Rachael

Rock ‘n’ roll, baby. The earth’s a-shaking and a-rumbling. And I missed the whole thing! I was at work, on the third floor, and this building sways a little all the time as it is. I don’t think the Bay Area really felt it, as we received no phone calls from panicked citizens (who regularly pick up their phones the second an earthquake hits and dial 911, wanting to know the magnitude and location — give us JUST a moment, and we’ll get it for them, but in those few seconds after, we’re just as shook-ed up as they are).

I DID, however, get a panicky phone call from Christy, saying Home (Central Coast, San Luis Obispo area) had been hit with a 6.5 and she couldn’t get hold of Mom. I did the reassuring thing, as big sisters do, making up an insta-lie: “Mom’s not home, she had to take Kahlua to the vet, so that’s why she’s not answering.” Mom DID have to go to the vet today — I was just hoping I got the time right. Then I hung up and I called home. No answer, no machine. Enough to worry a little.

Mom called about fifteen minutes later, making only my second call received at work about the quake. All was well — she had, in fact, been out, driving her little yellow 72 bug into the Long’s parking lot, thinking she had suddenly lost control of the vehicle. When she pulled over to look under the car, a little old lady rushed up and said she thought she was having a heart attack. Together they figured out that neither the car nor the heart was in any great danger. And the house appears fine (with the exception of the water heater, which needs re-strapping and new vent), although everything was knocked down and off.

We finally found out what Dad had done during the shaker. Everyone raised in earthquake country has an automated response to shakes. I’m a doorway gal. If a large enough truck rumbles past my house, I’m standing underneath the door-frame before I can register the fact that I’ve moved. We had a 3.1 last Tuesday and my hair-dryer and I ended up in the bathroom doorway without even shutting the hot air off. Christy, on the other hand, is a duck-and-cover girl. A car crash on her street will send her right under the desk, piles of paper bedamned.

Christy talked to Mom, who had talked to Dad, who had said HIS method, apparently, is to go over to the plate glass window at work and press his nose against the glass. Hey! What’s goin’ on?

He’s from Arizona.

Me? I was born in Phoenix, but you know the saying, if a gal’s born in a barn, it don’t make her a horse. (A sheep, perhaps…..) But I’m a Californian at heart, reared in the gold-land. And I’m a home-girl, too, and I can’t wait to make that drive down the Coast tomorrow, Beth and my two kitties in the car with me, playing some tunes on the stereo, wind in our hair, heading right home to give the little shaken Mama the tight hug she needs.

Mariko lives in Paso, the hardest hit. Go wish her well.

I’ll be (mostly) off-line for the holidays, back Saturday. Have very happy holidays, no matter what you do. Or if, like my some of my best pals, Thursday’s just a good day for movie-hopping with none of that red and green frippery, enjoy that, too. Light a candle, cuddle a pet, kiss a loved one, and knit a little, too. Love to all of you.

So whatcha think about this? I ordered a vanity plate.

I KNOW!

I live in California, and it’s the ultimate cliche. (Okay, I already have one, but now that I’m so excited about my new one, I’m going to get rid of WRTRGAL. That’s too much of a mouthful. And everyone thinks it reads WaterGal. They stand in parking lots and yell, “Hi, WaterGal!” I’m over that. And it feels a little (a lot) pretentious.)

But the new one? Hold on, you’re gonna love it:

IYARN

Get it? Get it?
Yarn = Fiber.
Yarn = Tale.

I KNOW you don’t need to be told that. But I like to spell it out.

It’s so silly, I know, and it’s doing the Great Grammar Wrong of verbing a noun (like I just did again). It amuses me, though, and ain’t that the point?

I yarn. Why, yes. Yes, I do.

Working on a Koigu sock (thanks, boys!) that I gotta get finished as a last-minute gift, and I’ve started fiddling around with another cardie — gonna design this one myself. Nothing special, but it feels good to finally be working without a pattern. That’s been my goal for a long, long time, to make a sweater using nothing but my tape measure and some multiplication tables. It’ll probably turn out crap, but it’s nice to play. (And even cooler, for the first time EVER, I remembered to take in all the skeins I hadn’t used in my last couple of projects, and after they were cashed in, this new sweater yarn cost me twelve dollars!)

Happy Sunday! It’s a good, shiny, rainy life.

Rufus Wainwright really was dreamy. His voice is so clear, and he’s just so darn campy on top of that purity that he makes you want to both pat his head with one hand and buy him gold-tipped cigarettes with the other. You should have seen his PANTS! Christmassey striped and tight as heck, topped by a black leather jacket. He said he was Elvis on top, Liberace (Libby) on the bottom.

