Rachael

I was at Lacis today, and I have to tell you what I heard. First, though, I have to make sure you know about Lacis, which is like nothing (literally) in this hemisphere, and perhaps the world. It is an old-fashioned notions/lace/craft shop, but when you hear old-fashioned, think turn-of-the-century. Pick a century. They not only have books about tatting, and tens of shuttles, they PUBLISH books on tatting. They have an antique lace room, where the pieces are so numerous they lie in drawers, waiting for you to pull and ogle. They have a bride’s room (I bought my veil there and have never felt so breakable and Anne-ish and lovely). A book room with books on knitting and crocheting and SO much about bobbin lace (who does bobbin lace? If you do, get thee to Lacis, even if you need to charter a flight), and Japanese crewel-work, and every embroidery idea you ever had. Can’t describe the wonders, really. Bethany, who tats, was beside herself.

I went today to look for buttons for the new sweater (picture soon! Pinky-swear!), and didn’t see any. Asked desultorily about some deco buttons I saw hanging in a corner, never thinking they had any more that the two shown (I needed seven). The gal behind the button counter didn’t let me get away with mere idle questioning, but asked what I needed them for, and then when she saw the sweater, pulled out boxes upon boxes. I finally settle on some vegetable ivory buttons from the 30s, a dollar each. A buck. Dude. They’re perfect.

But that’s not the story.

So I’m back near the book section, and I can overhear an old man speaking, a lovely old man with the crispest British accent, and he’s speaking to the manager (who is the one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever laid eyes on, I always think so, tall, beautiful heavy black dreadlocks heaped in a Victorian fashion on her head, vintage clothing and high heels, and today, gasp, fishnets).

Lovely Old English Man is saying, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do knit. It’s a funny story, quite amusing. You might like it. It was during the war that I learned. I was in hospital, recovering from quite a bad wound, and I’d learned to knit from a nurse. It was part of my rehabilitation, you see. So I cast on for a scarf. I knit, and I kept knitting. Funny thing, I didn’t know how to stop, so I just kept knitting. It wasn’t until a beautiful woman taught me how to cast off that I finally stopped, but by then the scarf was amazingly long, went for days, that scarf."

Here I lost the audio, while the manager asked him something. When I caught it again, as I crept closer and closer, he was saying, "so the tragedy was that I pulled all that work out. For her. Greatest act of love, I always thought. That I pulled all that knitting out."

The manager said, "What happened? With the girl?"

"Oh," he said. "She was much too pretty for the likes of me. Never did get her. Looked her up, though. A few years ago. I called the parish she was from, and the woman told me, ‘I’m so sorry to have to tell you she died, not long ago. A good life, though. Especially in the end. Much love and time in the garden and with her family. A very good life.’"

He paused. "Never forgot her. Much too pretty for me, that one."

Seriously, to DIE, isn’t it?

I was standing near him later and jumped into a conversation he was having with another employee — he wanted to know if sock knitting was ever mechanized, and he said that he thought not, not until this century, and I butted in and told him about sock-knitting machines, the hand-crank kind, about which I apparently know NOTHING, but I’m going to research and send him the info. I was rather smitten by this point and would have told him anything just to talk with him.

He’s researching a book he’s writing about the war, and started telling me about how the British women would paint their legs brown, with a black stripe up the back during the war, and how well the American soldiers would get on with their girls, because they’d come over with silk.

I opened my mouth to tell him about the gal I’d seen at a bar recently who had tattooed lines up the backs of her legs (HOT), and then I sensibly shut my yap. While I love this tattoo idea, I think I would have horrified my man, and I have to keep him in my pocket, so I can listen to him some more.

Now I’m off to research sock-knitting machines. Anyone?

The patterns that have me hooked:

Intolerable Cruelty. Almost too sexy to knit. Certainly too sexy to wear. Therefore, I must have it. Seriously. I don’t even know if I have the cojones to wear it, but I think I do.

Lizard Ridge. Brilliant. Something to do with that Kureyon that you have leftover, that you love. And you might need more.

I’ve done more in the last two hours than I normally do at this time of day — paid bills, pulled things together for Europe, et-set-era, and I usually sleep till this time on my days off. So I win! Bethany is coming over to go on a hike with me and Clara, and then maybe I’ll just sit around and knit. Hooray! Now go read more Knitty.

Oooh, do you ever just have the urge to blog, and you sit there, doing whatever you’re doing (in my case, being at work, trying not to laugh at someone who called for medical on an allergic reaction to latex while at a hotel — what do you think they were doing?), and you’re thinking all these smart funny thoughts, things that make you happy, things that you want to share, and then you sit down to blog and there’s nothing there?

When that happens to me, I make a list:

• I am deeply in love with green lately. I finished a hella cute sweater yesterday, but I haven’t had time to put on buttons yet. You’ll see it soon. It’s the best, lightest color of drying grass.

