed. I slept so well! I am really looking forward to this day. I bet something meaningful and exciting will happen.

Occasionally, those old thoughts crop up. Who needs to be called? What needs to be paid? I know how to soothe those thoughts down. I’m in bed. It’s seven thirty; no one’s there anyway. I bet I’ll call at the perfect time. I bet we’ll have a great conversation. I bet I did pay that and forgot to write it down. I bet, if I didn’t, some really kind person will help me take care of that over the phone. If I can’t do it today, I bet I can do it tomorrow.

After I get up, however I'm feeling, I'll take out my handy-dandy notebook and write down "What I Appreciate Right Now." I make lists. These lists say things like: I appreciate the great weather. I appreciate this hot tea. I appreciate my laptop. This yarn. My full head of hair. My dogs and their funny, furry faces. This beautiful home. These windows. My ability to bounce out of bed, shower, no strain, no difficulty. My health.

I do general lists every day. I have specific lists, too, lists titled Matt (who knew The Hubba had a name?), Mom, Dad, Suz, Kelly, Barkley, Georgie, Wally, Howie, Renee (both of them), Ann, Dave H., Nolan, my boss, The Hubba's boss, on and on, I have a few dozen by now and I write what I appreciate about these people all the time, little lists that have grown into long, long, long lists.

It turns out, no off button, means thoughts like these really start to build too. Suddenly, days are more fun, they are exciting, people are kind, I’m kind too, there’s time to do everything I wanted to do… and haven’t I rambled off track?

I thought I took an adventure this year. The Hubba said “all aboard?” and I hopped on the DMB train. And taking that trip led to a wild new discovery, one the girl, in the bed, in Chicago had been looking for a damned long time: it’s all an adventure. I couldn’t say for anyone else, but for me? It’s all an adventure. It is what I make it. I make it an adventure. An unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity. Sometimes exploring unknown territory.

For me, there was a thrill in realizing I’m becoming the person I wanted to be. Not always. Not all at once. Slowly, over time, over the last three years, over three more and three more and three more to come. All the years before that. All the years to come.

Anchored. I am becoming anchored. Or maybe, better said, these beliefs are becoming anchored in me. Life is what you make it. I make it an adventure. So often, it is brilliant, it is moving, it is thrilling, it is delicious. And thank goodness for the hazards. The hazards perfectly sharpen my appreciation of all I have every time they crop up. It’s what I make it. The hazards show me what I don’t want and point me towards what I do want. Thank goodness for the hazards.

I don't know why, exactly, I've chosen to say so much *stuff* out into internetland. Maybe becauuse I took this little blog along for the Year of Dave ride. Maybe I'm ready to put it out there, as the saying goes. Maybe I'm just really interested to see if anyone actually reads this whoooole loooooong pooooooost. But all these thoughts, realizations, mini-hallelujahs, whatever you might call them, have been coming over me for some time and they had to be put down somewhere.

I'm still amazed to recognize my biggest year was absolutely my worst year. I am so grateful for Chicago, I would never, in a million years, trade that time there. Not for a book deal. Not for the jackpot. It's simple for me to appreciate the easy times, everyone's healthy, all the bits and pieces of the house work, my job's straightforward... Going crazy for the hard times though? Appreciating every rough time, every bad morning, every bit of the gloom and doom... That has been powerful. Mind you, I'd rather not ever go back to that place (mentally that is, Chicago is a lovely place to visit), but what I've gotten from it? Wouldn't trade it. You couldn't pry it from me with a crowbar.

And this year, a part of what I made it, was a tour around the country, watching one of the greatest bands of all time, with one of the greatest people I have the good fortune to spend so much of my life with. In all this realization of what I am, now, in myself, I am further delighted by what I’ve become in this partnership.

Five years in? Bah. If you told me five years ago how I would feel, how I could love The Hubba, and the love the world and love the people in my life and celebrate being alive, I might have laughed, because, frankly, for all my disasters and come-aparts, I was still having a pretty good time. I look at that and then try to grasp the enormity of five years to come? Damned, damned, damned exciting if you ask me.

Hazards and all.

In the Words of Paul Simon...

2007-11-18T11:37:00.000-05:00

It's all happening at the zoo.

In a bizarre turn of events, The Hubba and I decided to leave the house on a football Saturday and head to the North Carolina Zoological Park (we weren't entirely out of our minds; we taped UT's game).

What a day for zoo visiting! We've had, in the past, odd choices on times to go to the zoo. July 29th around one o'clock seems to be a favorite of ours. Not yesterday. Yesterday was cool, crisp and gorgeous.

(shot from the car, arm out the window, camera band wrapped no-blood-flow-to-that-region-tightly around my wrist)

The NC Zoo, we discovered, is worth a visit as much for the foliage as for the animals. They've literally carved a many-miles zoo into the middle of a forest and except for the fact we're all aware gorillas aren't usually so perfectly poised in front of a backdrop of gold, red, and orange leaves, it works.

And good grief, were the animals out and about yesterday! Perhaps due to our poor zoo timing, a lot of previous zoo visits involved us squinting through the glass, me saying, "I think its that dark shapeless thing. See it? Back there, through all the brush? Lying on its side, having a little rest. Hi rhino!" and The Hubba responding, "That's not a rhino, that's a rock."

Not yesterday. Yesterday, we saw activity.

(the cougar)

Admittedly some were still less active than others, with that "You talkin' to me?" expression honed from many semesters at the Bobby DeNiro "When I Get on the Other Side of this Glass" School of Quadrupeds.

Really felt this guy was saying "Did you guys hear something? Seriously, did you hear that?"

The lions were made up of a mom, a dad, and one-year-old triplets, two daughters and a son, and I'm telling you right now, if Mama Lion could have gotten hold of some Ritalin, she would have been force-feeding it to Sonny. This kid just didn't get it. The other four were content to lay around, sleep, occasionally roll over, or lick the empty food bowl. Not Sonny.

He finally went too far and Mama sprang and, in lion, so this is a rough translation, said, "Would you just LAY the *$@# DOWN?!"

Who knew lions had that kind of vocabulary? Must be DeNiro again.

One of the sisters, I can only assume she's related in some way to Sting and Trudie Styler, did get up at one point and show off her yoga skills...

(downward-facing cat)

and no one said a word to her. I distinctly heard the word "show-off" being muttered from the direction of Sonny.

The chimps were lovely.

Talk about soulful.

Well, maybe not this guy.

("Oh look, a penny!")

("No- wait- that was poop. But still good.")

(Not so happy later. "I know right? Grooming in public. Could she BE anymore embarrassing?")

The gorillas brought up an interesting question.

I ask you: half Wally, half dog? Or half gorilla, half bear?

I had a realization at the Rhino exhibit about people and our powers of deduction. Though warned before walking out onto the platform by signs reading "Rhinoceros," with pictures, drawings, statements about their natural habitat, eating habits, and population level posted everywhere, the word "Rhinoceros" peppered liberally throughout, every person I saw walked out onto the platform and exclaimed, "Oh look! A rhino!" I include myself in this discerning group.

Synchronised noshing. Expect it at the 2008 Olympics.

These elephants were in a mood. Lots of tail grabbing and pushing from the big male elephant and coy bottom showing on the part of the female. A family arrived a few minutes after us, and when the children weren't screaming as though receiving root canal with no drugs, they were shouting, "Look, they're fighting!" and the father was agreeing, "Yep, something like that."

We finished off back in the North America exhibit and saw a pretty spectacular idea of what this country looked like two hundred years ago...

... minus the fence.

American Bison and American Elk peacefully cohabitating . Had this exchange with The Hubba.

Me: He looks just like the elk in the commercial.
The Hubba: The Hartford? That commercial?
Me: Yes.
Me: I don't get that commercial.
The Hubba: Don't worry, babe. No one gets that commercial.

Also, in an effort to incorporate DMB, we decided the song "American Baby Intro" is actually "American Bison Intro," whipped out the I-Pod and played it, softly, for the Bison. Yes, we are weird. But I think the Bison appreciated it.

We ended on the American Black Bears. These guys were done with screaming kids, camera flashes, and calls of "Oh look! A black bear!" for the day. They really showed their- well-

I leave it to your imagination.

It was an excellent day. We came home, watched the second half of the game (UT scraped it out), and were both asleep on the sofa around nine-thirty. Who knew hiking a five or six mile trail could be more exhausting than screaming "Throw the flag! Are you blind?! THROW THE FLAG!" for four hours straight.

Redneck Surround Sound

2007-11-16T16:11:00.001-05:00

So there was a Dave Matthews Band concert this week and we didn't go. The Hubba and I agreed, one more concert and people might start to think we were a wee bit obsessive. We didn't have to go, it wasn't necessary for us to hop a plane to Jersey in the middle of the week to see the boys do a free concert at Westpoint.

Luckily the concert was broadcast over the world wide web (can I get an Amen! for the Internet?) and we were able to watch.

Instead of watching on the desktop computer (the only reason not to watch there being we are weird and prefer the complex to the simple) we decided to watch it on my laptop in the living room.

Slight problem? The laptop's sound leaves something to be desired. I might as well have Alvin and the Chipmunks stuck inside my hard drive so weak are the speakers.

Hmm. Speakers. Not a bad idea. But where would one find speakers?

(Two minutes later...)
So detach the speakers from the desktop like so... attach them to the laptop... right... looks good... except... where do we set the speakers?

Voilà! (Voy-la we might say here in the South) Who needs fancy rigging and The Best Buy when you've got an ironing board? Y'all might have ritzy education systems up north, but do you have this kind of on-your-toes, MacGyver-esque, lighting-quick thinking?

Hmmmm?

We didn't think so.

SAFF- It's On!

2007-10-31T09:17:00.001-05:00

Well. I'm still not sure how SAFF compares to Rhinebeck, but I can now say, if Rhinebeck is much bigger, I couldn't possibly go due to possible head-explodage (a word just for you Knitty Yoda!).

We were delayed getting away Friday afternoon and arrived in Asheville close to nine. We were, after driving through rain and fog and the impossibility of finding an even temperature in a car, thrilled to stop for dinner (at C.F. Chan's, small, kind of fancy, kind of not Thai restaurant on the outskirts of downtown Asheville) before we got to the hotel and the improbability of sleep.

Somehow we did sleep, and were up bright and early Saturday morning. We arrived at WNC's Ag Center at quarter of ten, shortly before my first class. Who could have expected what we saw? Lots of cars, first of all. Not miles and miles for the eye to see, but a huge L-shaped parking lot worth of cars and RVs, with license plates from both the Carolinas, Virginia, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee (whoo-hoo!), Louisiana, Texas, Maryland, California and more.

Excitement was at maximum between Yoda and I until we walked into the building. I'm still surprised we didn't have head explodage right then as we looked over this:

This was us from the upper level looking down on the main floor. This picture doesn't even show the many, many, many booths and vendors lining the upper level.

Actually, none of my pictures do justice to SAFF. I was too excited, and I was already hauling around a satchel with tools for my class and current knitting projects and wallet (constant check: DO YOU HAVE YOUR WALLET?- about ten dozen times over a period of forty-eight hours) and I kept putting the camera away and forgetting- on and on. This also explains why I have no pictures of: my classes, our hotel, anywhere we ate, meeting Mum Knitter and her friend Janey for lunch at Tupelo Honey's (so good!), or any pictures of Knitty Yoda and I, together or apart, at any point.

In one word, my picture taking was P-I-T-I-F-U-L.

But it is what it is and probably, even had I been a trigger happy photographer, it still wouldn't convey how amazing this event is.

There was so much yarn.

(Blurry due to no flash- didn't want to blind people- and hands trembling with the urge to whip out my VISA, throw it at the nearest vendor and run through the booth, snatching up armfuls of yarn.)

But not just yarn. Roving. So much roving.

For the first time in the history of my knitting career, I wished I knew how to spin. If I knew how... the amount of roving I would have come home with... I can't speak to it.

Speaking of spinning...

they were everywhere.

There was even a designated spin-in where people could set up their wheels and spin and visit (and provide potential picture-taking).

And animals! We never even made it to the barn with the sheep and goats and alpacas, but we did see lots of angora rabbits inside...

and uses for hair other than knitting, like rugs, and throws.

(What you can't see on that tag is "1930s Alpaca Throw- $2000.")

I'll post more later on classes, and people we met, and great yarn buys, but what a show! Oh! to make this a yearly pilgrimage...

SAFF

2007-10-26T10:09:00.000-05:00

Also known as the Southeastern Fiber Festival and where Knitty Yoda and I will be this weekend. Hooray!

Neither of us know exactly what to expect, but checking out other bloggers who are going, I've read the phrase "Knitter's Christmas" over and over and over again.

That is an exciting phrase.

I have nothing to contribute right now, as I have no point of reference. This is my first fiber festival. These are the first classes I'll be taking outside of my LYS (I've got Mosaic Knitting Sat am and Two Socks at Once on DPNs Sunday am). This is my first road trip specifically for crafting. It's a big weekend.

I'm bringing the laptop and the camera so I'll try and update as we go along. We'll see how that goes...

For now, wish Yoda and I luck! We're both a little over the top excited. I know, I, at least, am so excited, I can't think of one single joke to make. Not one.

Hence my blatant plagiarism.

Knitty Yoda: It's 180 miles to Asheville, we got a full tank of gas, some double pointed needles, it's raining, and we're wearing sunglasses.
Me: Hit it.

Do Not Try This at Home

2007-10-25T08:00:00.000-05:00

It's here! It arrived Tuesday and it is far more beautiful than I ever expected. My ball winder (and my nickel-plated size 0 DPNs, but, as I've already said, I only ordered those for the free shipping- really).

The only item I don't have? The swift. This fact did not concern me at all. I know many people who've used a ball winder without one and I saw no reason I couldn't do the same. These people told me the only crucial element to this non-swift mix was another human to help. Miz Knotty, especially, emphasized the need for a second pair of hands to hold the yarn while the first pair wound the yarn. She never said it in these exact words, but her message came across clearly: easy non-Swift yarn-winding is definitely a team sport.

I warned The Hubba. He was ready to go. The winder came Monday and as we had a big Colts game that night (Colts win! Colts win!), I'd set Tuesday night as the night (cue Rod Stewart) and had already picked out the yarn to wind.

Except. Tuesday afternoon some surprising and scary news reached us. The Hubba's dad (The Father-in-Law or The FIL for short) had been checked into the hospital that afternoon. After much calling around and waiting and intervention on the Knitter family side by actually going to the hospital (thanks Mum Knitter!) to sort it out, we heard his condition was treatable, he was doing much better and, really, the entire situation was a freak ailment and should not be expected to reoccur. All good news except for The FIL who still had to stay at the hospital for a few days and be poked and prodded and woken up every half hour through the night in an effort to "help him get some rest."

I blame the news about The FIL. In my excitement he was OK and my need to do something with my hands, I thought "Hey, why trust the opinions of so many others? I can wind this yarn on my own."

So I unrolled some of Brooke's beautiful yarn

and got to it.

I hooked up the ball winder on the edge of our desk.

I looped the yarn around my arm (note the UT blanket in the back- sewn for The Hubba by Knitty Yoda! Thank you Knitty Yoda!).

I unraveled several yards of yarn at a time.

I used my free left hand (on my yarn-holding arm) to hold the strand for tension and my right hand to turn the handle to wind the yarn into a nice little ball.

This plan was much neater in my head than in actual practice.

I did the first two steps easily: yarn on the arm, yarn pulled off to wind.

Except.

This kept happening to the yarn coming off the floor. No matter how lightly I held the yarn, it insisted on tangling.

And when it didn't tangle

it would wrap itself around the whole winder and not the part of the winder appointed specifically for winding.

So at the end of an hour (how I wish I was kidding) I had this:

The Saddest Ball of Yarn in the History of Yarn.

Now. I realize it's not what it looks like, but how it knits that matters. Hence the cold feeling in my belly on observing The Saddest Ball of Yarn in the History of Yarn. Any knitter who's ever knit from a poorly wound ball of yarn knows it sucks. It tangles and the working yarn doesn't pull nicely from the middle and, more often than not, you end up cutting the yarn and untangling by hand before you can knit the yarn back in.

Have you ever had a project that you should not have undertaken in the attitude or at the time or in the manner in which you undertook it? Even, as you start, the smart, non-emotionally foggy part of your brain is saying "DO NOT DO THIS. WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE CALM." It's a lot like starting a project after a few glasses of wine except, at least then, you're feeling mellow.

I looked at The Saddest Ball of Yarn in the History of Yarn and I looked at the clock that said 5 when I started and now read 6:15 and noticed it was raining outside and remembered I still needed to run to the store for dog food (because, while The Hubba and I could manage with whatever scraps we had in the fridge the dogs could not have less than they're full cup of kibble a piece for dinner) and I felt the knots in my shoulders from holding my arms in basically the same position for over an hour and I I looked back at T.S.B.O.Y.I.T.H.O.Y and a new idea came to me.

I would re-wind from the currect "ball" into a newer, neater, easy-to-use ball. Ha.

HAHAHA.

(It probably would have been good to have a glass or bottle of wine. Oh well.)

Thinking ahead I realized the current "ball" of yarn needed something to hold it, to keep it from jumping all over the room as I wound it (see? SEE? I really did have a good plan).

This worked for a while, except, the awful, tangled middle of the "ball" of yarn meant lots of stopping, untangling and starting over.

Yet. Only thirty minutes later (really) I had this:

A Fairly Respectable Ball of Yarn that Looked Good Enough Not to Put Ball in Quotation Marks.