And dude. I don’t have his new album, but he sang a song off it, get this:
“Eleven eleven”
Yup.

He and I were meant to be.

He liked my sweater, by the way. Of course, it was hard to hear him say it, since he was on stage, and I was sitting with the sisters in the back, but I know that’s what he said. Yeah. Darling boy…..

Bethany’s back! Wheee!

https://rachaelherron.com/rufus_wainwrigh/

Welp, she’s done. All done. And I lurve her. Lookie:

May I present to you, Olallieberry?

From BonneMarie’s pattern (she’s so reliably terrific that I set my knit clock to her) and done in Jo Sharp SilkRoad Aran Tweed (merino wool, silk, and a touch of cashmere).

A little dance, a la Becky:

I loved everything about this pattern, including the speed and ease of completion. It seriously helped that there was almost NO finishing needed. This was the first time I worked from the bottom up, and I’m totally hooked. Happy, happy! And know what? IT FITS! It’s not too short! It’s not a bolero! Nice as boleros are, of course.

Notice how impressed Adah is (asleep behind me in the chair).

I am SO wearing this to the Rufus Wainwright show tonight.

Hey, but last night I wore (again) the Must-Bolero. Went knitting in the City (seen from BART platform):

Knitting with the gang – the live music was Celtic, which was perfect for knitting to. The only problem was it was a pretty large crowd – all the musicians had all their friends and family and it was pretty damn loud. Hard to talk. And then when we DID manage to be heard over the music and all the other shouting going on around us, a sweet looking little old lady came over and told us to be quieter – that she couldn’t hear the music over us. I agree, that WOULD be irritating. Except that the music was SO loud, her grandson sat there with her with his fingers plugged in his ears. Or maybe that was to drown her out. Huh. It’s a BAR, woman. With loud fiddling Celtic up front, us at the back, and a whole bunch of loud people all around. Why pick on the knitters?

But we had fun, even in the dark. Here’s The Other Rachel, helping John see his knitting, holding the candle up for him.

And the best part?

Joanna!

I recognized her by her sweater – she was as cute as it was, and she was a joy to get to know. And again, I’m struck by how NOT weird it is to meet online friends. We took BART back East Bay together, and it was great just to talk knitting and blogs and, like, stuff. You know?

Except that was maybe a little too much train-taking, because I had a hard time sleeping and every time I woke, I had Sheena Easton in my head. “My baby takes the morning train, he works from nine to five and then, he takes another home again, to find me waiting for him…..”

I hereby vote this as by far the most annoying song to have stuck in your head all g.d. night. Don’t even THINK about the feminist politics of it, or you’ll lose your mind.

Back to work. Tonight, Rufus…..

https://rachaelherron.com/oh_these_posts_/

Take five seconds and go sign the American Family Association’s poll on civil unions/gay marriages. They’re a Pro-Family organization and I just took this from their website:

Does AFA Hate Homosexuals?
Absolutely Not! The same Holy Bible that calls us to reject sin, calls us to love our neighbor. It is that love that motivates us to expose the misrepresentation of the radical homosexual agenda and stop its spread though our culture.

Hee! That actually makes me giggle. They’re going to present their poll to Congress, and wouldn’t it be amusing if it were weighted a mite more heavily on the pro-civil union/marriage side? Poll is HERE.

‘Course, if you’re anti-gay marriage, I still like ya. I just don’t wanna marry you.

Okay. Feeling a little sheepish. Most of y’all have it COLD! I don’t know how you do it. And Ann, that’s HORRIBLE about your dishsoap. I would freak out, really. I would. Of course, my apartment is the size of a postage stamp, perhaps 250-300 square feet, so it takes about ten minutes of running the heater to overheat the place. And I like a nice chill in the air while I sleep. But I suppose when snow surrounds your house, the romance of it costs a lot less than the heating bills, no?

Oh, but to knit and look at snow outside. The jealousy. (I sure love to look at the snow pics on all the different sites – the feeling of Oh! That’s what my friend sees! That’s so cool!)

Finished Olallieberry last night, and I just have to go out and buy a zipper. I am wildly busy all day today, this my last day off before I leave to go HFTH* on Tuesday. AND I’m still intent on fitting a yarn run in this afternoon between laundry and going to the City to knit (Joanna’s coming, too)! Must have more of that warm Paton’s Merino goodness. I think I might design something myself, a cabled cardie that ISN’T CROPPED. Lord, I’m not a belly-barer. Even my tee shirts like a little cover-up. You know?

Oh, and for Mooky:
Digit next to and Adah underneath the heater.

*Home for the holidays…. (Joanna guessed it in my comments before I even realized I forgot to footnote. I shoud just stick to parentheses.)