Rachael

I am ashamed (again) of the leader of my country. Doesn’t it make you sad? That he would push for such discrimination?

Too angry and saddened to write more about it.

Thanks to a neat little Typepad feature, I wrote this yesterday before the DSL shut off and I’m probably unpacking as you read it. I did so much! I’m almost done! I want a maid to clean the place!

Really, I had no idea so much dirt was in my house. I have NO idea where it came from, I’m sure it wasn’t from me or the cats, it was carried in by dirt gremlins, and I don’t want to clean it. But after checking a maid service, I now know that I HAVE to clean it. So I’ll do it next week. After I’ve unpacked in my new home.

Oh, and god bless Craigslist. It’s worked for me again. I had a thought, while packing detritus into bags – I knew I wanted to donate my usable crap to a good cause, but I was getting mighty tired of lugging stuff around. I also had about seven (seven!) trash bags full of garbage. Straight up unsalvageable stuff. And that wasn’t even counting the recyclables. So I posted a note on CL saying “You can have my stuff if you take the garbage, too.” I had run out of garbage cans outside, y’see. As soon as I posted, I started getting the calls. Everyone sounded okay, but one stood out – just something about his voice. So I told him to come on over. He took ALL my crap, cheerfully, and will sort it out later. He supports his family this way, selling other people’s leftovers, and he seemed decent and kind and sweet. He reminded me somehow of my dad, excited to dive into bags of unknown junk, sure the treasure is right underneath the next layer.

And listen: My crap filled the back of his utility pick-up truck. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? I live(d) in a 300 sq foot apartment with NO space. I am a wonder, something to behold. Now I have to go over to the new place and pull the same kind of Hide The Shit magic.

Can I tell ya? I just want to knit. Cromarty misses me, is singing to me, even now…..

https://rachaelherron.com/i_am_ashamed_ag/

Having Moved is like Having Written. You can kick your feet up onto your new Ikea table while sitting on your relatively new loveseat, have a look around, and realize that there is NOTHING to do. None of those pesky, normal “shoulds.” You don’t have to clean out any closets, ‘cause you just filled them. You don’t have to clean under the bed or refrigerator, because you already know there aren’t any dust bunnies. The freezer is stocked with identifiable food. You can knit and watch crap TV with a clear conscience, none of that niggling guilt.

Of course, I Haven’t Moved yet. Deep sigh. One of my closest friends yesterday despaired of me while we were on the phone. “I don’t know how it is that I can move my husband, my kid, and entire house full of stuff on ONE DAY, and it’s already taken you a week, and you’re not done?!”

Nope. I still have the bedroom (read: huge closet full of stuff I haven’t seen in years) and the hall closet (ditto). And my motions resemble those of a slug when I move, I’ve discovered. I don’t throw anything into a box. I pick up the glass snail I bought in Murano while I was with my gorgeous gay porn-star friend Brian-Mark (I met him on a bus-boat one afternoon and we fell into immediate friendship). I look at it, turning it in the light, remembering how we had found together the Snail Staircase in the back twists of labyrinthine Venice, and stood in that postage stamp square, looking up, wishing we could climb the scrolling steps, discussing the difference between the normal Italian word for snail (lumaca) with the Venetian dialect (bovolo). Then we hopped the vaporetto and went to Murano, the island of glass, where I bought this little glass creature in memory of our day.

Then I’ll put it in the box.

Then I’ll call my mother/sister/friend and put my feet up and talk about that time I bought the snail in Venice. Or I cruise a few blogs (only furniture left in the old place is the chair I write in and small TV table for the computer – this is the last day for internet connection). Or I grab my sister Christy who’s riding her bike by my apartment on her way to school and MAKE her come inside to chat.