And that yarn is now knitting nicely into a pair of Jaywalkers that aren't nearly as blurry as they appear here:

Also, for the record, I PROMISE I will never, ever do this again. Unless I forget what a pain in the arse it was, trick myself into thinking it will be much easier this time around, and figure I've worked out the kinks of the plan well enough for it to go smoothly. Maybe I will also have a glass or bottle of wine in me at the time.

And, most importantly, The FIL should be getting out of the hospital today or tomorrow.

It Was a Quiet Day In Knitterville...

2007-10-20T10:44:00.000-05:00

...nothing much to report...

..when...

What's that?

A finished object?

A pair of toe-up socks? It can't be!

Yes, yes it's true! The Branched Fern socks are done! Knowing my ball winder will be here any day has freed my needles! And I found a box of raisins from our trip home from L.A.!

Now I'm knitting again and we're all smiling!

Hooray!

GO VOLS!

Women Who Run with the Pigskin

2007-10-19T10:30:00.000-05:00

There was an incident at work yesterday. An incident which set me to thinking about this idea of women+football= joke punchline.

Brandon, an easy-going, jovial fellow I work with, appeared to be a football-following kind of guy and I asked if he had any recommendations for a good bar where one could watch the NFL on Sundays. During the course of the conversation I asked who he cheered for and he said, "The Indianapolis Colts." And I, thrilled, put both hands up in the air, ready for the double-five, and said "Give it up for the Colts!"

To which he responded, "How long have you been a fan? Or are you like all those women who just like Peyton Manning in the commercials?"

I was shocked. SHOCKED. "Colts fan since '98," I shot back. "Indianapolis takes Peyton Manning as the first pick of the NFL draft. University of Tennessee graduate. I was there when we went three and thirteen. I was there during the Jim Moira 'playoffs? playoffs? you're talkin' about playoff?' years!"

Brandon thawed instantly and our conversation ended with him giving me a promising suggestion for a good place to watch games. Yet it got me to thinking (and this is never a good thing)...

He didn't say "Are you one of those fans who just like Peyton Manning in the commercials?" He said women. What is this attitude about women and football?

I like football. No, scratch that, I love football. I do. I don't watch it to keep my husband happy. I'm not in it for the funny commercials, the t-shirts and ball caps. I own my own jersey (two of 'em, both Manning, one Vols jersey #16 and of course, Indy #18). During the week, I hum the Monday Night Football theme music all the time.

More proof? I think what the Chargers did to Marty Schottenheimer was shoddy. I haven't made my mind up about Tiki Barber and the Giants; it feels like a loyalty versus honesty debate to me. I think Ed Hochuli and Mike Carey are the best head refs in the NFL (I also love Ed's arms and any opportunity for him to point out who has possession of the ball makes me happy. But you know what? Men have a whole host of eye-candy; they're called cheerleaders.) I believe in the Madden curse and every time Vince Young takes a hard hit, I worry about him (though I don't care for the Titans owner Bud Adams; he's a bit too Jerry Jones for me).

College football? I'm amazed that SFU is second in the country (though I'm pretty sure they lost last night). As a Vols fan, I've been defending Coach Fulmer for the last three years, but now I'm thinking it's time to turn over the reigns. I hope the SEC doesn't destroy itself (like so many previous years) and all teams end up with at least two losses. I wonder if John David Booty will be able to finish this season strong (and I love the fact he was interviewed on ESPN and admitted to doing Pilates to strengthen his "core." New agey and hard-hitting- what a combo!).

OK, I can't play call. I can't look at the offense's formation and say "Slant right to the outside somethingsomethingsomething." I might say "Manning puts it up top to Harrison" but frankly, if you're Peyton Manning and you've got Marvin Harrison, that's just good business sense. I pay attention when The Hubba explains nuances of the play calls or the cover-two defense the Bears run, but I'll probably never understand it the way he does.

And in real life, I'm no Sporty Spice. I'm not athletic and my only brush with playing football came in high school, during a powder puff game, when I grabbed at the girl's flag and accidentally pulled her shorts down. I felt awful and volunteered to cheer from the sidelines for the rest of the game.

But I do recognize pass interference. I know when the little blue flag goes down it means change of possession. I get how a challenge works and I understand the difference between one-foot in college versus both-feet in the pros.
How many men would have to give the same kind of list?

This isn't a "men against women" argument. I love watching the male-football dynamic and I recognize and appreciate they make up the backbone of this sport. But it's time to let go of disbelief about females as true fans too.

Pigskin lovin' girls out there, I ask, has this is ever happened to you? You and the boyfriend/husband/brother/guy friend head to a friend's Sunday afternoon party. You're jazzed, you're wearing your team's gear, you can't wait to see your boys take down those lousy so-and-so's. You're ready for a day of hard hits, beautiful passes, exciting turn-overs and the always charming Mr. Hochuli. You walk into the party, you're greeted and while your guy is herded off to the game room, you're directed towards the kitchen with the other girls. What...?

I know I'm not the only female watching. Miz Knotty and I discussed SEC football every Monday last year. I belong to a Football-Along KAL and trust me, football is the discussion way more than yarn. We're out here and we're cheering!

It's time to ring in the changes! Time to say it loud and proud: "I'm female, I watch football, get used to it!" I'm not a cheerleader, I'm not one of those busty blondes in the tight referee costume from a beer commercial. My uniform is a pair of jeans, my team's colors and my heart. Tell the world ladies! I came to play!

And you know what? I do love Peyton Manning in all those commercials.

I DID IT!

2007-10-17T16:57:00.000-05:00

Whoo-hoo! I ordered it last night! My yarn will at last be free!

Maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. But I have all this lovely yarn, in lovely big hanks and no way of winding it. Unless I did it by hand and that sounds like a recipe for disaster. Or, specifically, a recipe for a whole bunch o' knots.

So within the next few days, I'll be able to start winding all this lovely yarn. And any lovely yarn that might be in the *future* (more about that later).

Whoo-hoo!

And I bought some size 0 double-pointed needles. Strictly for the free shipping of course.

Travel Brain

2007-10-04T17:49:00.000-05:00

We're home again and, while I feel great (what an amazing trip!), I've definitely not caught up from jet lag, time change, walking miles and miles everyday, etc., etc. I know this because I just ran the washing machine through an entire cycle without any clothes in it. (Also the spelling in this post could be truly horrendous. Either Blogger's not working properly or else I'm not clicking on "ABC" properly. Right now I'm voting for the latter and apologizing ahead of time for spelling errors.)

Until I've gotten mentally back on track, I give you: pictures.

Us on the red carpet before the premier of Elizabeth: The Golden Age.

If we hadn't had a concert that night, I absolutely would have been one of the crazed fans outside the ropes screaming "CAAAAAAAATE" as she went by. I just love her.

We spent The Hubba's birthday at Universal Studios. By the way, as I missed writing this on the day of, HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUBBA!

Scarificing himself on his birthday. What a guy.

King Kong from the latest film.

Jaws, apparently able to be in two places at once, coming at yours truly on the Universal Studios tour.

The front street of Wisteria Lane.

Remember the plane crash scene from War of the Worlds? Yeah, me either. But if you do, this is the set from it.

The boys of Apollo 13 and me.

The Hubba & Family.

From the Animal Exhibit. He was called Chip or Sam or some other such oranguntan name.

The last night of the tour.

John Mayer showed up (again!) and played on #41 (again!). He. Is. Awesome.

Stephen Marley opened for the band and then he and his brother Ziggy came out and did his dad's song "Exodous" with DMB.

Last concert of the year. Last day of the Year of Dave.

I can't quite talk about that yet.

Good Morning Los Angeles!

2007-10-01T07:00:00.000-05:00

I do mean 'good morning.' I woke up about quarter of six and, after some fruitless flip-this-way-and-that, realized I wasn't going back to sleep. So why not blog?
We arrived in Hollywood (OK, we're next door to Hollywood, but still, pretty close) yesterday, around noon, and, first off, the time difference is nuts. Flat out nuts. Weirder than Las Vegas and lemme tell you why: in Vegas, all real life is suspended. Breakfast at four p.m., drinks at ten a.m., gambling all the time. It doesn't seem to matter where you're from- time stops being important.
Here, though, we must still adhere to normal life, i.e. lunch at nine a.m., when I would want it, or bed at eight p.m. does not make sense (not that that stopped us. We were were so exhausted yesterday, after leaving our home at four in the morning E.S.T. to get to the airport, that we came back to the room at seven last night and by eight we were both asleep- mind you, I'd been dozing since about seven fifteen).
But already, in the space of a day, we've managed to pack in, not just flying here, but a trip to Hollywood Boulevard!
Transportation was a question at the start of the trip, as we decided, with only two and a half days here (don't even ask what time we fly out Wednesday a.m.), and two concerts planned in the evening, dedicated, investigative sightseeing was pretty much out of the question. And our hotel is only a block from the subway (she says with false confidence) so why not try this whole mass transportation system and see what it's all about? We'd done it (closely supervised- thanks B&B!) in Atlanta. How hard could L.A. be?
Not bad at all is the answer (you weren't expecting that, were you? Me either). We walked to the station, hopped on, and rode straight to Hollywood/Highland.
Sidenote: Question: The first thing we do when walking out of our hotel? Answer: Run into some University of TN Vols fans. There were two women, one wearing that hard-to-miss UT orange and as we passed I (look, it's in my blood) yelled "Go VOLS!" At which they both laughed and callled back "Go VOLS!"
But they're from TN. And we're from TN. So they had barely passed, before one turned around and called over her shoulder, "Where are you from?"
To which I called back "Knoxville!"
And they called back, "Us too!"
Southern chatting commenced. They told us about some cut-rate place to shop called The Alley and gave us Tennessee-style directions on how to get to there ("it's called The Alley and you take the bus stop right up here and then you hop off at Adams-" friend cuts in "no it wasn't Adams-" "no, that's right, but it was next to that huge building with all the windows-" "that's right, and then a few streets over-" "by the gas station-" "yeah, there was a gas station-" "maybe you should just ask the busdriver"- "that's right, but it's called The Alley") and we told them we were here for two concerts and on our way to Hollywood Blvd, and pointed out our hotel behind them and they told us they were flying out that night at ten and had been there for four days and really wanted to be on The Price is Right but the show was cancelled so they saw Dr. Phil instead and then everyone exchanged social security numbers and passwords and finally parted ways, glad to have met a fellow Tennessean all the way out here in Los Angeles, California.
End Sidenote.
The subway was easy and, as we were only four stops away from Hollywood Blvd., we were there fast and we headed back up to street-level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, into a crowd of millions, it seemed, and started walking. And wondered about where Grauman's Chinese Theater was and how did we get to the Walk of Stars and if we couldn't find it today, we'd find it tomorrow, let's just look around and observe and what sounds good for dinner (at three p.m.) and- oh, look!- an outdoors shopping mall! Which we wandered around, admiring the architecture of the buildings surrounding us a little and talking about where to eat a lot, and somehow we found ourselves four flights up, looking over the street we'd just left, only for The Hubba to announce he wanted to take a picture of the building across from us.
It was here when he looked down and discovered the sidewalk we'd just left was the Walk of Stars.

How about that for dedicated and investigative sightseeing?

And one block over we found Grauman's Chinese theater and the famous hand and footprints.

For you, Knitty Yoda...

We saw the Kodak Theater, where the Oscars are filmed every year. There were people on the streets (out of work actors perhaps?) dressed up as superheroes and getting their pictures made with kids.

After about two hours of jumping around and exclaiming, we (i.e. I) realized we were to hungry to go on and so ate at the Pig n' Whistle.

Then took the subway back to our hotel rooms and, well, fell asleep.

I Am Forever Spoiled

2007-09-21T09:24:00.000-05:00

... by our seats at our Raleigh and Charlotte concerts.

(By the by, all photos taken by a cell phone camera; security was insane and even in Raleigh, The Hubba had to sneak shots. Luckily, he had me to do lots of dramatic, arms-flailing, Stevie Wonder head-bobbing dancing to distract the nearby security guard.)

Our seats in Raleigh...

I know there's a lot of lights. I know it's a bit hard to see Dave, but note the number of heads between ourselves and the stage.

Exactly.

Our seats in Charlotte...

See the large fellow in the stripey shirt? That's Rashawn Ross, the band's trumpet player. I love Rashawn Ross. I might have yelled this one or twelve times.

These were not our seats originally. We had good seats, but our fantastic friends had better and due to work and babies on the way and what-not, couldn't come. So we sold our tickets and bought theirs and they sent us surprisingly generous well wishes for a great concert. And, yes, we will be giving them our first-born child, if asked.

So, thanks to them, at both concerts we were to the right of the stage (LeRoi side, if you're a Dave fan), three rows back.

For once, I finally understood why fans try to jump on stage. I've always thought they were weirdos, until I found myself so close and seized with the idea "Just one quick jump- and around that mountain of a man- and I might touch LeRoi before I'm hauled off to prison. Is it worth it...?"

During Robert Earl Keene

Dave came out and watched the show. He's the one in the dark shirt next to the sound guy. If I was ever thisclose to rushing the stage... But then I would have missed the concert, what with being arrested and all that.

Of course...

classic cheese shot.

How do you come back from such seats? How do you ever settle for thirty rows back, even center-stage, these days? I don't know how I'll handle our *normal* seats in Hollywood.

Also, and totally off subject, a member of the Knitter family- Pops and Suz Knitter's dog- is having some pretty dramatic surgery today (What do Paris Hilton dogs do after too many fashion shows? Develop anorexia. What do Knitter dogs do, after too much football? Tear their ACL.). So if you're someone who would spare a moment over a much beloved four-legged fur friend, please send some good thoughts or ask whoever or whatever you ask for an easy, simple surgery for Bear and a quick recovery. He's such a lovely dog.

And Then There Were Four...

2007-09-18T16:10:00.000-05:00

We have Raleigh tonight and Charlotte tomorrow. Hope (if you wouldn't mind) for a spectacular concert, including "Lie in Our Graves."

Only four shows left! I can't quite figure out how that happened...

Is that...

2007-09-15T11:21:00.000-05:00

...knitting? Oh my Gawd. Am I knitting again?

Tah-Dah!

Psychedelic, yes? This is my first pair of cabled socks (pattern is a Nancy Bush design, "Rib and Cable Socks," Interweave Knits, Fall '05). They were, as I'm always surprised to discover about cables, awf'ly fun. And how I do love Brooke's yarn (check out her Autumn Oak colorway- it is too, too fine). I don't have this yarn's name aymore, but looking at her site, I think "Evil Twin" or "Elf Arrow" might be comparable. I love the ziggy-zaggy nature of the yarn's colors with the cables.

Also, I found this pattern on the Branched Fern Sock KAL. While I didn't join (shocking behavior on my part) I did decide to try them, as the traditional long-tail cast-on method did not intimidate me as normal toe-up sock patterns does. It took longer to get these going than a top-down sock, but I think I'll see them through to the end.

The only tricky bit? I might have dropped a stitch. Really, really hoping this is not true. Trying to find a lost stitch in that lace mess (yes, that's lace- I cannot explain the shoddy camera work- must call in Annie Leibovitz A.S.A.P) isn't a pretty prospect.

That's all we've got for today. We have UT-Florida and- well, that's about all we're thinking about here. Thank goodness it's an afternoon game.

Barkley can barely stand to look at the television.

Don't Worry 'Bout a Thing... A Mixed-Up, Jumbled Recollection of Two Great Concerts (Part Two: An Emphasis on Bathrooms and, Folks, It's a Long'un)

2007-09-12T20:27:00.000-05:00

The Green Concert, Saturday, 9.08.07

Well, maybe I exaggerated a tad about The Allman Brothers. Clearly, those who were always dead still are. Sorry if I got anyone's hopes up.

But I'm getting ahead of my story.

An important understanding to have of this concert is that it was, as the title suggested, Green. I suspect, unless you're living under the diesel engine of a Ford F-150, you're probably already familiar with the term. There was no parking for this concert, the idea being you should bike, walk, or take public transportation and when friends of Mum Knitter offered to have us we jumped at it, as much for guidance on navigating Atlanta's public transportation system, as for the free board and good company.

And guide us they did! I recommend- highly- if you ever go to Atlanta stay with Barbara and Bill! They are PHENOMENAL. They're the kind of adults I want to be when I grow up: organized, efficient, easy-going, with a gorgeous house and no clutter or dog hair tumbleweeds in sight.

Sidenote: I realize I'll never be without the dog hair tumbleweeds and I'm alright with that. But the idea of a living room that doesn't have pieces of clothing laying around it- baseball hat, pair of socks, tie, pair of shorts- in The Hubba's continual "live and let undress wherever the feeling strikes you" attitude-, half-drunk mugs of tea on every smooth surface (mine) or a huge corner of knit-gear (also mine)- that is an exciting prospect.

Back to our story. Stay with B & B. We walked in (late) Saturday afternoon and this warm, welcoming, prior-to-jail Martha Stewart task force descended. Barbara had lunch ready, Bill had already printed a map of the local MARTA station (with neatly written directions across the bottom of it), Barbara had a quilt for us to sit on, Bill informed us they'd be dropping us off within blocks of the concert, Barbara (on discovering we'd sailed into town with no cash and planned to find an ATM once we were in the concert park) thrust bills into my hands, and Bill told us to call when we reached MARTA on the way home as they'd come pick us up. Exactly the sort of parents we all thought we should have, the drop-you-where-you-want, pick-you-up-when-you're-ready, here's-some-cash, don't-worry-about-calling-we're-on-your-schedule-type parents. I had to risk the urge to ask to stay and did I really have to go to school on Monday?