• I started a new sweater imMEEJiatly (the Sienna Cardigan from the latest IK), also in green, but this green is deep and rich, and yo, it’s cashmere from the stash. Stash cashmere. There aren’t two finer words that go together, are there? It’s from a cone I bought in New York from School Products more than two years ago, and I think it’s time.

• I’ve learned that when I’m deeply grumpy there are things I should try.
  • Stand in front of a fan. I may be hot and may be in denial. Just go stand in front of a fan and see what happens.
  • Knit with cashmere. Seriously, it sounds like a silly thing to help the grumps, something light and fluffy to say in a blog post, but earlier today I was in a horrid mood, and the cashmere knitting was like a good therapy session. I can’t explain why. It just Is.

• I was in a bad mood because of HOA woes (which are much better and much more deal-able now, thank you, although still rather prickly) but mostly because I got to see Lala for literally twelve minutes today. And that’s better than during the week. I do not exaggerate. Usually, during the work week, I only see her when I get into bed and she’s getting out, about ten minutes or so. And know what? That grumps me OUT, something that when looked at from a distance, actually makes me happy. I’ve never lived with anyone, never felt this for anyone. That want to see someone, that need to just breathe the same air, to just hang out in the kitchen and talk. And more than two years later, it’s just getting more like this. It’s really a fine reason to be grumpy.

That’s a long enough list. It’s my Friday, thank god, and I have a date with La tomorrow night. Hooray. Tuesday, I get to see Marie (of KnitCast fame) and her husband, coming all the way from Wales to Oakland. Well, I suppose she’s coming because they love San Francisco like I love Venice, but I’m stealing them and I’m going to introduce them to Zachary’s Pizza in Oakland.

And then less than a week from now, we leave for Europe! I have nothing ready to go! Haven’t got out a single bag, haven’t looked for the voltage converter. Dude. This is not like me. But I like it.

Okay. Back to knitting with cashmere. Oh, yes. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, whatever you’re doing.

https://rachaelherron.com/oooh_do_you_eve/

Been hanging out with the girls today. Well, I do that a lot, actually. Digit, my cat, is part of my soul, but dogs are somehow more companionable, aren’t they? They’re pals. My cats aren’t pals. Digit is sticky and prickly and offended most of the time, but we still sleep together. We hold hands. Here he is, almost-sleeping next to me:

Oh, he’s my heart. Really. Adah is a peach, and sweet as all get out, and we like to see each other, but Digit is my main man. Several people have commented lately that they find it funny that in the Hehu House (our last names, combined, in a joking way that seems to have stuck) we have two women, three female dogs, a female cat, and an ex-male cat who has had his male part removed due to a urethra-crystal emergency some years ago.

So today, even though it’s been a Take Care of Crap kind of day, the day that you make all the phone calls that make the world go ’round, all the phone calls that you’ve been putting off, HOA stuff and plane reservations and doctor’s appointments and crap, we’ve still had some fun. Went on a long-ass walk over at Pt. Isabel, Miss Idaho getting out for the first time since her surgery. (BENIGN, by the way. Woot!)

I tell you what, there is nothing in the world as cute as a chihuahua with a cone head. I told people it was her cuteness amplifier, and that we were going to leave it on permanently. Some laughed. Some just gave me a look and walked their pugs quickly in the other direction.

(You can see my knitting behind old Miss ID. A sweater soonish, promise.)

A happy blurry dance. This is what Clara usually looks like. However, I did get her to pose for you earlier today. She would like you to know that she is dignified.

See? She is the picture of dignity.

Until she burps.

Just finished watching Saving Face. What a sweet little lesbian romance. And clean enough to watch with your mom. Go Netflix it now.

Welp, the music festival was fun. The Whoreshoes rocked out, but they weren’t well attended, being the first band of the day at 1pm. But those who were there loved ’em. Old Crow Medicine Show were fabulous, very tight. Ozomatli were also tight, but by then I’d had a visual migraine that very shortly turned into the real-deal migraine (they’ve never happened together, and it was a very weird, very painful migraine, so that was unpleasant) so I went out on the field and just stayed in one spot until Lala brought me cotton-candy. Hey, it didn’t hurt the migraine, and certainly made ME happy. The sponsors set us up right, though, with plenty of free food and beer and candy, and I got all the benefits of being in the band without having to do anything but carry a case or two.

They are all so damn cute, really. New CD! Out soon! And it’s rad, you’ll love it. I’ll let you know when it’s available.

The Old Crow boys had an emergency with their bass (read: broken) so they restrung Diana-of-the-Whoreshoes’s bass, which was pretty cool. Sounded great, too. As seen here:

The Dyl-pickle god-baby man-child future-rockstar ate as many All Access passes as he could. Start ’em early, we say.

For once, he’s not looking at my chest. Up here! Eyes up here!

Note his CASH guitar bib. From us, yep.

He danced all day. Really.

And then there was this cutie:

End report. I’m off to sew, perhaps. Or read. Or watch TV and knit. It’s a Day Off, and I’m doing nothing responsible. Good thing, too, since it’s almost 1pm and this is all I’ve done today…..