I hate moving. If I could get my ass in gear, I’d be done today. Wish me non-snail like motions, okay? I need to be like the wind, like the cold, sharp air you feel on your face as the boat heads into the lagoon and toward the Lido….. Stop. I need to stop writing, stop fucking around, and get to it. I’ll be happy when I’m done, and that moment is within grasp. So that’s my day today. Tomorrow I’m pretty sure I lose internet service for a few days, so I’ll be offline, not checking email at all, so forgive a delay in response, please, and for now, enjoy this view (I’m not sure how they took this; the photographer’s back must have been pressed right into the wall of the house behind him. The staircase takes up most of the square, with a tight walkway around it):

Il bovolo:

Yeah, all right. So I went back to Stitches…. Sue me. You woulda, too. Right?

And I bought a BEE-YOO-TEE-FUL drop spindle and a bunch of Good Stuff. Hey! Good stuff is cheap! Compared to yarn, I mean. And I met a tremendously helpful woman at the booth (will attribute seller as soon as I remember who it was) who spent a good ten minutes with me, showing me slowly how to park and drag. Anything that involves parking is quite a thrill for me. This includes both my ass and my car (just did the best parking job ever a few minutes ago — so good that I had to take a picture, I’ll show you that the next time I dowload pics).

And this part was way cool — I was crossing the Market floor, missing my blog buddies, wishing that I had someone with me to drool over things, to tell me I wasn’t crazy for buying puffy pre-yarn wool, and a woman walked past me, then stopped and kinda doubled back. She said, “Are you Rachael? You don’t know me but….” She was a reader! How thrilled was I? And even MORE thrilled when she introduced her girlfriend (who is not a blog-reader and was obviously kerflummoxed as to what was going on) and said that they had met on Planet Out. My immediate knee-blog-jerk response was to stammer rather stupidly, “Can I get a picture?”

Meet Laine. Hi, Laine! (And Marie from comments yesterday, yep, that was me at the spindles! Hee.) Yes, I’m wearing darling Greta’s Fred. She had left him in my care when she decided she wouldn’t need him for a while, and I thought she deserved a piece of herself at Stitches.

And when I got to (old) home, look what I found:

It’s from JoFrog as part of a valentiney gift exchange, and the best part is she made it big enough for my huge head! I love it!

Still miles more to do in the packing/unpacking/cleaning area. Sigh. I still hate this part. But I’ve had so much fun this weekend that I’m well fortified for it. And Sex and the City was great last night, no? I cried. Did you?

Oh, Stitches West, how I love thee. I had a fantastic time, and I didn’t spend all that much. Relatively. I think last year, which was my first, was just such a shocker – I had no idea so much gorgeous yarn existed in the world. I was scared I’d never see it again, so I bought it all. This year, I was able to cruise the aisles, either recognizing the names of the companies or grabbing their cards, confident that touching the fiber was enough – I could always order it later. God bless the internet.

We met for breakfast at Jack’s Bistro in Jack London. Exiting my car, I recognized Mariko walking in front of me by her polkadot bag and her lime-green shoes. And here we are:

That’s me (I love the way that shot makes my ass take over the entire picture), Elizabeth, Marie, Hedi, Yvette, and Mariko.

And we’re off! Look at just one section of just one aisle:

And though I knew I would shop alone, braving the yarn elements by my lonesome, the way I prefer, every time I looked at the woman next to me, it was one of these two, either Marie or Elizabeth. We were on the same browsing schedule.

A sales person said that if I took off my shoes, I could do this too:

What was I thinking? Why didn’t I do it? I kick myself now. (Aside – I’m nursing many bruises from the move, but the worst bruise is on my shin and it’s actually so big that it makes walking painful. I didn’t get it moving. I got it last night at work when I was crossing my legs in the chair and KICKED MYSELF. I am awed by my own klutziness.)

Hey! I was recognized! And in a very cool way: Joan of White Lies Designs not only knew who I was but knew that the shot I posted of her completed Shapely Tank is quite shapely, indeed (I was leaning forward in a rather, ahem, busty way). So I bought this fabulous tee from her (you know you want one) and promised I’d give her another shot (not so alarming, this):

Go buy one and tell her I sentcha.

Then it was to the Lanaknits booth for the lunchtime meetup. I was hugged by this fabulous lady:

Sharlene! Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to go to lunch, but we got a good group to Le Cheval:

Me, Silvia, Hedi, Mariko, Joanna, Elizabeth, and Marie. Yet another ass picture. Whatever.