Due to the Green concert, traffic was a dream and B & B were able to drop us within a few blocks of Piedmont Park's front gates. And off we set.

Now The Hubba and I couldn't fathom what a 50,000 people concert would look like. We'd bandied about some ideas, prided ourselves on being UT-football-graduates who could easily maneuver a crowd of 106,000, and held up our thinking-head-blanket (thanks Barbara!) with pride. This concert would be easy-peasey.

The Hubba and I, sometimes, can be a little stupid.

I won't try to describe the chaos of a general admission concert, a pull-up-a-piece-of-grass-watch-that-beer-can concert, an only 150 Porta-Potties for 50,000 people concert. Simply put, it was chaos.

We did find a piece of grass that gave us a good view of the stage (or at least the two jumbo-trons on each side of the stage) and were able to spread out and sit comfortably. Which was fantastic, especially as more people piled in and grass (the green, ground kind at least) quickly disappeared.

Life was pretty tame during the Allman Brothers. People were randomly paying attention, clustered in groups on blankets, drinking, or standing around talking, and drinking, and occasionally shouting song lyrics at the stage, sort of a "how's that job coming- great, great, I'm taking a new yoga- I'VE GOT ONE MORE SILVER DOLLAR- yeah, kids are great.."

The Hubba and I stayed on our blanket- drink free- and watched those around slowly, and sometimes quickly, getting very, very drunk.

Sidenote: I don't know how they did. You remember "only 150 Porta-Potties for 50,000 people"? I got up once, walked past several food and drinks stands that were packed with people and, after much searching (immediate hint bathrooms would be a problem), found two. Approximately 100 people were in line. Turned right around, went back to the blanket (able to locate The Hubba quickly and easily due to his baseball cap- thank God for UT orange!) sat down and told him, "We cannot eat or drink a thing while we are here. Trust me on this one."

Where were we, in this Rambling Man post? Ah. Allman Brothers. They went off and as soon as it was dark, DMB came on. And if you thought a lawn of 50,000 people was interesting in the day, you should have seen it at night. Now there were lots of lights on stage and lights being directed at the stage. But when you're very, very, (and by now) very drunk, bits of colorful light here and there only makes a thing more difficult.

As our neighbors soon discovered. And here's where I thought, instead of going on and on about the music (which can't be interesting unless you're a DMB fan and if you're a DMB fan you, along with us and 49,997 other people were probably there) I'd go on and on about the happenings around us.

So.

As the Allman Brothers play: Everyone around us drinks. Hard. People smoke, some substances legal, some not. A group of six adults to our left, all about my parents' age and looking like nice, well-to-do folks, probably stockbrokers and CEO's in their spare time, are really drinking.

As Dave comes on: some fella behind us curls up on his blanket, and falls asleep. Another way to say this would be "passes out." His party, realizing he's still breathing, put a hat on him, stick a cigarette in his mouth, take pictures, then remove it all and start cheering as the band comes out on stage.

As the band opens up with One Sweet World: The Hubba and I grin foolishly at the (also totally sober) couple next to us, all of us glad to be there.

Two songs in: one of the fellows from the CEO group, two new beers in his hand, wanders straight past his group. I catch his attention and direct him back to his party, who are all dancing, except for one guy sitting on the blanket, who falls over.

Five songs in: "Don't Drink the Water" starts. Next to us, a small, wiry guy in glasses starts doing Tai Chi. Seriously.

Seven songs in: Passed-out-guy-on-blanket wakes up. His friends laugh at him some more. Someone gives him food.

Ten songs in: Greg Allman comes out and plays "Melissa" with the band. It. Is. Awesome. A couple in the CEO crowd start to shag-dance and, being fairly sober now, dance very well.

Eleven songs in: Tai Chi guy, clearly stoned out of his mind, has managed to dance his way into the crowd, comes back and walks straight past his friends. His girlfriend calls him back and he thanks her as though they've just completed a transaction at a bank teller.

Twelve songs in: They play "Dreaming Tree," a real rarity. We sit and listen and notice formerly passed-out-behind-us-guy is now in front of us and has a beer in hand.

Thirteen songs in: Another CEO couple decide they too want to dance. They are easily the most intoxicated of the group. Wild arm flailing and vague jumping around commences. The Hubba and I take to moving, too, to avoid being struck in the face or knocked over from their exuberance.

Last song of the set: Large groups of people start to lurch away, either wanting to be the first to MARTA or else too drunk to realize the encore has yet to happen.

Encore: Awesome ending, including "Watchtower." The drunk dancing around us reaches a new frenzy, where recently-incapacitated guy is now hurling himself around amongst his buddies, Bud sloshing everywhere, while too-drunk-too-coordinate couple are jumping around so enthusiastically he repeatedly sends her spinning off into the crowd, only to dance by himself while she makes her way back.

Concert ends. It was a great one. The thirty-five thousand people still left spill out into the streets of Atlanta. It appears we are marching for something, but what that would be I don't know. More Dave Matthews? Cheaper Miller Lite? Who knows. As long as everyone was having a pleasant evening (and we were) the purpose of the concert was served. We followed the crowd and hoped there were enough remaining brain cells among them to lead us to the subway.

While I'm happy to say, Dave concerts are rarely this wild, it was fun to witness one. Once.

And for anyone wondering, Bill's MARTA instructions were perfect. We took the correct trains and when we arrived at our final station, B & B were waiting to pick us up.

And UT beat Southern Miss.

What a day.

Don't Worry 'Bout a Thing... A Mixed-Up, Jumbled Recollection of Two Great Concerts (Part One)

2007-09-10T22:48:00.000-05:00

A Concert for Virginia Tech, Thursday, 9.06.07
I can think of a few times I've been really wrong in life. Predicting Titanic would be a huge flop springs to mind. On the heels of that would be thinking this concert, planned suddenly, mid-tour, would be less than impressive, disorganized, too crowded, full of college kids who didn't care and adults who didn't know. (I'm not proud of these thoughts, by the way, but they are what they are.)

Not so much. Not even a little. I might say, at this moment, THIS was our best concert of the year.

A few aspects or moments that made up the incredible whole in no particular order?

John Mayer, as the last of the opening acts. (If you're interested in some great white guy blues, play "Gravity" on this page- probably the best thing he's done.) He especially thrilled this DMB's fans heart, when he brought out LeRoi Moore to play with him on said song.

The many, many times throughout the night, when the kids around us started chanting "Let's Go Hokies." Chant isn't the right word. It was a rally cry, one half the crowd calling out "Let's go" and the other half responding "Ho-kies." They would start it, between artists, between songs, leaving the stadium. The word for that spirit, I think, would be "indomitable."

I've only recently grown fond of Mr. Mayer, but, in true Knitter fashion, when I fall, I fall hard and I'm crazy about him these days. So imagine my delight when Dave leaned up to the microphone and rasped, "I'm gonna ask John Mayer to come and join us for a song " and out came out John Mayer, again, to play with the band. And even better when The Hubba, call it intuition, call it second-sight, call it movie-gut, leaned up and said, '"It's #41. He's gonna play on #41." #41 happens to fight for top spot as my favorite DMB song. It's the pinnacle song to hear live (for me) and I've only had it one time this year. Until Thursday. I've now seen it played twice, once featuring John Mayer. And it was awesome, as in "extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear." At the end of the song, John Mayer held up his guitar to Dave, then laid it on the stage in front of him and walked off. My God, I love musicians.

Best of the night came towards the end, in a tune DMB has said was totally impromptu. David Ryan Harris, a friend of Dave's and John Mayer's and an amazing guitarist in his own right, came out and played on "Jimi Thing." Mr. Harris, having been given complete control of the song, led the band into Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds." Dave, looking delighted, started to sing the lyrics. It's such a short, funny little song that packs a punch. It's probably my favorite Bob Marley tune. It's the song I put on when anxiety wants to take over my brain and I can't find a better thought. It's probably one of the most uplifting songs ever written.

As Dave sang, people started to sing the refrain along with him and then, after the band stopped playing, the crowd kept singing. For several minutes, all the voices of the people of Virginia Tech and the few, such as The Hubba and I, who lucked our way in, were raised. Don't worry. 'Bout a thing. 'Cause every little thing. Is gonna be alright.

You know those moments when you think your skin and bones just have to fall off, there's no way a body can possibly contain so much emotion? The feeling that your whole physical presence might disappear in the face of so much joy? I've found those moments all over the place, from the teeny-tiniest seconds of driving a car on a sunny, spring day to the news of a friend's new baby- the scope for such times is incredible.

And the Concert for Virginia Tech was one of those nights. Moment after moment, wave after wave of ineffable joy, culminating in 40,000 people singing: Don't worry. 'Bout a thing. 'Cause every little thing. Is gonna be alright.

Dave turned to the other band members and, on the jumbo-screen television, you could see him say, "this is bad-ass." He might not be eloquent, but he's accurate.

At the end of the night, all seven members of the band came out, put their arms around each others shoulders, and bowed, something I've never seen them do. The crowd, in return, chanted, "Thank you Dave."

Thank you Dave. And thank you Virginia Tech. And, especially, thank you Hubba. It was the ideal birthday gift.

Part Two coming soon... Hotlanta, the Hubba and I, Or, Good News, The Allman Brothers Are Still Alive!

Opening Day

2007-09-03T10:38:00.000-05:00

University of Tennessee's opener: Vols 31, Cal 45.

Not the final score hoped for and instead of giving you a long diatribe on what went wrong or what must be done to improve (ideas gained almost entirely from The Hubba and Pops Knitter), I'll give you our day, in pictures.

Early morning blog predictions.

Boiling bratwurst (beer, water, slices of onions, for about two and a half hours and then about ten minutes on the grill to finish them off).

Barkswurst (one excited dog, with a constantly wagging tail for the whole day).

Go Vols!

Hopefully next week's game against Southern Miss will be one of redemption.

Sugar High

2007-08-31T20:20:00.000-05:00

Talk about birthday festivities. When I think it can't get any better "it just keeps gettin' betta" to quote the man himself.

My birthday kicked off last weekend with the most spectacular birthday cake brought by Mum Knitter. It was such a thing of beauty that, as the digital camera was not on hand, I had to catch a shot of it with my camera phone.

This cake isn't just stunning; it holds a special place in the hearts of the Knitter household. This cake, in fact, is the exact same cake we had at our wedding almost five years ago. Though, of course, considerably smaller. I realize, as far as wedding cake goes, no one gets too jazzed. All that white overly-sugared icing with bland dry white cake. Au contraire, mi amigos, not so with this cake. Remember when Coke wanted to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony and subsequently buy everyone in the world a particular soft drink? Well, if I could send a piece of this cake to every person who reads this blog, I'd think my duty to my fellow man fulfilled. That is how delicious this cake is. It's a strawberry short cake-cake, with chunks of real strawberries and buttercream icing. FAWWWW. The bakery is in Knoxville, Magpies and if you've got a few minutes to look at Cake as Art you should check out their site.

As far as gifts my knitter parents went out of their way. In an attempt to help the dogs "get theirs" so to speak, Pops and Suz Knitter and Mum Knitter all clubbed together with money towards a fence. The dogs, they thank you.

On top of which, Mum Knitter created the most stunning teapot, her first teapot potting attempt ever. I give you two gorgeous tea pots:

But wait! There's'Ginzu Knives.

The Hubba was out of town for my birthday and so insisted on holding off on his gifts until this weekend. Having just opened the cards, I say this now: if he only gave me the cards, it would have been enough.

We have Optimus Prime, wishing me all the best:

Note in the left-hand corner where The Hubba doctored the "ultra-cool 4 year old" to call me "an ultra-cool 27 year old." Thoughtful!

And in this card was a gift certificate for KnitPicks. Ha!

But perhaps the best of the two came from the dogs.

Is there anything better than muppets mixed with tattoos? I think not.

And inside the muppets card came this:

The big finale, the coup d'état, the last "we're definitely coming home with a restraining order against us" hurrah- tickets to see Dave Matthews Band (along with John Mayer and some other folks) do a tribute performance at Virginia Tech this Thursday night. I assure you, we are beyond redemption.

Coincidentally, "Redemption Song" is a Bob Marley tune Dave covered a few times. I'm just sayin'.

Day 3, 4, & 5, With Some Light Espionage

2007-08-18T16:44:00.000-05:00

After our exciting first few days, I expected more adventure. Instead, we had several sunny, easy, lazy days.

I had been dozing, opened my eyes to see this guy and before I could consider the stupidity of my words, I asked The Hubba: "Does he have a vacuum?"

Does Jack Sparrow look worryingly close to those swimmers?

Surly pigeons or seagulls or whatever these seabirds were. They were fearless, with the attitude of a waddling Tony Soprano and they went wherever the hell they wanted. The woman next to us hurling Cheetos at them didn't help.

Some spectacular sand castles and designs.

Two happy, slightly sunburned people who slept in an actual hotel last night. Hooray!

And then- DMB Concert, Part Two.

The most exciting part of Concert Two (besides the amazing concert itself) is that we have pictures of it! Yes we do, though cameras are strictly prohibited at any Dave concert. The fact it says "No Cameras or Videos" smack dab in the middle of the ticket makes it harder to prove ignorance if caught with said contraband.

Not that this stopped us. No siree, I hid the camera in one of the zippered pockets of my bag and on to the show we went.

I'm pathetic when it comes to rule breaking. A Nervous Nelly it might be said, terrified of the long hand of the law and were there anyway to hide the camera on The Hubba, I would have. Sadly, security does a pretty thorough pat down prior to admittance and there was no way, regardless of Hubba's insistence they might think it was "part of my muscular calves" security could mistake the camera in his pockets for something innocent. So into my bag it went.

At the gates of the concert, I noticed this security was not the lax crew of three nights ago. They were patting and they were searching. In the first line I saw, the woman checking bags was up to her elbow's in some girl's purse. My zippered pocket ruse was not clever enough to pass such rigorous inspection.

Into another line I went, this time picking a young man who, when I got up to him, blanched at the idea of patting me down and instead only asked me to open my bag. Which I did, happily opening the unimportant pockets wide and letting him freely root around.

And then I was in. That was it. One second, outside the concert gates, a regular citizen, the next minute, inside the pavilion with the smoky mystique of an undercover agent. Its Bond. Jane Bond.

On the big TVs, left to right, you see: Toots Hibbert, a special guest from the opening act; Dave Matthews; and our good friend, Boyd Tinsley.

Hello LeRoi Moore!

Thank you to the woman who risked life, limb, and, worst of all, being kicked out of the show to take our picture! Much appreciation.

Without the TVs, it's teeny-tiny Dave.

I luff this band.

Hello Virginia! And Our, Er, Quirky Trip Thus Far

2007-08-13T08:41:00.000-05:00

Virigina. Called the Mother of Presidents. Home of Richmond, capital of the Confederacy. During the Civil War, more battles were fought here than other state. Birthplace of Dave Matthews Band. This state is awash in groundbreaking, historical moments.

As my Post-a-Day Idea hasn't worked out (I had this idea, I would post each day we were on vacation- you get the gist) due to circumstances I'm about to explain, so here's a quick Our-First-Two-Days-in-VA synopsis:

Sat, 9am- Deliver the dogs to the kennel. We go in the Civic.

(Do not try this at home.)

Sat 1pm- Leave the house. Whoo-hoo vacation!

Sat 1:08pm- Return to the house for knitting bag.

Sat 1:10pm- Vacation. Whoo.

We take Hwy 29N the whole trip.

Beautiful.

Great seats for DMB's Bristow performance.

Cameras aren't allowed, but a brief description is as follows:

Balmy, breezy weather- a real shift from our onr hundred and three degrees home state. For the first half of the concert our row is fairly empty, allowing The Hubba and I plenty of room to move like the smooth, graceful dancers we are (note: we were stone cold sober; it didn't help the dancing). An hour in, drunken tailgaters outside realize the concert has started. Our row fills up. This does not help during Too Much when we do The Robot, a dance ritual started by our DMB-expert friends.

Sat 11pm- Concert ends. We take our time walking back to the car, as there are now about 28,000 people exiting the pavilion and at least half of them are legally (and some not so legally) under the influence of something.

For the next hour, as we wait in our car, we come up with nicknames for the people around us. We had a Harry Belafonte look-alike, Industrious Girl (who set up a grill and cooked hamburgers for her friends), Brown-Dress Girl (friend of Industrious Girl, who, in the whole hour, got up only to a) get a cigarette from her purse and b) stand up, so her boyfriend could sit and she could then sit in his lap), and Peralta, the Traffic Director (young man in a jersey that said "Peralta" who spent the hour climbing up on top of his truck to check out the miles of stand-still traffic, then got down to inform the neighboring cars of it, and then got back in his car after being screamed at by irrriated drivers who just wanted him to move only to repeat the whole dance moments later). Surprisingly enjoyable hour.

Sun 12:16am- Traffic finally starts moving. We're off!

Sun 1:30am- Brief directions debacle, when crucial interstate sign is not noticed. Back on the right track after 25 miles driven in wrong direction (and, subsequently, 25 miles driven back to starting point). Following conversation calmly ensues:
The Hubba: I am not placing blame here, but I am only one man. I cannot be captain and navigator.
Me: There is a song by Rihanna called 'Shut Up and Drive' and if I knew any of the words, I would sing it to you.

Sun 2:00am- Stop for hotel room. You see, we had this brilliant plan that, instead of staying in Bristow, we would head out after concert, get a little bit down the road to our next destination, Virginia Beach, and then stop for the night.

