Archives for May 2005

Golly. This past weekend was SO busy and SO much fun. Of course, now I’m exhausted and I’m about a week behind in email (forgive me), but I’m happy-tired.

Lala’s show on Saturday was great — it was held down by the water on the embarcadero in Oakland, in one of those in-between spaces — not really legal, no one really minding except for the city council every once in a while, but then the city forgets again they’re there. People live on their boats and in old warehouses, and every once in a while throw a great big party like they did on Saturday.

The Whoreshoes were up first, but they were missing their fiddle player Joni, a resident of the marina, so people stood around and drank beer and barbequed what they’d brought. Janine and her husband showed up and we sat knitting on the concrete, watching the people. It was a good mix of adults, kids, and dogs, but while I’d warned Janine it might be a lot of hippies, turns out I was wrong, and it was a lot of hipsters. (Janine confided "we probably would done better with the hippies….") I didn’t quite fit in, either, but thank god I was wearing my new shirt.  

The fiddle player finished her boat race (they lost, thus the lateness). The band was great, as usual. The crowd dug ’em. Of course. They’re hot. Afterward, a group of us trooped down to the water to see Joni’s new little yacht, which was lovely. Made me want to live on a boat, just for a moment. I love that rocking, that moment of finding the place in your knees where they turn to mercury and move with the water. I’m good on water (which is why I don’t understand why I get so carsick, but there you go).

When we got to the boat, there were already people playing: two fiddles, a stand-up bass, and two guitars. Lala boarded with her banjo, and I boarded with my knitting. Yes, I felt a little funny about that, but I offered contralto on "I’ll Fly Away," so I called it good and kept knitting.

The sun went down. We watched the pelicans dive. Music drifted over the water. It was gorgeous.

And I really like this one:

Apart from that night, though, I got precious little knitting done, and NO SPINNING. There. Aren’t you sad for me? Tragic, yes. But Wednesday afternoon, I should get a little in. I hope. I’ve also agreed to train for the SF Half-Marathon (that Mariko may be cute, but she’s RUTHLESS), so I have to get a run in too. Lord. Spin or run? What would you pick? I can tell you which one I like best. Bet you can guess.

Two observations that I made when I got home this morning:

Eight = the total number of squares of toilet paper that I had left in my house when I entered carrying the new pack I bought last night.

That kind of GEENYUS was quickly snuffed out as I put the last little bit of Chubby Hubby Ben&Jerry’s in the microwave for ten seconds to thaw it a bit, started to count to ten (since it’s on an old dial and I have to set it for one minute), and then forgot completely (I’m pretty sure I got to three) and wandered away to look at the pretty, pretty yarn in my bedroom. I now have ice cream soup. And it ain’t half bad.

To bed!

I wish I had a picture for you, but I don’t, but I want to show you the socks I’m making out of some Cormo handspun.

Dude. I spun wool and now I’m making socks. That’s WILD. (What is that the Yarn Harlot says about our obsession? At least we’re not this obsessed with cabbage. Thank god. It could be so much worse.) And I spun it so fine that even double-plied it’s about DK weight. Maybe a tad heavier.

And that Cormo is soft. I was skeptical while spinning, because it was such a pain in my arse, sticky and short, just at the edge of my spinning ability, but knitted up it’s pretty dang fine. (But I can’t think about Cormo without thinking P0rno, which is what Lala heard when my friend Deanna and I raced off to track it down in Maryland. The P0rno fiber. Oh, yeah, baby.)

This weekend: The Whoreshoes are playing the 5th Ave. Marina at the Oakland Embarcadero on Saturday afternoon. Come on by if you’re in the area, and hoot and holler a bit. I’ll also be relaxing. It’s been a long week, and I some TiVo to catch up on. Can’t WAIT. (Originally typed Can’t WATI, which is accurate. I don’t think I can wati at all.)

And I wrote. Woot!

See? I wrote.

Hooray!

Honestly, I wrote so much that I’m almost out of words. Okay, there are a few left, I think. I wrote when I woke up, as soon as I woke up, coffee in hand (and it was hard — I could see all those nice email comments waiting in the inbox, and I just wanted to click and read but I knew I’d never get back to writing).

Then I wrote at work, too, and got a lot done. Hot damn.

Well.

Yep. Words all gone. Whoops. Done spent ’em all. Shoot.

So here for fun is another 911 story. This one is great, and it was sent to me simultaneously from Christy and Jon:
Woman Calls 911 With Pizza Complaint.

https://rachaelherron.com/_see_i_wrote_ho/

Let’s write about writing, shall we? And how lately, I just haven’t? You’ve heard it before, I know. And in my defense, I’ll tell you that I wrote an article for a local rag last week, and I’ve got an article due next week for a national one.