And one of Silvia and me.

The food was great, but the comradeship was even better, just sittin’ there, talking yarn and life and just general stuff. I had a nice moment of realization that were it not for the internet, I wouldn’t have been sitting there, I wouldn’t know these wonderful people who are my friends. It’s odd, but true.

And now for my confession. I bought no yarn. I only bought roving. I KNOW. I’m going to the dark side of fibercraft, the spinning side. I refuse to take it seriously. (That’s what I’m telling you, but after work last night I sat on the couch and swore very seriously indeed at different piles of wool that REFUSED to spin into anything recognizable as yarn. Large twisty cotton balls, yes. Yarn, not so much.) I donated a ten-spot to the local spinning guild and received for my charity a drop spindle made from a dowel and CD. Now, of course, I’m wondering if my efforts are so lame because I don’t have a good drop spindle. I will NOT go back to Stitches today. Even though I have the day off. I’m moving. I’m not spinning.

I’m moving. I’m not spinning……

Oh, screw it. It’s 12:30. If I do two hours of good hard packing and sorting, I’ll go get a drop spindle. I already know I’m sunk. Might as well embrace it…..

Alas, no Stitches photos. No time. Not really blogging today, either. Tomorrow I’ll try to have them up.

I just had to say that it blows when you THINK you know your schedule and therefore don’t bother to check your calendar and show up two hours EARLY on the day you’re supposed to work two hours LATE. So I got to work at seven, didn’t need to be there till nine, and now have to work until nine p.m. Not much moving goin’ on today, I suppose.

During my unexpected two hours of Nothing To Do (I guess I could have gone home and packed more, but eh), I drove to the Bayfarm Island shore and sat in the rain in my car, facing the City and the Bay Bridge, knitting, listening to the new Indigo Girls album, and reading the New Yorker. This may have taken multitasking a leetle too far. But I haven’t had much time to do any of those things, so that was just a two hour bonus.

Enjoy your weekend, all.

https://rachaelherron.com/alas_no_stitche/

that I hate moving?

Only a few minutes to grab, but I’ll tell you this. I started moving yesterday in earnest. I’d moved all the big things (all four of them) the day before with sister Christy and my friend Tara. Yesterday I got up at 6:30 (after sleeping for the first time in the new, blessedly quiet house), went to the old place and started working on the bathroom. By 7:30, I was so overwhelmed by the very thought of having nowhere to put anything in the new place (only one large closet in the whole place – where to keep toilet paper? The vacuum? The luggage (I’m seriously, horribly addicted to luggage)?) that I went to Wal-Mart instead. I know it’s the antichrist and all, but they’re open early. Spent an hour there, got overwhelmed, bought nothing. Went to Home Depot, where I stood for another hour, then loaded a huge dolly up with incredibly heavy boxes containing bookcases, got to the front counter, and decided not only would they not fit in my car, even with the top down, but that the guys in line in front of me were probably right – Ikea would be cheaper, and have more selection. So I left Home Depot with nothing.

Got into the car and cried. All by 10:30 in the morning of the first official moving day.

Sensibly, I called the little mama, who said “go get boxes.” So in order to get boxes, I went to a liquor store near where Christy works so I could get a hug. I slowly figured out that there were no Extra Special Moving Brownie Points for moving in grocery bags. I had a vision in mind that I would put the things I own into Safeway plastic, drive them to the new house and put them away. One: No way in hell. Two: Why did I think that was somehow cool?

Boxes rock. I AM trying to put away everything as I go, as much as I can. But boxes help with the brain process, no? And wonderful friend Marama spent SIX hours (or maybe more, we lost track) buying Ikea bookcases and various other contraptions and then helping me put them together! How’s that for friendship? I mean, it’s awful enough to go shopping (although she says she likes that part). But to put that screwy Scandinavian furniture together? She gets all the Extra Special Moving Brownie Points for the day.

Oh, and I love my new place. Pictures soon, as soon as I get it more together…. You NEED to see my red walls.