Sun 2:04am- Days Inn has a room. For $120 a night. We are convinced we can find cheaper.

Sun 2:08am- Hampton Inn is full.

Sun 2:10am- Ditto HoJo.

Sun 2:12am- Back on the interstate. No worries. We're tired, but temperaments still cheerful from concert, even with 50 miles debacle.

Sun 2:40am- Stop again, somewhere around Ashland, VA.

Sun 2:42am- Comfort Inn full.

Sun 2:47am- Super 8 full.

Sun 2:52am- Ditto HoJo. Am told there is "some kind of sporting thing going on. All the hotels are booked."

Sun 3:00am- Back on interstate. We're both getting sleepy. Inexplicably, I decide it's my job to stay awake and keep The Hubba up with my witty chatter.

Sun 3:40am- Nearing Williamsburg, VA. Get off exit, only to read "Lodgings" sign and see the nearest hotel is 2.1 miles away. After earlier problems, realize there is no guarantee of room.

Sun 3:41am- Back on interstate.

Sun 3:50am- Even I'm tired of me saying "You alright?" every five minutes, like dim-witted parrot.

Sun 4:00am- Williamsburg exit. Pull off, read "Lodgings" sign and see nearest hotel is now 2.5 miles away. Brief and energetic discussion about "what is with this *#$*@!& state?" Can't see how to get back on the interstate. Make a left.

Sun 4:02am- End up at military base. Manage to make U-Turn before anyone opens fire.

Sun 4:05am- Back on interstate. The Hubba, by sheer will, decides he can power through the last 40 miles to Virigina Beach, where we will check into the hotel we've already book early.

Sun 4:30am- I offer to drive. Not well received by The Hubba, who I might have asked, only five minutes earlier, if he was also "seeing those funny gold lights?"

Sun 4:46am- Passing through Norfolk, discover a tunnel we'll take that is two miles long and goes under the ocean. The Hubba, and his irrational fear of drowning, is not happy.

Sun 4:58am- Thank God, gods, Vishnu, Buddha, Allah, and anyone in a white robe, we are at our hotel. The Hubba goes to check us in.

Sun 5:01am- They are booked solid. Can't check in until three.

Sun 5:05am- Last ditch effort. Drive across the street to the Days Inn, the only hotel nearby. Night manager says he does have a room, it is a single, smoking room available until noon that day for $139. Problematic only in that: there are two of us, we don't smoke, and that is $139 for less than seven hours.

Sun 5:07am- Nothing left to be done. We drive back to our hotel and park. We're sleeping in the car. Not the Expedition, sadly, but the Civic. After a bit of Girl Scout-esque utility, I dig out our beach towels to use for pillows and blankets. We recline the seats as far back as we can. And finally, finally, almost twenty-two hours from when I last woke up, we sleep...

Day Two

Sun 6:45am- For almost two hours. Problem with being a woman and having no toilet to call your own for 25 hours is having your bladder stuck in the land of convenience and opportunity. Bladder will stand for this no more.

Sun 6:50am- The Hubba wakes up from my staring. I say, in small voice, "I have to pee." He brings his seat back to upright position, starts the car and sees the clock. He drops his forehead to the steering wheel.

Sun 8am- In true Knitter household fashion, we have rallied and spirits, while not what I would descibe as "high" are certainly better. Yes, we are working on only two hours poor sleep after a fairly hectic day. Yes, we are sore. Yes, we are slightly smelly. But we're at the beach. We've been to a DMB concert. We have another concert in three days. We have each other. Unconciously, we both seem to have realized this is a time that will either unite or divide us. We unite. We are alright.

Sun 9am- After a lovely walk on the beach- the temperature is amazing by the way, breezy and not quite eighty- we set up camp. Due to the early hour, we've found a primo parking space. Yes! Yes! It's all on the upswing now. Bring on the surf and sun.

Sun 9:15am- We are both asleep in our beach chairs.

Asleep off and on for the next four hours. Play in the ocean. It's a beautiful day, not really hot, perfect for sitting/sleeping.

Sun 2:45pm- Check into our hotel.

Sun 2:47pm- Brief scuffle for first shower. I win.

Sun 4:00pm- Am bathed, in clean clothes, have brushed teeth twice, The Hubba is same. We are both thrilled with the fancy trappings of our hotel, i.e. pillows, blankets, chairs to sit on, running water. (Sidenote: We would, both of us, have been toast in the days of old.)

Sun 4:50pm- Ask The Hubba what time it is.

Sun 7:30pm- Wake up. Have both fallen into dead sleep. Wake The Hubba.

Sun 8:30pm- Delicious beers and sandwiches at Keagan's, Irish pub-style place.

Sun 10:00pm- Back in hotel. Finding Nemo on TV. Find the whole thing vaguely comforting.

Sun 10:25pm- Nemo ends. We're in a room, with a bed, air conditioning, pillows and a bathroom whenever we like. All is back on track.

And we enter Day Three...

Arrrr...

2007-08-08T12:39:00.000-05:00

The sound made by frustrated pirates and knitters everywhere. I've been feeling uninspired, knitting-wise, between the heat and the move and the heat and my yarn and needles being scattered hither and yon (that might be my first ever use of "yon"- wow) all over the house and the heat. No amount of blaming a ball winder, or lack thereof, can change the fact, I'm knit out.

But the Football-A-Long I joined is doing some charity knitting for Cubs for Kids, and it seemed the right time to do it- a sort of "By God, if I can't knit for myself, I'll knit for someone else" mentality. So I've been whipping out clothes for these bears and I've got a teeny-tiny scarf and a teeny-tiny hat to show for it. Now if I could just find the digital camera wire thingy, somewhere among these boxes, to transfer said pictures to said blog...

And flipping through an old Interweave Knits last night, I came across a pair of cabled socks by Nancy Bush and I've never done cabled socks. That seems a good potential project, something to get the old double-points moving. And just in case I need some mindless knitting, I dug out some bits of yarn to do the Felted Tea Cosy from Knitty. Because there's nothing like boiling wool when it's 103 degrees outside.

Other news, we're leaving for the beach and two Dave Matthews' concerts in three days.

I'm surprised I was able to type that and not fall out of my chair. I'msoexcited...

As I can't bring you any new dog pics (damned digital camera wire thingy) I give you a recycled shot of Howie, who seems to be thinking:

This couch is mine. MINE.

Sunday Night Thought

2007-08-05T19:54:00.000-05:00

If you like The Hulk, yoga, a laugh or any combination of these three, check out this site.

Good Monday morning to you!

Lifting, Unpacking, Wishing

2007-08-01T10:22:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow, in the middle of moving, with a trip just around the corner (Hello Virginia!), trying to find a job (me) and looking for any semblance of life outside the last few things just listed, I have developed a fixation.

Maybe it's come from all the yarn I've discovered in various places- not just in the huge box where I thought it was assembled, but in several cute boxes that I vaguely remember buying for such a purpose, but have no recollection of filling, in hatboxes, in numerous totes- lots and lots of hanks of yarn. Maybe it's due to my brain's inability to focus on the stacks and stacks of boxes around me. Maybe it's due to my fingers feeling more than a little dry from the cotton I've been knitting. I couldn't pinpoint the start of said desire, but it's come on fast and it's come on strong.

People, I want me a ball winder. Not just any ball winder- this ball winder. Nothing fancy, nothing big, I'm not even asking for the swift (yet) to go with it- no big deal. Except throw in lots of guilt over just moved/trip coming/still trying to find a job and the little pointer hovers over KnitPicks "Checkout" button.

And here's why I need it (this always come next, right? the justification for the fixation): I have all these hanks of yarn! Not nice, easy center-pull balls of yarn- hanks of it. Which leads to this feeling of knitting impotence. Drawers, hatboxes, storage boxes of fiber I can't knit because it's all in the wrong form. How, how, how to make those hanks into nice neat center-pulls?

So enters the ball winder. Remember Medusa from The Rescuers? That's me. I. Want. That. Win-der.

Hmph. Well, back to unpacking for now. But don't think this is over.

The Rest of the Story

2007-07-27T10:20:00.000-05:00

I had two questions from commenters regarding this new house scenario (did you see I had five? Five comments! Which thrills my not-blogging-lately-equals-zero-comments soul- thank you Mighty Commenters!) and answering these questions seemed smart if I wanted to maintain anyone out there asking questions.

One from Brooke (who's back! It's so exciting! Check out her blog for all her latest happenings- there's a lot) who wanted to know "did you tell me you were moving?" The answer to that would be No. We didn't tell anyone we were moving at first, because of lots of reasons, the top one being: we weren't exactly sure it was going to happen and didn't want to get everyone worked up until we were sure- I was sure around Morning Two of waking up in said new house. The Hubba and I have had three different homes in less than four years and "You guys sure move a lot" doesn't sound any sweeter the fourth time around. So we agreed to hold our tongues and let things go and see how it went and cross our fingers and blahblahblah and it went great.

Which was the great, weird thing: it was so easy. In previous moves, it's been a bit of a mess, usually with The Hubba getting transferred away within a few weeks (a plane ride away) and me staying behind to move house and dogs (with the help of the packing and moving company his job provides, I must admit). I've had one trip (paid for by said company) to fly to new town, and find a house. And with four dogs, it's always a house- you're not cramming the six of us into an apartment or condo and even if you could, there MUST be a yard. So our typical house-hunting occurs over a three to five day period and in that time we see between thirty to forty-five homes (seriously) and then we pick. Honestly. The Hubba can't stay in a hotel on his own indefinitely and even if he could, our home sells and then the dogs stay in a kennel indefinitely while we house-hunt, and his company puts a time limit on how long they're willing to provide goodies like movers, storage, realtors to sell your home, etc., so finding a home in about weekend is how it worked out. It's a bit like having a Drill Sergeant from an Oliver Stone film standing over your shoulder screaming "Find a home! Find a home! FIND A HOME!" And so we have.

Rumblings of The Hubba's job moving to Greensboro happened in May and by mid-June we were linked up with a realtor and went on our first house-hunting excursion. This time, we had all summer. That was our timeline- we wanted to be settled in Greensboro by September. Differences I noticed immediately: 1) The Hubba and I were already together (he wasn't bundling me into a car after I staggered off a plane, half-asleep, having been up since five that morning in order to get ready, rush dogs to the kennel and then get myself to the airport, and then both of us rushing to meet a realtor so we could use the precious hours between four and eight to see fourteen homes) and 2) we were only seeing five houses. I actually laughed when our realtor only handed us five MLS sheets.

And, as you would expect with all the time in the world and only five houses to see on this, our first house-hunting expedition, we both fell in love with the Second House We Saw. But wouldn't admit it. We had so much time! The second house- that was crazy talk. So we looked at the last three homes and went home and didn't talk about it again until Sunday, when we discovered the Second House We Saw was having an Open House. And so we went. We were coy, mind you. We went to two other Open Houses first. The Second House We Saw, though, this was where we spent from three to four of our Open House window of time. We were both quiet on the drive back to Burlington and ended up stopping at Best Buy on the way home so The Hubba could clear his head.

It took several more days for us to make an offer, and at that point, The Hubba was out of town for the weekend for a bachelor party. Negotiations fell to me entirely. And, shockingly, after a little back and forth, the owners accepted.

And it stayed easy. We even closed on the date that we had initially set to close one. This has NEVER EVER happened for us before.

I think, now we've moved for the third time in four years, we'll be here for a while. The Hubba doesn't plan to change positions with his company again unless a) it's within ten to fifteen miles of the house and worth it or b) they make him President (hint: and this is nothing about The Hubba who is fantastic at his job, it's a huge, international company and this will never happen). Of course there isn't any reason to take my word for it, because, well, We, the People, site Moves 1 and 2 as evidence to the contrary. Except, and hear me out, both those times we had feelings of "this could be temporary," for lots of reasons not worth going into. This house doesn't feel temporary. And I really hope I'm not eating my words on this in eighteen months.

And that's the whole, crazy story on the house move. Far more detail than Brooke could have ever expected, but I think this is to explain the lack of blogging and overall lack of communication on my part for the last month. We were so busy with move stuff, but I wasn't telling anyone about move stuff, but I wasn't doing much else, besides working (not interesting) and so how could I write, without something to talk about, on and on. You see what happens when you don't go ahead and spill it all on your blog. Super long, super wordy, without any knitting or dog pictures, posts, that's what.

Anna- actually let me introduce Anna first. This is my Secret 10 Pal! The pal who I was gifting to, the one I sent these socks to, who was so patient and fun to chat with and is (how cool is this?) Australian! Cool, eh?

Anna asked "What's it like inside?" And this answer is so much simple. At the moment, it's big and pretty much empty and fantastic and the parts that aren't empty look like war-torn Russia, if war-torn Russia had a big-screen TV and lots of dog fur and half-unpacked liquor boxes (actually, I'm betting war-torn Russia did have a lot of half-unpacked liquor boxes, except ours, sadly, don't have liqour) all over the place.

And a parting thought- the last post I labeled under "House" thinking, cool, I already have a House file! This is how long it's been since I've seen Hugh Laurie's scowling face and crusty demeanor. Anyone else ready for the fall line-up? Or, at the very least, Season Six of 24 on DVD? Hmm?

Finally- The Big Reveal

2007-07-24T21:04:00.000-05:00

No, not Deathly Hallows though, may I say, wow- WOW- it took three days to finish the book and I don't think I was a very nice person in the time when I wasn't reading. Which was too bad for The Hubba, as- here's the announcement- we were moving the whole time The Book was in my possession.

Tah-Dah!

Not too far this time, "too far" being between 500 to 800 miles, as in our last two moves. Nope, we are a mere thirty-ish miles away in the lovely land of Greensboro, friendly neighbor to the west of Burlington.

Say hello to our new home!

OK, maybe that's really George Clooney's place at Lake Como (hence him being in the picture- or, he's really good friends with the Knitter family... I can't even try and make that one make sense).

No, here's our real, non-George-Clooney-involved new home

Tah-Dah!

Good news, even as we switch physical locations, Neighbor Knitter stays the same (was that weird? just then? to link my own blog? blatant self-promotion anyone?) and I'll be back to regular blogging any day now (I know, promises, promises). For now, in case you missed it, I'll remind everyone the last Harry Potter book IS available and if you've not already bought it, rush straight to your local bookstore (or supermarket- long story, maybe I'll tell it during one of my regular blogs) and buy it! Immediately! Its AWESOME. And I use that word in its truest sense, as in "inspiring awe". Get it. Read it. Live it.

And stop by, say hello, check out all our empty rooms! We've got boxes for sitting and the finest sweet tea Bojangles has to offer!

Oh!- The Shame

2007-07-18T14:07:00.000-05:00

As told by Georgie Knitter

Locked in a room with nowhere to run... What is this white box of doom?

Over the wall looks too risky... But don't panic! A dog could lose her mind in a place like this...

Time for a little offense- maybe a full-body shake can save me...

What is that? Noooo! Not the Helen of Troy blow-dryer!

Finally- FREEEEEEEDOM!

Chicago, Harry, and Movies- Oh My!

2007-07-17T07:27:00.001-05:00

I have lots of pictures from our trip to Chicago. I have plenty of shots from our midnight trip to see Order of the Phoenix last week. I have all these things to show you- but no way to do it. The Hubba, without realizing it, downloaded all these pictures onto the desktop computer, erasing them forever from the camera's memory. I realize, I could walk upstairs and post from that computer, and, maybe, when the hurt stops, I will. For now, I'll say it was so much fun! The weekend in Chicago was a blast. The Dave concert was great (not one of his all time Best Ever, but that's a good thing- if they were all Best Ever, you'd never actually know a best ever. You see my point here?) and we saw a baseball game (White Sox won!) and we spent time with the Hajeks and their family. It was grand.

The movie went beyond my expectations. I don't know if they could make a Harry Potter film that would really blow my mind, unless they made each film anywhere from four to six hours long, depending on the book length. For what they had to convey in less than two and a half hours, I say "bravo!" to the filmmakers.

That's really it, I guess. That and the small announcement I think I'll make tomorrow. That and the fact Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows COMES OUT IN THREE DAYS. At least it comes out in three days if you plan to be at a bookstore, Friday, at midnight. Which I do.

And I'm knitting! Calorimetry from this Winter's Knitty. I've had to frog and start and over three times now- this is what happens to skill and learning when you go almost a month with no real knitting. Let that be a lesson to you.

BHC-Chicago

2007-07-07T05:15:00.000-05:00

Anyone got any plans this weekend? Anything good going on? Movie maybe? Anything... anything fun?

What about us? You're so nice to ask! Well, you know, it should be a pretty low-key weekend. Just The Hubba and I, the Hajeks, and, oh, I dunno, Dave Matthews Band.

Probably figured that out on your own, didn't you? Who else would I be up for at this unseemly hour on a Saturday (that time is correct, folks)? Not anyone besides the the band.

And we're seeing them again with some of our favorite people, the Hajeks. Taking our (slightly blurry) Las Vegas connection to the Windy City (I will never get tired of those pictures by the way- NEVER).

We'll be seeing a White Sox game and, well, whatever else we get up to.

I think my new knitting project shows the level of my excitement. Did I choose a pair of knit 2-purl 2 socks for this plane project? No, I did not. Knitters, if you will turn to page 101 of your Interweave Knits Winter '04 you will find the Flower Hat and Lace Knee Highs. Yep. Those socks.

I'll report back with pictures. Hardly shocking, right?

I hope, however you're spending this fine July weekend, you have a marvelous time, and please, make the Best of What's Around.

