Rachael

It’s cold in here. Not really cold, you know, it’s sixty-two, according to the thermostat, and I’m in no danger of dying of exposure, but my toes are cold. Turned the heat on in the middle of the day. Feeling wild and crazy.

But this: I am driving to San Rafael tomorrow to get more Paton’s Classic Merino to start a simple cardie. I am desperately in love with this yarn. I’m wearing the Must-Bolero right now (as I have been almost every day recently) and while I wouldn’t walk out of the house in this particular ensemble (gray sweats pants, yellow socks, a holiday “I Gave Blood” shirt with dancing drops of blood wearing red and green elf hats, topped with the cabled shortie), I’m mostly warm. My top half is, anyway. I LOVE this yarn. Soft, light, completely cozy yet it hasn’t been TOO warm, which is usually my problem…. I need more.

(I know you can’t get over the dancing holiday blood drops (they’re holding hands, wrapped in garlands of Christmas lights). Neither can I. And what makes them worse is I actually DIDN’T give blood last week – I went in to Red Cross, but my iron was too low. They gave me the shirt when I walked in, and then when I tried to give it back when I left, all to a person shook their heads kindly and sadly: “No, honey, you just keep that. Our gift to you. Happy holidays. Oh, good luck to you…..” Sideways glances, poor low-iron thing…….)

Where was I? Oh. The Paton’s yarn. And it’s cheap! One of the best things about it.

And MORE knitting content. Here’s a photo of where I am with the ribby cardie:

I’ve dubbed her, as of last night, Olallieberry. The actual berries are darker, blue/black, but this deep Jo Sharp red is just the same shade as the jam. It’s not a great picture, but the thicker stripe is a gray/bruised purple, and the darker one is a deep purple with flecks of bright blue thrown in, all in Jo Sharp SilkRoad Aran Tweed. And I got a little crazy non-symmetrical with the one sleeve. Just needed to.

This cardie feels good to work on, soft and thick and kind of stubborn, if that makes any sense. A sturdy cardigan. Loving it. And you canNOT go wrong with a BonneMarie pattern, no?

Hey! Have you noticed I haven’t been writing about writing? That’s because I haven’t been doing much of it!Yep! I’m in a slump. I WILL walk to the coffeeshop as soon as I post this (or after I cruise some sites) and I will write today. Haven’t really written in almost a week. Feels like pushing mud to get to the page, although when I get there, the words are ready to happen. But getting there, bleah. I have to promise myself a chai latte (and maybe a ginger cookie) today – that’s the only thing that’ll get my ass into write-mode.

It’s a chai, heater-on, soft-wool wearing kind of day. Yep.

Talked to the sisters night before last – they were on the coast of Georgia, staying in a tree-house hostel. What this meant was that it was forty degrees and they were up a tree surrounded by mesh and plywood, trying to get warm in their sleeping bags. While I thought this was humorous, I don’t think they did. They were taking it very seriously.

But they’re having fun, I believe. Gonna call ‘em as soon as I finish posting this. I’m going to recommend a motel room, perhaps. I know they were thinking about a night in a B&B, but I think that idea was shot by Christy’s unfortunate ticket experience. But a Motel 6? Might be just the thing.

Moving slowly this morning. I have a grand goal today: Finish Christmas. I’ve ordered everything I needed to order and just have to pick things up – this will require a Telegraph trip. I hate going into Berkeley (one house from the border, I am a very proud Oakland resident), and I hate finding expensive parking, but once I’m there, it’s fun. Lately there’s always a young homeless couple that has on the sidewalk in front of them a small cat playing with (or wrapped around) a pet rat. I don’t understand so many parts of this, but perhaps my biggest question is why the hell that cat sticks around. I can’t make a cat stay in one place all day, can you? It’s not tied up to anything and usually appears content to be on the blanket with the rat, also not contained. Any cat I’ve ever known personally would look at me with that “you just don’t get it, do you?” look and then EAT the rat. And probably barf it up immediately, for spite. Dunno.

(Total aside – my favorite street performance in all of the Bay Area is the Bushman.

He’s found on the sidewalk between Pier 39 and Ghiradelli Square and you either hate him or love him. I adore him. He hides behind that bush all day, and when tourists walk by, he makes the bush roar and leap at them. The tourists scream and run and grab strangers around the waist. I’ve seen a couple of them get pretty pissed off, fists balled, ready to swing, but they’re the ones who are laughing the hardest when they watch the next group get Got. There are usually hordes of people behind and in front of him, on both sides of the street, the Recently Got or the In The Know, who are doubled over with laughter, watching the next victim approach. Here’s one of him lying in wait. Come on. You know that’s funny. If you come visit, I’ll take you and I’ll make sure you see him before he sees you.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah, book shopping and music buying. That’s the order of the day. My family, books and music. We don’t need nothin’ else (except I likes my yarn, of course).

Oh – here’s what happens when you come home late from work, reach to fill the cat food container and drop it. Adah’s accidental dinner.