But to the real writing: The Big Book and the little book and the one that’s germinating and about to poke a green tendril out of the ground…. That’s a lot of writing to be doing, and a lot of writing that I’ve been avoiding.

Honestly, it’s not even like I’ve been actively running away. It’s just that when I’m home and alone, I’d rather be spinning, because it’s the new addiction, don’tcha know. I could and should write in the wee hours at work. That’s always my goal. I get a forty minute break and I could get a good chunk of writing done then, but I haven’t been taking my break lately. I could get out my computer right now. It’s hiding below my work terminal and I just stubbed my toe on it. But every night, zero-dark-thirty rolls around, and it’s finally quiet, and I’m finally off the police radio, and my brain is zapped and I gape at the work screen instead.

Yeah, I guess that’s running away.

It is, isn’t it? Grrr.

Oh, my lazy, lazy self. And I think I’ve recently figured it out — I always do consider myself lazy even though god knows most wouldn’t. I knit a lot and I spin a lot and my house is always neat and clean (sick, yeah) and the bills are paid and usually I run some during the week, and heaven knows I sneak Lala in wherever/whenever I can. But when I don’t write I’m being lazy. It’s what I love best, what I want to do most. When I write, I can lie on the couch doing NOTHING and feel happy about it. When I write, I’m less driven in all other areas, and that can be very useful. Dust bunnies are our friends.

I used to get my writing done when I woke up. RIGHT when I woke up. I’m talking coffee in hand, computer on, tapping out words before the brain screams NO! Okay. I should listen to myself. Today, this afternoon, after my day-sleep, I’ll do that. No email, no blogs until the work is done. And I’ll tell you if I did or not. Damn, I should make a little chart with boxes or something and check them off on days I Really Write. Shame is a seriously strong motivator, indeed. I’ll use anything at this point. Only I don’t know how to write that kind of code.

Or I’ll just keep rambling on and on and on in blog-format and call it writing, which it kind of is, and kind of isn’t. Y’know?

Babble-off.

It is such a nice afternoon. I woke up early with Lala and took her to BART so she could go into the city and be all Buddha-ey, and I went home. I had all intentions of spinning, of cleaning, of organizing…. Lala and I have so little time together that we really try to spend the weekend together, which is fabulous for two lovebirds. Couldn’t be better. But the loner in me loved the prospect of a whole day alone in my little house.

So I got home, ate some raisin toast, drank a cup of coffee, stared out the window, and then fell asleep. For two hours. I’m not a napper, but I love those rare naps that sneak up on you and hit you in the back of the head with a heavy-ass skillet. I woke to the phone ringing — a pal wanted to go to brunch and to shop for a while, so I met her at La Med in Rockridge, where the mochas are to die for, and the brunch is surprisingly wonderful.

I’ve been living in this short wraparound skirt for two days now, loving it, and I think it would be easy to copy. So we went to Stone Mountain & Daughter, a big ole fabric store and got a couple of yards of orange and green fabric. I’m going to try a new latch mechanism — my old sewing machine (circa 1941?) doesn’t do buttonholes (doesn’t do anything but forward and, haltingly, back), and I thought about snaps or hooks, but rejected them for something I saw in their notions area. Bra hooks. What do you think? They come as if you’d cut off the last two inches of each end of your bra, and I think they’ll be easy to sew in by hand, and they’ll be industrial in strength. I always worry, wearing a wraparound. Not a time to go commando, if you know what I mean.

Which brings me to now — I’m supposed to pick up La off BART anytime now, and I was in the area of her place, so I came here instead of going home. I’m stealing her internet connection, and borrowing her dogs for company. I cleaned up the back yard, pulling out tons of nasty ivy and refilling the fountain. I cleaned off all the outdoor chairs so that people can come and visit. Maybe a barbecue sometime? I can feel that it’s almost summer, and while I’m not that big a fan of summer (too hot, too busy), I do love the warm nights on the back porch swing, looking at the flowers and tomatoes (I have four big ripening tomatoes on my sunny front deck, and Lala has five or six little green cherry tomatoes).

So now I’m listening to the birds sing, the traffic hum very far away. When I lived in this apartment, I loved the peace that it came with. My new home is peaceful, and I like to open the sliding glass door sometimes to the air, but with it open, the freeway roar is deafening. Here, it’s just calm. I do realize that I got nothing I meant to done today. I’m tempted to lie down again, but I’m so sleepy, that skillet might get me again. I’m waiting for Lala to call so I can pick her up and then go to my house, where we have last week’s Lost to catch up on. I like that we have two homes.

Yawn. Enjoy the rest of your weekend….