Yes, we are back into Dave songs standing in for any real creative writing of my own.

But at least it's not Rocky Top, right?

I Know this Site...

2007-07-05T12:56:00.000-05:00

I happened to be checking my "Favorites" online and noticed this site... it seemed familiar... and after further investigation I realized- this is my blog! I remember now.

It's been almost a month since I last posted (oops!) so instead of trying to catch up on everything, I thought I'd mention two exciting events in the last week.

One:
My last package from my Secret Pal arrived!

It had such nice treats, like a case for long knitting needles, a photo album, AND a bag of dog treats.

Barkley thanks you.

Best of all, however, was the hank of- wait for it- White Willow sock yarn! It's her Tiffany Blue Box colorway and I cannot describe how GORGEOUS this yarn is.

That picture is a sad testament to this yarn's beauty. I don't know if I'll be able to knit with it. It might be kept strictly for admiring/rubbing against my cheek purposes.

Thank you,Pal! Or, as I now know, thank you, Catherine! You can find her blog here.

She was a lovely, thoughtful secret pal and this has definitely been my best swap experience. Catherine, it was a treat!

I finished the socks for my Pal and her gift is- thankfully- now winging it's way across the ocean to Australia.

I've not been quite so much a lovely, thoughtful pal, but luckily my Giftee is a lovely, understanding person.

Two:
We saw Transformers this week. Twice. The Hubba's life is officially complete.

That's not an exaggeration. I don't think I can capture the amount of build-up around this movie in our household, except to say I've heard about it everyday, several times a day, for about a year now.

Luckily, it lived up to and went beyond all expectation. It actually is a fun film and the Transformers are surprisingly life-like and believable. And funny. Funny robots, who knew?

The only touch-and-go moment happened at the first showing we saw- Monday night, premiere night, of course. There were some rowdy pre-teens in the crowd, who were not enthralled and who chose to chatter through the previews and the first few minutes of the film. No amount of unpleasant looks from those around us or the guy cracking his knuckles a few seats away seemed to help. The Hubba, five minutes in, with his eyes cast straight at the screen, announced in an everyday, conversational tone, "I will kill people." The theater was nicely quiet after that. I started to get the devotion of the crowd when none of them moved seats, but instead gave The Hubba grateful looks and some softly spoken "thanks." I realized, they might not give a damn about Star Wars, but, people, don't mess with their Autobots.

This is not my last post for the year. Honest. This weekend is the kick-off of Dave '07, so I'm thinking I might have a word or two to say about that. Also, we've had some exciting upheaval behind-the-scenes in the Knitter Household that I plan to post about in the next day or two. I'm betting that's almost enough to lure my five readers back...

Lovely Thursday to you all!

Progress

2007-06-13T15:57:00.000-05:00

Remember the M-D dishcloth I stopped blogging to finish?

Well here it is!

Not a whit of progress. I've been busy not knitting, verra, verra busy. I have, you see, gone and gotten myself a job. A busy job, a not-ideal job (re: not in a yarn store) and spending my entire work afternoon knitting is no longer an option. Sad state of affairs, isn't it?

I don't mean this. I'm actually really pleased to be out, amongst the humans, again. After spending all of May with no crucial reason to go out, I've realized some kind of work is necessary. Otherwise, the dogs might start answering.

(Can anyone guess what's behind Door Number One?)

So I'm out in the big, bad world of, er, people, and it's been great. But busy! And not conducive to whenever-I-please-knitting. Which is why I am, again, going to stop blogging, and go knit. And probably try to catch up on my Knitty Gritty. We're in the double digits of unwatched shows. This can't be good.

I promise not to bring myself back until I have an honest-to-goodness knitted item to show. Particularly this fairly quick dishcloth. Or the Really Beautiful thing I'm about two rows and blocking away from finishing. Something. I will not come back to blogging empty-pictured.

Hello Again

2007-06-10T09:12:00.000-05:00

"It's been too long/too long, too long/ hello again." Dave Matthews Band, "Hello Again" Stand Up

I could use Dave throughout this post. Such as I have So Much to Say or Everyday has been wildly busy and The Space Between posts is truly shameful.

There's lots I've got to show and tell (including probably my favorite knit item yet and news about Dave), and I could Stay (Wasting Time), but right now I'd rather be knitting.

So I give you these.

One finished Washcloth from M-D Knitting:

and one in progress.

Also, Lie in Our Graves. If you follow the link you can listen to the entire song off The Hubba's website. You can, in fact, listen to many live DMB songs on The Hubba's site, but if you only listen to ONE Dave song today, make it Lie in Our Graves. It's just about my favorite, it strongly highlights the talents of our buddy Boyd (the most talented violinist ever) and our soon to be buddy Butch (the most talented pianist ever). This song is DMB at their Smuckers jammiest and you will have a better day by listening to it*. So, if you get a moment, do, good friend, do.

Also #41, which is such a close second favorite for me and has some of the loveliest lyrics my ears have ever had the good fortune to hear.

If I don't stop now, I'll keep talking about them and never get to my knitting (The Space Between, Crush, Best of What's Around- my three other favorites that'sallI'mgoingtosay).

*This statement is not fact, and has not been blahblah cannot be guaranteed yaddayaddayadda not the views held by etcetcetc except that I'm 100% sure you will have a better day if you do listen to it.

Technical Difficulties

2007-05-30T09:44:00.000-05:00

Well, I've had a wee bit of an unexpected surprise this week regarding my lovely Apple laptop. Have I ever mentioned, I lurv my laptop? I LURV it. It is one of my top three possessions (ranked in with my I-Pod and my Dyson vacuum). It is small and lightweight, low-maintenance, it never gets sick, it is incredibly hardy- it is the perfect machine.

And then it stopped working. After performing what seemed to be a routine update, it stopped. It just stopped. It pretended to work when it turned on, making the little opening note sound (which, I swear on all things holy, is the first few chords of "Live and Let Die"), it appeared to power up and then... nothing. A blank screen.

Apple is a little weird, in that when you buy the computer, if you want customer service, you have to pay for it. You buy a warranty and the customer service is included in that. It sounds dodgy, but here's why it's great: you never wait more than a couple of minutes to get a technician, they are easy to understand, and they do not let you off the phone until the problem is solved. I LURV my Apple. (Also, it forces fools like me, though they've experienced valuable items breaking in a far too short period of time, who say "who needs a warranty?" to get one. It is, The Hubba assured me, and damn if he's not right, a small price for a great thing.)

So I whipped out my handy-dandy Apple Care Protection Plan and gave them a ring. Possibly the most mellow technician EVER took my call and after a while of fiddle-faddling around, we discovered a clue. Under "Disk Utilities" it said System Failing.

I pointed out to my cool dude technician, this did not sound promising. About ten agonizing seconds later, he agreed, no, no, it did not. Another fifteen to twenty seconds later, he said, no, it was, in fact, very, very bad.

However- I have Apple Care Protection- which is very cool, he added (I kid you not)- and so am entitled to take that laptop to the nearest Apple store and have them send it back to the mothership, where they will replace my hard drive and (!) any other parts that might need it. Was there, he paused to ask, anything on the hard drive I would want to save?

Once my heart started back up, I assured him, as calmly as I could, yes there was a lot I wanted to get off the hard drive. No problem, no problem, at the store let them know and they'll back it up for me and send me home with a handy-dandy CD of all my work.

I summoned the courage to ask, how long until I get my computer back? Somewhere in the world, a woman was able to give birth in the time it took my cool dude to say "Five... to... ten..." Please don't say weeks, please don't say weeks, I mentally chanted. "... days."

So there's the story told, in about a tenth of the time it took to act it out. I have an appointment to take my laptop in tomorrow, have everything pulled off (we hope, we hope, dear God we hope) and then leave my little darling in the hands of some very laid back fellows, to be returned, like new, to me in... five... to... ten... days.

I expect to post between now and then, but I warn you: The desktop? Where I'm writing now? It's all the way upstairs.

And it's a Dell.

So I'm not making any promises.

I'm a Woman of the Cloth

2007-05-24T08:30:00.000-05:00

Back in the habit, y'all, that's what I am.

Erin, who's recently been discovered in Burlington knitting cycles, and, sadly, is blogless (write your congressman!), has inspired several of us. She and her Ballband Dishcloth have got the masses (Miz Knotty and me) flocking to our local Michael's and even Wal-Mart for our Sugar n'Cream and Peaches n'Cream dishcloth cotton.

And turning out beauties such as this:

Might I point out, this dishcloth, which calls for size 7 needles and which I decided to knit on size 7 needles, will clearly, with my loosey-goosey ways, be bigger than all belief? But that is alright, because my dishcloth is always just the right size.

Again, I cannot emphasize it enough, I LOVE MY DISHCLOTHS. I just do, it is a love that dares speak its name and it makes me so happy. There is no explaining it.

So I'm already plotting out my next one of these. And- AND!- how did I miss this? am I really paying this little attention in day-to-day life? (chances are good)- I've *discovered* Knitting Pattern Central (or KPC, keep it on the DL, y'all) has an entire page of free dishcloth patterns. Dozens and dozens and dozens of patterns. I was almost a little light-headed looking over them.

So even though I'm still working on finishing this lovely mess o' lace

and even though I've cast-on yet another pair of socks, I am back in the land of cotton. Where I belong.

Off subject completely, but in these last few weeks of American Idol mania (I don't even link it because, who hasn't heard of AI?), The Hubba came up with a GENIUS plan. It was shortly after we heard (not being people who actually watch AI but who live in, you know, the world and so can't help but hear about it) Bon Jovi had appeared on the show (they are not, as it last seemed, dead) and not only performed but had a 333% (honest to goodness) boost in sales due to said performance. Seriously. Their last album, from 1936, shot back onto the charts due to this one five minute appearance. And so The Hubba, with that Grinch-like glint in his eye, looked at me and said "I know what we need to do."

"We need," he said, while strolling around the living room, hands clasped behind his back, "to get a few chapters of your book into the hands of someone, anyone on American Idol and have them read it on stage. It would be an instant success."

I looked at him. I laughed. I laughed hard. I told him how funny AND clever he is. He did not laugh, but he stopped pacing. He shrugged, looking a little sheepish, and said "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea. But... it's crazy, right? Nuts?"

And we both laughed.

Except... I mean... if anyone out there IS going to be on American Idol, well, maybe-

Look just email me if you decide to audition.

neighborknitter@we'lldoanythingforacrackatStephenKing'smillions.com

Hagrid's Emergency, Back-Up Dog

2007-05-21T21:19:00.000-05:00

Miz Knotty once mentioned, she thought our Barkely looked exactly like the type of magical beastie you might find living with Hagrid of my beloved series. Once I got over my delight ("my dog! A Harry Potter dog! Where to start? I'd like to thank the Humane Society of the Tennessee Valley, Dr. Brott who told us Barkley's glaring overbite did not require him 'breaking Barkley's jaw and re-setting it, where we'd have to blend up his doggy food and feed him through a straw' as The Hubba first suggested, Barkley's biological parents wherever they may be, the Academy, of course..."), I thought "hmm, there's a double meaning in that." (I also blatantly plagiarized Shakespeare- sorry about that). Still, I knew there would come a time, Barkley and his mystical Harry-ness would be important.

That time. Is now. I present you, Barkley Potter!

I'm overly delighted, to the point of subjecting our dog to photo shoots, to have finished this scarf, for several reasons: 1) It's been number one on my UFO list for, oh, about ten months now, since I started it last July (and reminding myself I was knitting it slowly on purpose did little to assuage my Virgo self- "unfinished project, must finish, Type A brain about... to... explode) and so crossing it off (metaphorically) is great; 2) I knew, eventually, I would get to the bit where I had to fringe it and I really didn't want to do it, which only dragged out the last few rectangles; and 3) now that it's fringed, I will never have to fringe it again.

Not that this wasn't a fun project. It was and I really enjoyed it, and as I pointed out to Knitty Yoda it is a scarf to last you a lifetime. I could get stuck in Alaska, during the coldest point in the year, in a bathing suit, flip-flops, and this scarf and be warm. It's that kind of a scarf. In fact, not to brag or anything, it's nearly, fringe and all, nine feet long. 8.8333 feet to be exact. Ahem.

My scarf, my scarf, my Harry Potter scarf. I really might compose a song in this scarf's honor. It is a glorious day in this week (and a half) of finishing, to have a completed Harry Potter scarf. And a dog who was docile enough to let me wrap it around him and take pictures. Though, I would be lying if I said meaty biscuits weren't involved.

Happiness Is a Cold Floor

2007-05-19T09:01:00.000-05:00

While I'm hustling around, trying to finish my unfinished projects, the dogs did this, pretty much all day yesterday:

Inspiring, huh? Probably what we all should have been doing yesterday afternoon. Maybe not on the floor, but the basic restive pose doesn't look too bad.

But I wasn't. I was finishing a teeny-tiny baby hat.

Really teeny tiny. Made for a baby who should be born sometime late October. I didn't want to make this Umbilical Cord hat as big as the last one, because this baby will need the hat sooner and the last hat was already a pretty decent size. However. I may have gone to the other extreme.

First big hat, that fit a four-month-old baby with room to spare, compared to new teeny-tiny hat.

Either this hat will be taking a trip to the frog pond, or else I'll find a teeny-tiny baby to fit it.

Project One- Finished!

2007-05-17T17:31:00.000-05:00

Haha. My scarf for my grandmother is done. Lalala.

When I finished last night, I questioned to fringe or not to fringe. The yarn is Lion Brand Homespun and while a) beautiful colors and b) surprisingly soft, it did not recommend itself to fringing. The ends-to-be-sewn-in had that raggedy fraying look. Fringing would be a bad decision, I insisted. There was no way to do it. Even when Miz Knotty suggested adding knots at the end of each fringe to keep it from fraying. But... I hate fringing. So I did not fringe. It looks nice anyway, yes?

Part of my no-love-lost-for-fringe leads me to finish the baby hat (to go with the gawjus baby blanket, if I do say so myself and I do, 'cause I just did) tonight, instead of leaping into the still-to-be-seamed-and-fringed Harry Potter scarf. Tho' I know it must be done. Really. It must be. By my hands. Unless there is some lovely knitter out there with a hankerin' to fringe... yes? No. Huh.

I realize I am technically a day behind as I didn't finish my first project until last night. Still, I am no longer taking pictures of toilet paper rolls, so I regard that as improvement.

Finishing School

2007-05-15T09:30:00.000-05:00

I've decided to call this my Week of Finishing. Yes, it's starting on a Tuesday but it has to start somewhere, right? In honor of last week, when I finished my book-cue wild, slightly hysterical laughter- I thought it would be the perfect time to apply the same idea to my knitting. Not quite as extreme though. Last week, I barricaded myself in our house and did not: chat on the phone, email, blog (you might have noticed), grocery shop, or clean. It was, as I was telling Knitty Yoda and Miz Knotty, a bit desperate towards the end of the week (think Ramen noodles lunches and a single roll of toilet paper split between three bathrooms). But it worked and I finished. We went home to Knoxville for Mother's Day, which was great, exhausting, and a good time for all involved. So today is my first opportunity to right the severe imbalance set in our lives last week- more toilet paper being a good start, I think.
Taking stock of my UFOs, I've come up with:

1) my Harry Potter scarf (seven and a half feet long sans fringe- it's alright if you've got scarf-envy) that needs to be seamed together and have fringe added,

2) a baby hat from the leftover baby blanket (did I show you the baby blanket?)

3) a lace stole which really ends when I decide or I run out of yarn

4) a sweater for The Hubba, with its rather shapeless, "feed me, Seymour" quality, which I will either a) make great inroads into or b) frog entirely and find a new, simple sweater pattern that requires less of my personal "adjustments" and uses a worsted weight yarn

5) a garter-stitch scarf I started this weekend for my grandmother (who turns 87 on May 20th).

The plan? I will finish one item each day and, in the case of the pile of sweater, make a decision one way or the other. And it turns out, starting Tuesday, with five days left in the week (I rest on Sundays), is perfect timing as I have five projects. Perfectly planned, eh? Much like the Charmin. We never ran out.

Perhaps posting that last picture is a sign I've been out of society a little too long, huh?

Something Happened!

2007-05-03T15:46:00.000-05:00

We had dog action today. After a mysterious visit, when the dogs were banished to the bedroom, this was their response:

Something happened! Someone's been here.

The culprit started here...

moved over here...

and then, oddly, returned to the starting point.

Dumdumduuuuummm.

But who was it? Who was this mysterious creature sending the whole house into an uproar?

I give you, the culprit:

That's right, Baby Yoda (modeling the adorable Umbilical Cord hat from Stitch n' Bitch that I had recently finished for The Hubba's secretary- the baby-to-be is a boy, but isn't that color charming on her too?). Baby Yoda had our dogs in an UPROAR. Sherlock Holmes had never been more on the case. They also picked up distinct traces of Son Yoda and Knitty Yoda, but I'm betting all those baby smells had to be the strongest, as the ottoman, where Baby Yoda started, in her car seat, and then left from, having been returned to said car seat, was the main point of focus.

Smells! Ahhhh! Unknown smells! It was an exciting afternoon for everyone.

Pal O'Mine

2007-05-01T12:27:00.000-05:00

Once again, my compulsive drive to join secret swaps has paid off. Check out what my Secret Pal 10 pal sent me:

The first peek in the box- always exciting.

Handmade goodies- crochet scarf and matching bag. How cute are they?

The BEST book and a gorgeous hank of yarn to go with it from Lamzie Divy Woolens. The color is "Jeans" and I luff it.