Thanks, JStrizzy, for this: Knit New York

Holy cow. I may have to move to New York.

I am in love, and I don’t know what I was waiting for. I have put off getting to really know this person, and it’s been my own foolish pride standing in the way, that’s all.

Rufus Wainwright.

Oh, baby, and it’s so fine. His album Poses, listened to on the way into work this morning, has blown my ugly machine-knitted black work socks right off my feet. I was only listening to him because Christy*, Bethany and I are going to his concert on Friday night (right after they fly in from Atlanta), and I figured I oughtta know him a little bit more. Before this morning, I only knew I liked his Moulin Rouge songs, and I loved the idea of his “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” song (two of my favorite things, too).** But I had never taken the time to listen.

Oh, yes. Torchy, campy, bitter and sweet. I’m so in love.

Other news: Have joined the ribby cardie together, and I’m working on the body decreases, going up. I’ve never joined anything this way (only ever worked from the top down) , and I like it. I like everything about this sweater so far, and I’m hoping it stays that way. No more bolero disappointment, please. Pics over the weekend, I promise. Lord, I love me some Jo Sharp.

* His biggest fan – When she learned to knit, she made me and Bethy scarves, and then one for him. A long, skinny, stylin scarf. According to her, he took it and wrapped it (with elan) around his neck.
** Still not smoking. Twenty-one months. And a lot of sweaters.

So I’m at work yesterday, and I get a call from a guy who says there’s a woman struggling to change the tire on her car. I explain the police don’t change tires for people, but is she perhaps blocking traffic?

Guy – No, but she needs help. The car fell on her.
Me – It fell on her?
Guy – Well, not on her, but it fell off the jack and she needs help.
Me – Is she elderly?
Guy – No, she just needs help! You need to get someone out here now!

It turned out to be my SISTER!

Yesterday was the last day of finals in Christy’s graduate program at Berkeley, she’s had over a hundred pages or work due just this week, she had an upcoming final at 5pm and an imperative meeting at work that she couldn’t get out of.

She had gone out to her car to find a flat tire. (This is the same car that cost her $800 earlier this week in transmission problems.) When she tried to change it, she found that the SPARE was flat. While she was realizing this, the car dropped off the jack and landed on the rotor.

She called, just as upset as I was that the neighbor reporting party didn’t help, and walked (in the rain) to the PD where she got my keys to use my car for the day. That’s when I inherited her day. Work got crazy, I got a ride home from work and realized just as we were pulling up that I didn’t have a KEY, as it was on the keyring with the car key. Dur.

I live in Oakland. My windows are shut tight when I’m gone, and I’ve never thought about leaving a key outside for In Case (actually, I thought about it briefly last week and dismissed the thought, yup). This was at five pm, so my friend who dropped me off and I went to dinner (big burgers and fried mushrooms) and then I waited at a neighbor’s house until Christy’s final was done. I had a Koigu sock on the needles, so it wasn’t no thing.

But by now, Christy’s in the air, winging her way to Atlanta to see Bethy! Wheee! She had a glitch in ticketing and had to get a first-class* seat on the way home. Even though it cost her more, don’t you think she deserves first-class? I do.

First-class all the way, baby! See you Monday.

*I’ve never flown first-class myself. It’s a goal, though. And footnotes rock.

Welp, Friday, actually. But it’s my Monday, and I’m at work this fine day. As I drove in this morning, the sky was a deep dark blue/purple, a smudged bruise. It’s what I imagine the sky looks like before snow. Except, of course, this is the Bay Area, and all we’ve had recently is some damned good rain. That heavy, wool-coat soaking kind of rain that’s fun to run through, not so fun to hail a cab in. *

Driving to work this morning, however, I wondered AGAIN why people feel it’s okay to come up on your a$$ at ninety,** slam on the brakes (because you’re only doing seventy-five) and swerve around you, almost clipping your bumper and causing the next lane to slam on their collective brakes. My time, the way I figure it, is just not as precious to me as theirs is to them. I hang back, willing to get there when I get there, and I don’t understand their mentality. I don’t understand how angry they get at the space I’m leaving between me and and the car in front of me. It’s like a personal affront. So they near-miss me, go around, wedge themselves in the gap I’ve left, and then do it all over to the new car in front of them, their new problem on the road.

I like to drive. I like to zen the traffic. I wish THAT were part of the driver’s training these days: How to relax when cut-off. How to keep your middle finger on the steering wheel at all times. How to leave the house a little early to account for traffic. How to sing really super loudly and groove your head and make everyone think you’re on meds (but really good ones).

Knitting content: Working on BonneMarie’s ribby cardie in Jo Sharp Silkroad (a tweedy red), and it’s working up fast, just the way I like. Pics over the weekend (not sure if I mean my weekend or yours, but I like the vagueness). Also working Christmas gifts, but hey, who isn’t?

Happy Friday(ish)!

* I just like the way Em does this and I’m copying.
** I have no idea why it was okay for me to write fuc(wad yesterday and today I’m having issues with ass — mood-bleeps, I suppose.