All the non-knitting goodies, including candles, chocolate, lotion, and personalized notecards- could it get any better?

What a haul! And what lovely, lovely presents. If I had to pick my two favorites (which I don't have to because they're all mine- hahahaha) I would say the bag and the book are just the best. Thank you so much!

There has been a demand (or at least one politely phrased request- here's for you Knitty Yoda and Son Yoda!) for more pet shots and I tried to get a few new ones. However they all came out looking like this:

If I didn't know Barkley to be such a polite dog, I might think he was telling the photographer to "eff off".

I'll have to try again later; stealth tactics might be required.

Needles for Nothin' and Your Yarn for Free

2007-04-27T09:30:00.000-05:00

The next line to this ditty would be: "I want my LYS."

The yarn store, where I've worked for nearly nine months now, is closing. Have I mentioned this? Today is our last day open.

It is, in the long run, as they say, a good thing.

Really.

It is.

I know most of you (those who haven't already, with your super-intense Jack Bauer-like abilities, sensed that there's been a sale going for three weeks now) are probably thinking, "A yarn store closing? How could a yarn store be closing?" You are probably saying to yourself, "How is that possible, a yarn store, the most sacred of places, would be going out of business?"

It's money, y'all. Not enough money in the town to keep our little shop afloat.

You gasp, I know. You say to yourself, "No! That can't be true! Anyone with a yarn store would have to be a millionaire, how could they not? I know what I spend on a monthly/weekly/daily basis in my LYS. I know what my friends spend in our LYS. I know there's got to be a reason my VISA weeps softly every time I pull it out of my purse. I know I must be bringing something home, there's a mountain of yarn in my house right now, in fact, I've not seen Fuffly since that last trip to my LYS when all the wool was marked down 20%, but even if she is stuck behind that wall of gorgeous fiber, she's got to be happy, for goodness's sake there's Cascade, Brown Sheep, and some really nice hand-dyed in there!"

You take a deep breath. You calm down. You remember your own fabulous stash. That feeling of dreamy contentment sets in. And then you continue musing. "So how could a store go out of business? I'd be a millionaire! There'd be so much business I'd be beating the customers away with a stick. Cash money, baby!

"Well maybe not a millionaire, I mean I'd have to buy some yarn for myself and that would eat a little into my profit, but mainly, except for that yarn- and that yarn- and that- and that- I'd make a prof- no, that one too- and- HEY, YOU, GET AWAY FROM MY YARN!!!"

More deep breathing. Maybe some thoughts on those slick new Addi Turbos you bought last week, and you'd realize, yarn store owning is a slippery slope. One minute you're pushing free point protectors on a friend you've know since grade school, the next you've barricaded yourself into your downtown shop, patterns books strapped to your body, Lantern Moons in each hand, acid-free yarn dye swabbed across your face, yelling, "FREEEEEEEEDDDOM" at anyone who happens to be crossing the street.

Not that that is what happened in this case.

Here's what I think is the truth: there aren't that many people crafting these days.

You gasp. You're bewildered. Harriet knits. Donna knits. Polly crochets, your mother turns out afghans like it's the eighties and she's a top-selling cocaine producer, Jane, Hillary, Lisa- all knitters!

I think, as knitters, we're a little deluded- No, not deluded, sorry, wrong word. I would never call a knitter deluded. I know you're going to make all eighteen sweaters you've bought yarn for, neatly bagged and organized in your craft/guest bedroom (hey Miz Knotty!) and I know those eight- oh, ten, now? that's right you're doing Clapotis. Oh, and you cast-on another pair of socks? which ones? oo, Baudelaire, I LOVE those- what kind of yarn are you- hold on- what we were talking about? Oh, OK, unfinished projects. Sorry. I know those ten U.F.O.s you're going to finish any day now. Really! We knitters are a sensible, rational group who only make thoughtful, reasonable decisions, always factoring money, time, and the possession of only two hands into the equation.

So it's not deluded exactly. I think we're choosy, that's the word. We tend to surround ourselves with others who share our passion. I mean, it makes sense right? If you're an alcoholic, where do you go, the local hardware store? No! You go to a bar! Knitters are the same way. When we could be shopping for groceries, working on our gardens, cleaning our homes, feeding our families, are we? No! We're at the local yarn store, right where we belong. Because that's sensible.

Whether you're a person who loves miles and miles of garter stitch scarves, living a "when I run out of yarn, I'm done" rules-to-the wind type life (hey Mum Knitter!) or you're not satisfied unless you're working a pair of Magic Loop, two-at-once, toe-up, Fair Isle, with a few pattern variations because you felt the short-row heel worked much better than the heel flap called for by the pattern author, socks (hey Knitty Yoda!) you gravitate towards others who share similar characteristics, namely a pair of needles or a hook in hand.

My point? We spend so much time with the three or five or fifty others who share our love of fiber, we forget that three or five or fifty does not an entire world make. And until we can bring more people over to the fold (or the path or the dark side- whatever you like to call it), we're still vastly outnumbered.

And this, as we wind out way back to the point, makes it difficult for a little store such as my LYS to stay in business. And while we have a base of hearty, never-fear-there's-always-more-yarn-to-buy knitters (some are reading this very blog- hey y'all!), they can't, though they try, keep us in business.

So our store closes, the store owner takes a deep breath of relief and sadness and our local knitters lose their temple.

I beseech you, wherever you may be, stop by your yarn store and let them know you care. Pick out that pattern book you've wanted forever, grab a box of stitch markers, maybe that flash pair of rosewood needles you've wanted, a bit of yarn and start something new. Do it for The Needle Works. Do it for your LYS. Do it for- Hang on, am I trying to give knitters a reason to go buy yarn? Oh for God's sake. You stopped reading hours ago, didn't you? I mentioned a sale, and you grabbed your bag and headed out the door. HANG ON! There's more!

When you've put together those items, I ask you, I beseech you, I implore you- find a good friend, an aunt, a neighbor, that woman there on the street- and teach her to knit. Or crochet. Or quilt. Or sew. And, hey, it doesn't have to be a woman. It's time the men start pulling their weight in this game we call crafting. Catch a group (a sporting event is the best place to find them) and assure them, all men are knitting, those football players, oh, sure, OF COURSE, they knit, just not on the field, it might be dangerous, and the yarn would get muddy. Now, here's a beer. And your remote. Let me show you a long-tail cast-on. See? You'd have those needles flying. I think you see my point. It's time we take action, beyond trying to single-handedly keep our local stores in business. We've got to get others involved, get moving, make fliers, start groups-

You're already knitting aren't you? You've stopped reading, you're knitting, you've got Knitty Gritty going in the background.

Well. I tried.

Who Knew?

2007-04-25T15:56:00.000-05:00

I am sailing through the baby blanket, even with a disturbing number of projects-at-once-itis. All the components of what I love are here. This blanket is: a) square, b) made from cotton with just a hint of wool, and c) all knits and purls to create the interesting design. Which is exactly like...

Got it?

Any ideas?

That's riiiiight- a dishcloth!

I'm making an enormous dishcloth and I couldn't be happier.

Though, perhaps, I shouldn't mention that to the expecting mama.

Who Ordered the Restraining Order?

2007-04-23T17:07:00.000-05:00

I've not wanted to say anything, for fear of jinxing it, but there is a a tour. A Summer 2007 Tour.

And we're going.

When?

Well.

Here.

Here.

Here too.

This one and this one.

And this one.

Oh. And this one.

I'm sorry, one hundred feet of what? Must stay back who?

Some people like to spend their money on things like homes, cars, college funds, kidney transplants... The Hubba and I feel the wise investments are DMB tee shirts and Live Trax albums. (Funny story: The Hubba insisted the next DMB concert released to CD would be the Las Vegas shows and he's been right. So when Dave sings Sweet Caroline that'll be us you hear shouting "Bumbumbum!" and "So good! So good!" Us and 11,996 others. Just for you, Knitty Yoda. Bumbumbum!)

The first concert is in Chicago and we'll be going with the Hajeks. Much in the way CSI was so popular a show it couldn't be kept only in Las Vegas, so goes the way of the Bryant to Hajek Connection. BHC: Chicago.

The rest of the tour we'll be doing on our own (this might not be entirely true: The Hajek bought tickets for Renee and he to join us for the Raleigh and Charlotte concerts in September. There are a few small hiccups to this plan, only that they live in Charleston, she will be almost eight months pregnant at this point and he hasn't told her. I think this is the place where The Hajek would say *cough*). I've got a few nerves about the Hollywood Bowl, but, as long as Jack Bauer is on the scene, we'll be fine. We're going to have to trust him.

Some (a little over a billion people, in fact) call this year of 2007 the Year of the Pig. The Hubba and I are calling it The Year of the DMB. Who have a song called "Pig." If ever there was a path ordained by God...

Pass Me the Ritalin

2007-04-20T09:15:00.000-05:00

In a bizarre moment of knitter ADD (bizarre for me at least) I've started a fourth project.

We know I'm working on this:

and I think I've mentioned frogging this and starting over a sweater for The Hubba:

and, of course, the mystery gift, behind door number two, that you cannot see.

I'm pretty well stocked with knitting right now and it's a great variety of projects. I work on the stole when I only need to pay some attention, the sweater, with it's rows and rows of stockinette stitch, when I'm paying no attention (particularly beneficial during exciting television shows) and the double-secret probation project when I want to concentrate.

There is absolutely no explanation for the sudden and strong impulse that seized me yesterday to make this baby blanket for our friends, the Hajeks:

They don't know the baby's gender so I picked this Cascade Sierra (in an eighty-twenty cotton-wool blend) in a honey-gold color:

This comes on the heels of a month that I've not felt knitting inspired. The desire, it appears, for yarn and needles, is coming in feast or famine mode (good to note, I also have this feeling towards chocolate though I tend to feast far more than I famine) and at the moment we're feasting.

So far I'm not feeling any "too many projects'' nerves. I have high hopes for finishing everything I've started. I won't be starting anything new until I've finished one or two of these. I'm sure this isn't the start of a new (bad) habit. Everything is fine. And I'll be knitting again momentarily. As soon as my eye stops twitching.

Gettin' Lacy With It

2007-04-19T08:12:00.000-05:00

What I first feared would be a real trial I'm now absolutely crazy about.

Turns out that which does not kill me makes me crave more lace patterns and JaggerSpun wool-silk blend yarn.

I don't have much else to show knitting wise. There are other items on the needles, but they might be what you call *gifts* and therefore not blog-appropriate ;-). Instead, much in the way professional poker players "feel the felt", love the lace.

Killer Instinct (or lack thereof)

2007-04-13T09:11:00.000-05:00

The Harry Potter KAL is coming along swimmingly, but, unfortunately, we recently had to pick a winner for the first contest. I'm not a person for picking one from many. It had to be done and it's exciting to think about the person who thinks "me, they chose me!" but there's also the part of all the people who didn't win that bothers me. Do you think that's how Communism started? Maybe no one was really thinking about right to land, and dead peasants and starving children. Maybe there was a contest for some land and Marx (Karl, not Groucho) couldn't decide.

Marx: Oy Vey! [he seemed like an "oy vey" kind of guy, don't you think?) I don't know!
Second in Command: We've got to pick one.
Marx: Just one?
Second in Command: Just one.
Pause.
Marx: Maybe we pick one out of the hat, yes?
(Lots of eye rolling, foot shuffling and exaggerated throat clearing from his followers.)
Second in Command: No, Karl. We've got to choose.
Muttered, under someones breath: Could we get Groucho to run this mess?
Marx: What? What was that? Oooh... I don't know... maybe... maybe they all win, yeah? Maybe EVERYBODY wins. That's it. Everybody gets the same amount of land. And then I don't have to pick, no one feels bad, and I can get a nap.

Maybe?

Annnyway, we did pick a winner- actually, maybe we picked two winners. *Cough*

I would make a lousy shark.

Good news is, it's the weekend! Whoo-hoo, it's the weekeeennd!- sung to the tune of "Hey, hey it's the Monkees!"

You've got that song in your head now, don't you?

"And people think we monkey around."

You'll be singing it all day, huh?

"But we're too busy singing, to put anybody down!"

My gift. To you.

Someone Stop Me Before I Start Channeling Maria

2007-04-11T20:35:00.000-05:00

On this rainy day in Burlington, when I've no work to go to, groceries to buy, dry cleaning to get or library books to return, hoping they won't notice it's two weeks late, here are a few of my fav-o-rite things:

Spend the whole day in pajamas. That's right. The whole day. Mind you, I showered, so the pajamas are different now from when I woke up this morning. Still.

Watch themed movies. First, I saw the third episode of Showtime's The Tudors and marveled over the fact that cable TV can take a subject like fifteenth century British royalty and turn it into The Sopranos. Next came both parts of the Elizabeth I with Helen Mirren, slightly classier than The Tudors but still a lot of cleavage on display and loss of body parts.

Knit on this:

and loved it. In theory that mess o' green lace will one day be the Arrowhead Stole from Interweave Knits.

Drink lots of hot tea with real sugar. Maybe ate a few Keebler Elf Fudge Grams too. Just a couple. Sometimes they stick together when you only planned on one. What are you gonna do?

On a day like today, you're going to eat them, that's what.

Happy Windsday!

Inspiration!

2007-04-05T17:29:00.000-05:00

First, a totally delicious and unsuspected gift from my first Sockret Pal.

Six balls of sock yarn (three total sets), two pairs of DPNs (size 1 and size 0- perfect!) and a box of green tea! WHOO-HOO! But not just that. One of the most gorgeous pairs of socks I've ever laid eyes on.

These socks thrill me. Not only do they fit perfectly, not only do they have a lovely design, but there's a little something else. I can't explain why, but something about the colors of the yarn tickles a nice, but vague memory- something from when I was five or so, maybe even younger. Isn't that weird? Almost like having a dream, in that you can't place it, but you can sort out what the feeling of it is. These socks give me that feeling and it is lovely. Thank you so much Sockret Pal One! You are too, too kind.

Speaking of dreams, we finally finished season five of 24 last night and I say, Thank God. Last night I had 24 filled dreams. Most conversations on the show are something like:
Jack (talking into the little earset thing he wears): I'm going to have to diffuse this nuclear bomb right here.
Chloe (making her little twisty face): You only have three minutes before it goes off.
The rest of CTU (Counter Terrorist Unit): Jack, you have to get out of there!
Jack: Millions of people will die if I don't stop this.
For some reason, he always gets really growly on the word "die".

My dream was more like:
Jack: We've got to get this shawl started.
Chloe: Jack, you've only got three minutes to cast-on 140 stitches.
The rest of CTU: Jack, you've got to put the knitting down!
Jack: Millions of people will die if I don't stop this.
I can't explain why the knitting and the nuclear bomb threatened the same outcome.

Still, I'm glad to be shut of Jack and crew for a little while, at least until season six comes out on DVD and the whole sick dance begins again.

Finally- Inspiration! In my continual angst of "I've Never Met a Sweater Pattern That Didn't Intimidate Me" I found The One. Interweave Fall 2006- Glasgow Lace.

I LOVE this sweater. I've bought the yarn and everything. I'm actually looking forward to casting-on. It's a whole new day.

Somewhere, Beyond the Sea

2007-04-02T20:30:00.000-05:00

I've been brought up short in my knitter world this weekend. In recent posts, there has been a lack of knitterly information. Today we're going to change that.

I could give you two reasons for the lack of yarn content: one, I've been on a collision course with time to finish a pair of socks for my Sockret Pal and two, I've just not felt knitting inspired. My concentration has been locked up entirely in these socks which I've not felt motivated to finish, probably because I thought when they were finished, now what? (Sorry for that Pal, you get to be part of my craft-angst issues- how lucky!).

I finished the socks Friday morning, at the yarn store, and said, the inevitable, "Now what?" At first I cast on for a lace stole I've been planning, but ten or eleven rows in I noticed a flaw and ripped the whole thing out. Then... what? Wondering around the store, at a loss for my next project, not one thing in my knitting bag to work on- and then I saw it.

In a black wire basket.

Lily's Sugar n'Cream cotton.

The memories rushed back. In minutes I had seized a gorgeous ball of periwinkle blue, hopped on the internet, and printed off exactly the right pattern. I cast on around four Friday afternoon and Friday evening, after several episodes of Season Five from 24, I was back, baby!

Some size 6 Addis, a ball of cotton, a pattern and I had:

Betsy the Bass brought me back to my knitter roots.

I realized, in that moment, how easy it is to loose your beginnings. I couldn't pinpoint where it started. I can still remember walking into my local LYS, an eager knitter, with no clue as to what she was doing and two hands that would prove ham-like in their initial maneuvering of a pair of needles and yarn. I can still feel the aluminum size 7 Susan Bates in my hand, learning the long-tail cast-on and the basic knit stitch. After several attempts I had this

a plain garter-stitch dishcloth, in hideous neon colors, to show for my very first ever knitting project. I was so proud! Within a few weeks, I whipped out several more, including a pair of matched (!) dishcloths for my stepmom and a scarf for my mom for Mother's Day. What achievement! What success!

Again, I'm not sure when it happened. One minute I'm working along in squares with simple knit-purls for contrast, the next I'm hanging out with sock knitters, discussing the merits of heel flaps to short rows and contemplating my first lace project, dishcloths forgotten.

It's a good thing I've progressed. I'm betting doughnuts to dollars I'd be the dullest knitter in America to talk to if, nearly a year later, I hadn't moved past my dishcloth roots. I love hats, and socks, and bags. I can already tell I'm going to enjoy lace knitting and I can't wait to get serious about a sweater. Still. Sometimes you've got to remember where you came from, to reflect back on what got you started, maybe pour one out for your homies.

Betsy the Bass did that for me.

Good Times in Vegas- Step Three

2007-03-28T15:19:00.000-05:00

The third and final step to a Fantastical Time in Vegas?

Get married where the celebrities do.

The final surprise by The Mighty, Mighty Husbands was a wedding. Each of us will be celebrating five years of wedded bliss this year (to our spouses mind you, not to each other, that would be weird and probably illegal). In honor of that fact, The Hubba and The Hajek, in complete secrecy, planned a surprise ceremony to renew our vows. In Vegas. At Chapel of the Bells. Where Kelly Ripa got married.

For once, I'm left without words.

So, on the last part of our Vegas Wild Ride

say "hello!" to the best man in the world,

(The Hubba and I at Chapel of the Bells)

enjoy a little limo time with the adorable couple,

(The Hajeks after their *second* wedding).

and finish with a grand dinner in Paris.

Thanks for coming along on the blog-by-blog Bryant to Hajek Connection!

Good Times in Vegas- Step Two

2007-03-27T19:54:00.000-05:00

Step Two to a Fantastical Time in Vegas?

Live like a celebrity (even if you can't behave like one).

For instance, have a limo, secretly arranged by two fabulous, extra-sneaky husbands, pick you up from the hotel.

Perhaps, though, it is best to travel with someone other than myself, who might have a tendency to say things like "I've never been in a limo before!" and "what do all these buttons do?" (as spiritual rock blares into the car) and "I bet everyone thinks we're famous-hahahaha-snort" (cue hand clapped to mouth moment).

At said hotel,

don't be shy. The Hajeks walk straight up to the hotel clerk, tell him their names and ask, cheerfully, "So what kind of upgrades can we get?" Seriously. I could never do this. Ever. I'm nearly in floods over just asking for a room. "A room? Well, I mean, yes I booked one, but, you know, I'm not stuck on it or anything. Just any old room will do. Broom closet? Why not?! I don't have enough chances to sleep standing up!" Not Dave and Renee. After only a few minutes we had all been bumped up (for a nominal fee) to a suite. They are the adults I want to be when I grow up.

It was shocking. Sure the decor was total Vegas, but the size of the place! The fact we weren't tripping over suitcases in an attempt to walk from the bed to the bathroom was shocking. I left without a single toe-rammed-into-bedframe induced injury.

Speaking of bathrooms

Ours had light sensors. Again, I say, seriously. The "why" I cannot explain, but when you walked within about two feet of the open-floor bathroom lights came on! Which was cool at first. And a bit tricky when those of us with small bladders had to pee at three in the morning and those of us with hibernating bear like tendencies jerked awake, growling, "What? WHAT?"

Not to mention

the bidet.

The Hubba was unconvinced.

Yet even while surrounded by these nifty treats and amenities, I'll show you the reason The Hubba and I are not, now or ever, surrounded by paparrazi.

The extended-arm camera shot. Can you say CHEESE?

Stay tuned for the final Step to Vegas- The Bryant to Hajek Connection! Livin' like Paris, Britney, and Lindsay, but with underwear!

Good Times in Vegas- Step One

2007-03-26T18:05:00.000-05:00

Step One to A Fantastical Trip to Vegas?

Hang with celebrities.

I'll start by saying I've never met anyone mega famous. Really. Especially not of movie or rock star caliber. And I've always asked myself the question "Will I be cool when I meet a celebrity?" The answer it seems is no, no I will not.

Now. Does anyone remember the specific reason we went to Las Vegas? For a little group called Dave Matthews Band. Uh-huh. Well. We met someone famous. Someone SO famous. Someone who might- oh God, how can this be true?- mean jack to you, but... well...

That girl there with the weirdly smushed face? That's me. That cute fella in the green shirt? That's The Hubba. That six foot four Sex God in the middle? That's Boyd Tinsley.

BOYD TINSLEY Y'ALL. As in Boyd Tinsley on the violin. As in Boyd Tinsley OF the DAVE MATTHEWS BAND.

We met him . The Bryants (that's us ) and the Hajeks (below)- we met him.

WE MET HIM. IT was AWESOME. I can't quite describe it. We were in Bally's (our hotel) in front of the Bally's Spa (whole 'nother day's post) and Renee looks over and says, face frozen "OhmyGodthat'sBoydTinsley."

At which point, all four of us calmly walked over, introduced ourselves, shook hands, and said intelligent, witty things about the band in general and Boyd specifically.

That's such a lie. We went crazy. Matt and Dave had big stupid grins, Renee's eyes were as big as her face, and I, I'm sad to say, might have jumped up and down and clapped my hands.

But y'all, this is Boyd Tinsley. The man who rocks it out on the violin with DMB. He's AMAZING. And gorgoeous and, it turns out, the nicest person ever. As foolishly as we behaved, he just smiled and spoke nicely and shook our hands and when Renee asked if we could get picutres he said "yes." HE SAID YES. Did you see them? Did you see the pictures?

And for the rest of the weekend we were insufferable. Such as a the concert that night every time Boyd stepped up to jam it out we shouted a variety of things like "Hey Boyd, we're over here!" and "He's just playing to impress us!" and "That's Boyd- my brother from another mother!"

It was- just- it was- wow. We were all shocked and thrilled and mushy brained after. And Boyd, calm as could be, thanked us, told us to enjoy the night's show, and walked into Bally's work-out facility and got on the treadmill.

It took all the power we had not press our faces to the glass and stare.

Also, if anyone wants to play a little quiz, I ask you:

Who said the dumbest thing to Boyd?
A. Dave Hajek "We've seen you in concert 67 times" ?
B. Renee Hajek "We've traveled all over the country to see you more than 60 times"?
(to both these statements he said "really?" and smiled nicely)
C. Matthew Bryant, aka The Hubba, "You were really good last night"?
(to which Boyd said "thanks" and smiled nicely)
D. Em Bryant, aka neighborknitter, aka me "You look even taller on stage"?
(he laughed)
Bonus point if you pick "E- all of the above"

Look out for Step Two tomorrow....

Socks on a Plane

2007-03-22T09:10:00.000-05:00

Put your sunglasses on, because you ain't going home till the morning comes. Frank Sinatra

You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on. Dean Martin

I gotta be me. Sammy Davis Jr

I like to play blackjack. I'm not addicted to gambling, I'm addicted to sitting in a semi-circle. Mitch Hedberg

I wanted to set a mood for the day, but there is a shocking lack of quotes about gambling or Las Vegas. The quotes I could find were grim morality tales about the dangers of betting and the shallow insidiouness of Vegas- Hello Buzz Kill! So I picked the Rat Pack because they are (even dead) Vegas and that last quote because that is me. 21! Hit me!

The Hubba and I have already observed a few pre-Vegas traditions. We watched Ocean's Eleven (the new yummy George Clooney version) last night, we had drinks with dinner and we played poker, with The Hubba offering good tips about "the big blind" "the small blind" and "Em, stop saying 'whoo-hoo!' when you get a good hand." I am prepared.

The only place I'm not prepared is the question of my knitting. I meant to throw out the universal knitter's query (second only to "should I frog it?") "can I take my knitting needles on a plane?" I meant to ask, I meant to call the airline, I meant to have a backup plan if I couldn't. Instead I've decided, to hell with it, better to ask forgivness than permission and just try to get the needles on there. You can bet I'll be pulled aside for a good search, being five three, reddish-blondish, mid-twenties and foolishly grin-y. I already scream "threat!" so I'm expecting security sees my size 0 double-pointeds and I'm getting hauled off for questioning. Unfortunately I'm down to the wire on finishing my Sockret Pal's socks in time to get out her last package before the end of March so it's a chance I'll have to take.

There might be blogging from Vegas. The Hubba, who refuses to carry the camera (three guesses on who he expects will carry it), is convinced we're going to take so many pictures we'll need the laptop to upload shots and free up memory on the camera. If the laptop does make it on board, then expect blogging.

I'm. So. Excited. The bummer about late flights- the whole day in front of us! Oh well...

Viva Las Vegas!

Viva Las Vegas!

2007-03-19T18:52:00.000-05:00

Well, I think it's time to tell you

in less than four days The Hubba and I, along with our great friends Dave and Renee, will be winging our way to sunny Las Vegas. For what you ask? Good times, good food, good company.

Oh, and two nights of Dave Matthews Band. HOORAY!

Friday and Saturday night in Vegas just me, Matty, Dave, Renee, 12,000 screaming fans and the band.

I can hardly focus on my knitting for my excitement so I had to go ahead and share. Especially as the tickets came today.

Hallelujah!

Speaking of great things in today's mail, a big thanks to my Sockret Pal whose package arrived today.

(Perhaps I got a tad excited about my gifts and unwrapped the chocolate before I remembered to take pictures.)

Besides the chocolate, there's an adorable sock-shaped change purse, two types of row counters (one shaped like a frog- Miz Knotty, you'll love it!), two balls of Sevilla ribbon yarn, a hank of outrageous Jitterbug sock yarn in bright and brilliant pink, purple and blue - love it!

And, of course, a fantastic pair of handmade socks.

Which I'll be wearing tomorrow.

Thank you Devorah!

What a great day.

I'll add to all this exciting news, I realize I've not posted a lot lately and, I'll tell you, I've been so busy writing on my book, I've not felt that extra bit of blogger energy. Have I mentioned this before? If not, I'll say, I'm writing a book. It's a bit of a *thing* for me, saying it online. Remember the kid in school who wrapped his arm around half his desk so you couldn't see his work? That's how I've felt about this project. However, lately, it's been brought to my attention it's problematic to want to have a published book and at the same time not want a single person to read it. Something to do with contradiction and mixed energy, I've been told ;-).

Point is, I'm back in the book (it's been laid down off and on for the last year and a half) and it's going swimmingly and I'm finally taking a breath to remember how much I love posting here too! And I really appreciate anyone (coughDadcough) who's kept checking back every day even when all signs pointed to the fact I might never blog again.

I'm back. And I'm going to Vegas. And I've got a pair of handmade socks just for me! And, I swear, what happens in Vegas will be on this blog...

Fantastic Beginning

2007-03-13T11:11:00.000-05:00

What an amazing start to the week! I opened my email this morning to find the nicest letter from Jo, a participant in the HP KAL. She's had trouble with Blogger (the list grows) but that's not diminished her Harry spirit! Not only is she still following the blog with comments and participating as a House Ghost, she's also sent me lovely ideas for prizes and offered to contribute to it. Isn't that kind?

But it doesn't stop there! My next email was from my new Secret Pal from the Secret Pal 10 Swap. I can already tell she's going to be such a fun pal! And here is what she is looking for from me:

Secret Pal 10 Questionnaire
1. What is/are your favorite yarn/s to knit with? What fibers do you absolutely *not* like? I love working with wool (then, now, and forever), cotton, then blends, then acrylic. I'm not against acrylic, I'm just not lovin' it like the others.

2. What do you use to store your needles/hooks in?
The pockets of my knitting bag :-( , I must get one of those nifty cases!

3. How long have you been knitting & how did you learn? Would you consider your skill level to be beginner, intermediate or advanced? I learned in April of '06 and, as I've knit almost everyday since then, I'd call myself an advanced beginner. Great at socks, still nervous about sweaters type knitter.

4. Do you have an Amazon or other online wish list?
No, but might make one so will update this answer if I do ;-)

5. What's your favorite scent?
Light clean smells. To give you an idea, (trust me, I know it's odd) I love the smell of "Spring Scented" dryer sheets.

6. Do you have a sweet tooth? Favorite candy?
Anything with chocolate, and preferably with nuts too. Snickers, Almond Joy, Nestle Crunch, Reese's Peanut Butter cups, Reese's Pieces, Hershey with Almonds and I've never tried one but have always been intrigued by the Toblerone.

7. What other crafts or Do-It-Yourself things do you like to do? Do you spin?
Knitting is pretty much it. I do love to cook and bake. I don't spin, but I plan to try dyeing (yarn as opposed to the other kind) this spring.

8. What kind of music do you like? Can your computer/stereo play MP3s? (if your buddy wants to make you a CD)
Dave Matthews Band then, now, and forever. Tori Amos, Barenaked Ladies, Coldplay and I just got a Damien Rice CD (O) of which I am awfully fond. Yes to MP3s!

9. What's your favorite color(s)? Any colors you just can't stand?
Blue, to paraphrase Julia, is my signature color. I love pinks, reds, and greens, I'm fond of yellow around me (but can't wear it too well).

10. What is your family situation? Do you have any pets?
Married to the phenomenon known as The Hubba four and a half years. I have four (nope, that wasn't a stutter) mixed-breed dogs, Howie, Wally, Barkley, and Georgie.

11. Do you wear scarves, hats, mittens or ponchos?
Scarves, hats, mittens, yes. Ponchos, no. Nothing against the poncho, mind, it's just not a good look for me.

12. What is/are your favorite item/s to knit?
Right now socks. I'm trying my first sweater (for said husband). I'm looking to branch out (from socks) and recently tried felting a bag (the French Market Bag from Knitty) for the first time.

13. What are you knitting right now?
A pair of socks (I'm trying to branch out; these things take time), a sweater and I hope to try a lace stole soon.

14. Do you like to receive handmade gifts?
Yes please!

15. Do you prefer straight or circular needles? Bamboo, aluminum, plastic?
I love circs, especially Addis (who doesn't?) and I have a set of Denise needles which are terribly handy. For straight needles and DPNs I like bamboo.

16. Do you own a yarn winder and/or swift?
Nope.

17. How old is your oldest UFO?
My Harry Potter scarf, started back in June or July '06. I set a deadline of "in time for the movie" which, if you didn't know (and how could you not?) comes out in July 07. I'm not comfortable with unfinished projects (Virgo, you see) so I do well to have no more than three projects going at a time.

18. What is your favorite holiday?
I love the beach. Love it, love it, love it. And here in middle North Carolina we are centrally located to some of the eastern seaboard's best beaches. Hooray!
*Update
Well, don't I feel silly. I thought holiday such as "where to go for vacation" but reading my to-gift Pal's blog, I think I might have misinterpreted. Hmm... Holiday... Christmas. That was easy.
And I still love the beach.

19. Is there anything that you collect?
Not really (see: Virgo, see: no more than three projects, re: can't stand the clutter). Books might be the only items I collect and I don't look for anything special, that's just being an avid reader (and my books, at the moment, are still in the garage, in boxes, from our move- ask me how crazy that makes me).

20. Any books, yarns, needles or patterns out there you are dying to get your hands on? What knitting magazine subscriptions do you have?
I'd love to have Nancy Bush's Knitting on the Road. The only EZ book I have is Knitting without Tears so any of her work would be fab. No magazine subscriptions.

21. Are there any new techniques you'd like to learn?
Magic Loop. I've done a pair of socks toe-up that way and it was such a muddle I'd like to try again with something simpler.

22. Are you a sock knitter? What are your foot measurements?
YES! (Sorry, was that loud?) Size: 7 to 7 1/2 shoe (U.S.); foot length: 8 inches; toes: ten.

23. When is your birthday?
August 24, 1980. Two days off from being a playful, easy-going Leo *sigh*.

Hope that helps Pal! If you want more info, lemme know; I'm all about details.

Two people, first thing in the morning, being so generous. Doesn't that just brighten your day? I was smiling all the way to the yarn store.

Socks, Trucks, and Whatnot

2007-03-07T13:35:00.000-05:00

"My God, that's all the way to Tennessee. She's gone all the way to Tennessee in a truck!" Norma Warren, Can't Wait to Get to Heaven, Fannie Flagg

Alright, it's not a truck, but it is a big SUV and I'm definitely on my way home this weekend. Hooray!

With that in mind (and a countdown to five pm, when I leave work and head home- hooray!) I distract you with a few pictures.

Remember the hank of blue-green yarn destined to be socks for my Sockret Pal? Here's a little swatch.

It's awesome! It makes me think of Nikes, I can't say why. But it's just awesome. And much, much too manly for my Pal. Instead The Hubba will be getting a pair of cool sneakers-inspired socks when time allows and in the meantime I picked up the Cascade Fixation Broadripple calls for and I give you le cuff:

Not too shabby, eh?

In non-knitting news, may I say, Bravo Dave! If you missed it, well... I did what I could.

And that's all I've got for now. Hope everyone on the road today is going to Tennessee too! If not, I'd definitely recommend a detour- it's worth it. And, only because it's no longer football season and because I beat this joke to death last fall, I won't give you any Rocky Top.

I'm just kidding.

ROCKY TOOOOP you'll always be
home sweet home to MEEEE-EEE!
Good old Rocky Top- WHOO!
Rocky Top Tennessee,
Rocky Top Tennesseeeee.

Breaking News

2007-03-06T09:43:00.000-05:00

Tonight, 3/06/07, on FOX, Dave meets House.

I know, I can't stand it.

To keep our minds off this thrilling news (only ten hours, thirty minutes, and, approximately, 42 seconds away), here's a few yarn updates.

Parisa asked what I have "on the needles" and, I admit, knitting slowed down around here once I'd finished my Sweetarts socks. However, today I will be casting on this yarn (more of Brooke's lovelies)for my Sockret Pal's socks. I'm thinking I'll do the Broadripple pattern from Knitty.

Also, I have (hesitantly) started a- wait for it- sweater for The Hubba.

TAH-DUH!

Admittedly, there's still work to do. It's a top-down, no-seaming pattern from Knitting Pure and Simple and, well, it's weird. Even though the directions say, right off the bat "The first couple of rows may be confusing... it will make sense as you knit further along."

Here's the problem; I don't know if I believe them. I don't know that it will make sense because it feels screwy right now. What Knitting P&S should do (I've decided) is have, similar to a PSA, an announcement where, after they give their spiel about "it will make sense as you knit..." Jack Bauer pops up (I've not quite worked out the schematics on this one, but it would be cool) and says, "You're going to have to trust me." Can't you just imagine that? Kiefer Sutherland in that half-sexy, half-terrifying voice assuring you the sweater pattern will work, as long as you trust him? Women across America would be picking up the needles, Knitting P&S would be the hottest selling patterns around. I think we could have something here.

Until then we'll just have to wait for House. Only ten hours, fourteen minutes and, approximately, thirty-two seconds to go...

Great Things Come in Small Packages

2007-03-04T10:02:00.000-05:00

Can you believe all this

came out of this box?

It's a Sockret Pal miracle!

I have an Angel Pal who swept in when other Pals were detained and sent me the loveliest box of goodies. We have a wool and silk hand-spun (the flecked brown) and hand-spun, hand-painted wool by Old Orchard Yarns (that yummy blue)

and, from The Natural Dye Studio, the softest pink and white sock yarn you've ever had the good fortune to lay eyes on

and that gorgeous colorful hank of yarn hand-dyed by my Pal and a baggie of bath goodies (from Prairie Land Herbs) that smell incredible and that I've still got wrapped up in the packaging because I'm that kind of person.

What generosity! What kindness of spirit! What a lot of stuff for me- HAHAHAHAHA!

Now I know exactly how Blanche must have felt (minus the drinking problem and promiscuity) when she said, "I've always relied on the kindness of strangers."

Thank you Angel Pal (identity unknown- unless she chooses to admit to her alter-ego?) for such generous gift giving!

Being This Awesome Should Be Illegal

2007-02-27T09:28:00.000-05:00

Clearly, I'm far, far brighter than we ever gave me credit for, people. I have stared down my white whale and have come out on top, with both legs and my ship in tact and no glass eyes and... perhaps I shouldn't reference books I've not yet read.

Anyway.

After weeks of trying to sort out this question of "widgets" or "buttons" or perhaps in your culture you say "really cool graphics that seem too stupidly difficult to apply"- you know of what I speak, yes?- I have worked it out. Don't believe me?

Cast your gaze to that there sidebar now riddled- riddled I tell you!- with buttons.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

You cannot stop me, you can only hope to contain me.

Ahem.

Not only do I have two buttons on both my KALs- admittedly created by Ann, Ami, and Lana- but, should you click on said buttons, you will be instantly and magically transported to that KAL's website. Again I say HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

And for any of you out there who aren't too web-savvy, I'll let you in on a little secret: I am the first person in the history of Blogger to attempt and succeed at this difficult and dangerous bit of computer sorcery. Really. I am. First one ever. If anyone tells you differently they are one hundred percent lying and frankly I question why you're hanging around such unscrupulous characters in the first place. First buttons ever, folks.

*Cough*

If anyone out there is interested in a Read-a-Long KAL to Mists of Avalon or the Harry Potter series, please do contact me at knitter.natter@yahoo.com. Address all emails to "Your Wisest, Cleverest, Most Brilliant Widget-Conquering Majesty who might easily pass for an American Kate Winslet."

So... not much else going on. Oh, did I show you these?

Those are my "Sweet Tarts" socks, yarn dyed and freely given (we royalty get lots of freebies; we also get the right to refer to ourselves in the plural as in "God and I, though perhaps we should reverse that order because who was it that just added those buttons? That's what I thought.") from Brooke, who will probably be sending me lots more yarn now that she realizes how genius I am. Still, give Brooke a hand. She chose the color schemes and dyed the yarn and it's just so bright and eye-catching and brilliant.

Much like myself.

Otherwise we're expecting it to be a great day here, one that will probably involve me falling down in front of a large group of people. This high horse is none too steady.

WOW

2007-02-26T00:11:00.000-05:00

Finally, Martin Scorsese has his. YES! See The Departed if you haven't! Best Director! YES!

I'm A Happy Girl...

2007-02-25T21:25:00.001-05:00

because Alan Arkin just won the Oscar for Litttle Miss Sunshine. Whoo-hoo!

And This Time With Felting...

2007-02-20T08:32:00.000-05:00

The French Market tote from Knitty pre-felting.

The French Tote from Knitty post felting.

It's too weirdly hot here to write anymore. I don't know what's going on, but we've gone from chilly temperatures and brisk winds to mild, sunny days in the high sixties. Earlier this evening I called for our manservant to bring me a strawberry daiquiri to celebrate the onset of early spring. Until The Hubba reminded me we have no manservant. Or daiquiri mix. Or rum for that matter. So I'm drinking buckets of water instead and am probably not all that fun to be around.
Will post more soon, probably in a bathing suit if this weather keeps up. On an up note, I'll leave you with a funny question from Trivia Pursuit (The Ninties version) regarding screwy weather.
Who did more than one hundred Californians call to complain about the weird weather being reported all over the news? Al Nino.
It's be funnier if you had a strawberry daiquiri.

The Best Intentions, Eh?

2007-02-14T08:13:00.000-05:00

In an oddly Martha Moment I decided to do cupcakes for Valentine's Day, some for The Hubba to take to work and some for me to take to the shop.

Not just cupcakes. PINK cupcakes. With a little help from Betty Crocker's white cake mix and assorted tubs of frosting and a bottle of red food coloring, I intended to really put the, er, Val? back in Valentine's. And when my pink cupcakes came out of the oven:

they were not so much pink cupcakes as cupcakes with a bad sunburn. The one time in my life, I'm not going for a Big Orange effect...well, you can see for yourself.

Luckily, in baked goods, unlike in knitting, even if the look isn't exactly what you hoped, as long as the construction is correct, the effect is the same.

Ask me how I know.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Annoucing the New Line of... Em Spade

2007-02-12T20:09:00.000-05:00

The couture sweeping the hand-bag world:

Marc Jacobs ain't got nothin' on me. And did he hand-sew the lining into his bags?

I don't think so.

Thanks to Knitty Yoda and her unbelievable stash of fabric (seriously, y'all haven't seen a stash until you've seen Knitty Yoda's piles of fabric), I have an entirely finished project to report. The cabled bag, started right before Christmas, finished in body around the end of January, finally has all its pieces-parts in place and is an official accessory. One hundred percent done.

As soon I figure out where the buttonholes went.

I didn't loose them exactly; this being my first time with buttons, I assumed it would be easy to see the hole where I cast-off (British pattern, you know, got to use the pattern lingo). Turns out, not so easy. After a little sleuthing, Yoda and I thought we found at least two of the three.

Mind you, I think I just sewed a lining over the two that we found.

Did I mention the open-faced, button-free bag is in again?

Speaking of buttons, I've wanted to hold off on mentioning the Harry Potter KAL sweeping the blog world until I worked out a button. Unforunately, well, that's not happened. So as a pre-launch to the real launch which will definitely include a widget, I'll just mention if you click here, you'll see the start of the website Knitty Yoda and I are co-hosting. Of course, I'm knitting something in honor of Book Seven; what kind of fan do you think I am?!

Frustration...

2007-02-07T22:51:00.000-05:00

thy name is Crusoe.

I cast-on again on one size larger needles. I knit loosely. I'm all the way through the heel.

It still won't pull up over my foot.

WHA...?

It has no stretch. But it's pretty! But it doesn't fit. But the pattern is easy! But it doesn't fit. But I'm through the heel! But it doesn't fit.

These are the insane thoughts going through my head. As though the attractiveness, simplicity, and nearness to completion of the single sock will magically overcompensate for its teeny-tiny size. Display sock?

Not even I could be so delusional to knit one- or worse, to have a matching set, two!- entire sock(s) that has(have) no hope of fitting me or anyone else I know- could I?

Tell me, fellow knitters, is there any hope this would fit once there aren't three pointy sticks coming out of it? I don't see it happening, but maybe, just maybe, if I hope and pray really hard...

I'm putting it aside for now. I've got the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy coming over to help me pick out a new sock pattern.

MVP What?

2007-02-06T09:10:00.000-05:00

If you missed this- and how could you have done that?- THE COLTS WON! In what was a GRRREAT Superbowl the Indianapolis Colts won 29-17 against the Chicago Bears. Mind you, next year I think the Bears will be even more terrifyingly good, but for now- the Colts are OUR Superbowl champions. And they came home to Indianapolis yesterday and at night in weather that felt like seven degrees had a parade. I love my COLTS!

The Hubba was brilliant. I can't say how I would have behaved, but I'm sure I wouldn't have been anywhere near as good spirited and generous about the outcome as he has been.

But back to the world of knitting! Remember the sock I showed you, in Brooke's fabo yarn?

I tried them on last night...

couldn't get them down my foot and promptly frogged 'em.

HEY- before I get any barely-concealed knitter-smug "did you swatch?" let me say "YES, I SWATCHED." Honestly. I even did a full swatch of 4 inches, when I might have been inclined to only do half that. And, on size 0 DPNs, one size smaller than the pattern called for, I got gauge. As the pattern required, I swatched twenty-four stitches for forty rows=four inches in stockinette stitch.

However. With this pattern and its "stranded stitch" I think I would have done better to, as the Yarn Harlot recommends, swatch in pattern. The pattern is not especially stretchy and with the stranded stitch I think the sock is even more tightly knit- sort of a backwards Fair Isle.

Point to say, I started over, on size 1 DPNs. If we hadn't had Jack Bauer in Season 3 to watch at the time I'm not sure what I would have done. But, somehow, frogging my socks paled in comparison to going rogue, busting a known drug-lord out of prison, sneaking said drug-lord back into Mexico, and nearly having to kill his own partner. Just a regular hour in the life of a bad man.

Superbowl XLI

2007-02-04T15:12:00.000-05:00

The game that turns
husband

against

wife.

Brother

against

sister.

Manning against Urlacher.

OK. Manning against Urlacher.

It's the day. Less than three hours at this point. Here's what I'm hoping for (besides the obvious):
A close game. This should be exciting the most exciting Superbowl in ten years- or at least so says The Hubba and so it is law. Or something.
A good clean game. With these two teams head coaches, I expect total class from both sides of the field (and both sides of the Knitter home).
Good calls by the ref; mainly, I hope they stay out of the way.
A touchdown for Marvin Harrison.
And- second only to wanting a touchdown for Marvin- the game. To. Get. Here.

Socks, Colts and Bears- Oh My!

2007-02-03T10:45:00.000-05:00

The lace socks are finished!

I must admit, I don't really care for the disembodied look of lower legs and socks; you see it all over knit blogs and I find it creepy. Still, it shows hand-knit socks in action, so I give you I Know What Your Socks Did Last Summer.

The bag (pictures not included) has all pieces made (some assembly required).

It seemed the perfect time to start two new projects!

The free yarn from Brooke came in this gorgeous colorway called Sweet Tarts. I've picked Crusoe from Knitty and while I'm really enjoying the pattern, the stranded stitch isn't showing up brilliantly. So I might be pulling out the ole' stand-by Sensational Knitted Socks for a different pattern (Did I not mention that? I got SKS AND Knitting Vintage Socks with the Christmas gift certificate Pops and Suz Knitter gave us- thanks, guys! A knitter's bestfriend- free pattern book money on Amazon!). So if the stranding doesn't start to pop, then it's good-bye Crusoe (for a later date), hello SKS!

I also picked up the yarn for the French Market bag to cast-on this weekend.

Again with this sudden purple fixation.

So there will be knitting this weekend. And... what else... what else? Oh! That's right.

THE COLTS ARE IN THE SUPERBOWL!

I've been hesitant to mention this for fear I'd brag about it, wake up and discover not only were the Patriots in the Superbowl, but they didn't even have to play another team, just stand around and wave while sports reporters bowed at their feet.

Turns out, the Colts are in the Superbowl. And our home would be the proudest Indianapolis-supporting house in the state of North Carolina if it weren't for the teeny-tiny fact

THE BEARS ARE IN THE SUPERBOWL!

That's all I can say about it right now. I'll post tomorrow (how could I not?) but for the moment I'll leave it at, I'm still a Colt (no matter how many of The Hubba's- clearly stupid- friends think I should come over to the side of the Bears because it's his team) and he's still a Bear and we're still on friendly terms, and tonight (in a spirit of camaraderie and good will I'm sure) we'll hammer out The Rules to the watching of the game, and, oh by the way, Georgie says "hi."

Good Things Happen on Snow Days

2007-02-01T10:02:00.000-05:00

We have a date.

J.K. announced a release date.

3 Reasons why this is spooky:
1. Knitty Yoda and I were just talking about this yesterday. Honestly. This time yesterday morning we were having this very discussion- when will it be released?- and she suggested maybe, oh please, oh please, if we cross our fingers and toes, the new book would come out this year. I said, maybe, but absolutely, with no doubt, definitely not July this year.

2. Because back when HBP came out, fans predicted the last book would be released this July, the seventh month in the 2007th year, on, perhaps, the seventh day. They were only a little off. I was certain they were wrong.

3. The Hubba, hopeful for me, suggested,way back when we saw GoF they would release the last book in the same month they released the film version of OotP. I laughed in his face.

Huh. So much for intuitive powers.

BUT WHO CARES? We have a date.

So Barkley and I have spent this snowy morning dancing around the house to DMB's version of Sweet Caroline.

I'll have knitting updates for later, but right now:

Dave, in his best Neil Diamond gravelly voice: "Sweet Caroline/The good times never seemed so good" [fans] "So good! So good! So good!"
BUM-BUM-BUUUM.

Can't Talk Now, Jack's On

2007-01-29T11:40:00.000-05:00

First, let me say, about the lack of blogging, I hold Jack Bauer entirely responsible. Have you all seen this show? Good grief! Every episode ends on a heart attack waiting to happen. We rented the first season a few weeks ago (and here I blame The Hubba entirely) and now we're addicts. No way around it. I'm not even sure I like the show, but it's fast pace, constant plot twists, actors skilled in The Art of Suspicious Looks and promotion of Men of All Heights is too much to resist (on IMDB it says Keifer Sutherland is 5 feet, 10 and a half inches- it's true, folks, true the same way I often body double for Gisele Bündchen ((is it possible to do a parenthesis inside a a parenthesis? 'Cause I am, only to tell you, check out Keifer and Gisele's full names- seriously? I mean seriously?)) ). Whether or not you like the show, whether or not those accents are even close to accurate, whether or not Keifer's wearing heels, Jack Bauer is a bad man.

So very little blog changes occured this weekend due to Season Two. Though, home changes did take place. We have curtains! In our bedroom. So exciting. And The Hubba hung them. And I stood around and handed him screws and tools when he needed them. And we're still speaking! It's a 24 miracle!

House repair/remodeling/updates never do run smoothly for us (didn't Shakespeare write about that?). The Hubba isn't exactly "handy," as a repairman once said, and I'm not exactly helpful and most of the time odds are 2:1 if he's using tools around the house and I'm there, words will be exchanged.

However, curtain hanging (including putting up the rods) is safe territory. Between the two of us, we located all necessary tools, opened boxes (The Hubba only suffering a minor cut on his thumb from a rogue staple in the curtain rod box), he asked how high the rod should be, I answered concisely and clearly, and together we got it done. Whoo-hoo! Now, instead of large, fur-covered blankets hung up over the windows with thumb tacs (we were the the low-end smack house in middle class suburbia), we have dark blue curtains on honest-to-God curtain rods. One small step for Adulthood, one giant leap for Knitterkind.

I'll be blog updating today- bringing in the new changes and improvements. Honestly. At least I will unless CTU calls and says there's a bomb somewhere in the city of Burlington and only my Steve Madden heels and eyebrow-raising ability can save the state of North Carolina. I won't be at liberty to write about it, but I know ya'll will understand.

Eh?

2007-01-25T18:42:00.000-05:00

Your weekend update!

I've finished the first of the purple-urple socks and am a quarter of the way through the next.

I've finished the body of the cabled green bag and only need to a) knit the straps b) seam the bottom together c) sew the straps on and d) line it. No problem!

Also, ladies, if you're married or living with someone, seeing someone, or basically have any partner in your life you're even a little bit fond of, I beg you, don't go see "Catch and Release," Jennifer Garner's new film. Because if you do, when you're not wondering over her ability to keep that pursed-lip, sucked-in cheeks expression of sad/hurt/anger, you will spend the whole time, sobbing over the loss of her fiance (they bury him the day she and he were SUPPOSED to get MARRIED- how sick is that?). At least that's what I did this afternoon! Not so much sobbing, but doing that tears streaming down the cheeks, snotty, gasping-hiccup crying just loud enough for the teenager in front of me, seeing the movie with her mom, to turn around every few minutes and shoot me nasty looks because, frankly, she's thrilled Jennifer's hooking up with her dead fiance's best friend. (Sidenote: The Hubba it turns out is not nearly so astute as the teenager. When we left the theater I asked him to check my face, certain I had one helluva set of Alice Cooper eyes, and he asked "why?" "Because of all the crying," I explained and he, who was sitting RIGHT NEXT TO ME, said "You were crying?")

Finally, Brooke, the thing? With the website? That we've been speaking about? I'm all over it, babe. At least, by all over it, I mean will no doubt start it tomorrow afternoon after the UT Men's basketball game. It's in good hands! No worries! Tho' we must speak of names for it...

And, on the same subject, blogsite updates are coming your way! Get excited!

And that is your weekend update.