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WIZARD ROCK!

Knitters converge!

You already know you’re getting the book on the day it’s released, July 20th. Of course.

But you know what’s more fun than THAT? Can you IMAGINE?

Seeing my sister’s band, Deadpan Alley, play their Harry Potter songs at Bookshop West Portal in San Francisco on the release day. That day, they will be known as Knockturn Alley, and I say we knitters converge in honor of Mrs. Weasley and watch the show. Leave her a comment to get on the evite list, or just show up. DETAILS HERE.

Dude. So cool.

Do you have ANY IDEA how many times I have gargled with salt water in my whole life? Maybe one million times. Maybe three billion times. Give or take a few. Blech. Strep, three or four times a year, for my whole life, plus months and months of tonsillitis. The tonsillitis is now resistant to the strong antibiotics I’m on, so they’re testing to see what else they can put me on for the next 5 weeks until the surgery date. Dude, when the bird flu hits, either I’ll go down in a hot second, or I’ll be immune to EVERYTHING because of the build-up of antibiotics in my system. (I know, antibiotics are bad. No medical horror stories, please. I have to be on them to keep the infection at least a little at bay. Although they’re not working right, huh?)

Anyway. It all comes down to salt. As usual.

I love salt. (I have very low blood pressure. No medical horror stories, PLEASE.) No, really I LOVE salt. I love the taste of it, the smell of it. Lala bought me a ten pound BAG of it from Costco the other day as a joke. Or maybe it was a serious gift of love. Or maybe it was both. Whatever, I propped it up in the kitchen. Tasty decoration. I salt food before I taste it (although if it’s homemade I try not to. I take a little taste and THEN add salt. I am Polite Company).

Sometimes, and I’ve done this ever since I was a little kid, I’ll lick the side of my hand and pour a little salt on it and lick it off. I don’t really care for potato chips, but I’ll eat them for the salt. I don’t like pistachios but I suck the shells and throw out the nut. Even gargling with salt water, you know….. I enjoy the flavor if not the activity.

I love this in particular: I pour the teaspoon of salt in the mug, add the hot water, then stir with the metal spoon. As I stir, and the salt dissolves, the tone of the metal spoon hitting the ceramic mug goes lower in pitch. Reminds me of the siren going by, the Doppler Effect of salt.

That is all.

Well, good morning.

It’s almost ten on Sunday morning, and it’s gorgeous. The house is mostly tidy, the coffee is made, Lala is still sleeping. I have Clara on the floor of my yarn room washing her paws, Willie sitting next to me, and Waylon lying on my chair-arm, looking out the window. Someone is playing hip-hop, but it’s good stuff, a bluesy, slow, sad sounding hip-hop, and it’s good to hear coming through the morning sun. I had vegemite toast for breakfast. My throat hurts, suddenly, in a new place, which worries me, since I’m still on the antibiotics, but I’m hoping for the best and gargling with vinegar and salt water, and using echinacea/beejelly spray from Chinatown.

We’re having a musician-type party tonight (if you weren’t invited, I’m sorry! I forgot! If you know where I live you should come, and I mean it), and I’m studiously Not Stressing about it. I will spend an hour cleaning later, a little polish and vacuuming, making sure the dog couches are sit-able, and then I won’t worry about it. In the past, I’ve always stressed about the state of the house, and then I realize two hours into the party that there are black tracks on the kitchen floor where everyone has been walking through spilled, melted ice, and I finally realize NO ONE cares as long as your house doesn’t smell like animals. Too much, that is. Tonight it will smell like crab cakes and barbequed chicken, so again, not too worried about it.

I *do* have to do my toenails. Stat.

And because I have to go do those toes, I’ll throw a few more pics at you.

You all seem to like the sepia, so here are a couple more.

From La’s birthday. We were in the City, at an Irish pub.

And one more of those you like, because you all make me feel pretty:

And you know WHY sepia rules? Because it hides things like the fact that I hadn’t done my hair yet (I have now):

Hi! You see that line of WHITE hair right next to Lala’s white hair? In the part? Click for big if you don’t believe me. I’m 34, and left natural, my hair would be mostly grey. Dude. Nuh-uh. (Also, I must be goosing Lala. That’s it.)

And for all you darlings who left me the most wonderful comments about my friend Bob, a shot of him and me at my wedding. Thank you.

I’m so glad he was there. And I’m so glad YOU’RE here. (I feel like I’m channeling Mr. Rogers. I shall go change my cardigan.) But really, I am. I hope you have a lovely, sunny day, and that it’s not too hot (hate the hot) and that you love someone up today.

https://rachaelherron.com/well_good_morni/

More than five years ago, I quit smoking. It was hard. Really, really, really hard. My friend Bob, a recovering alcoholic with a lot of years sober, gave me his nine-year chip. That was the talisman that got me through — whenever I HAD to have a cigarette, I clutched it like it was the lighter I used to carry. I love a sobriety chip in that you can squeeze it as hard as you can, and you can’t bend it, can’t break it, and then your fingers smell like quarters afterward.

I kept it on my person for a solid year, either around my neck or in my pocket. When I went to Italy by myself later that year, it really WAS the only thing that kept me from smoking. I mean, who would have known? Surrounded by smokers, in a different country, NO ONE would have known. But I would have had to go home and I wouldn’t have been able to lie to Bob. Probably could have lied to anyone else, but not to him. He would have known.

Bob died on Monday as a result of complications after surgery. He leaves behind a wife and two grown kids. I have never, ever, ever known a family closer than they were. He almost lost his family to drinking, and realized at the last minute that to keep them we would have to quit. He did, and it worked. The love that poured out of that family was something incredible to witness.

He was the funniest man I’ve ever met. He was Robin Williams funny with better timing. He was short and round, but got skinnier as the health problems increased. I thought he was an asshole when I first met him, almost nine years ago. He talked about his boy and called him The Beast, which I thought was cruel. It took me six months to realize that he actually loved the kid more than he loved anything else, except maybe his daughter and his wife.

He was the only person I took advice from. Pretty much, if he said to do it, I did it. When I was debating taking the job I have now, the job that I love, he told me I should do it, that I was changing in my old job, becoming bitter and jaded, and that I had to get out while I still could. I packed my bags and went.

He was talky as a jaybird. He never, ever shut up, and you never wanted him to. I’d tell him something, and that would set him off on a thought, three stories, and five jokes, and I’d learn as much as going to church. He WAS church. Church of Bob.

He came to our wedding, even though he didn’t go to parties with alcohol for the most part. He stayed long enough to give me his blessing and ten hugs. I think I only saw him two or three times after that, in this last very busy year. I’m trying not to kick myself too hard in the ass for that. It’s hard, though.

The funeral is in two hours, and I don’t want to go. I’m going to see a lot of people I don’t care to see, and worse, a lot of people that I know Bob disliked, people that treated him so badly that he retired in despair from the job he loved. A year ago. At least he retired. It’s a blessing, when I think about it. At least he got a year off the job with his family. And those people who forced him out will be there crying, and holding on to each other, and I’ll be there wearing my chip necklace, and trying not to hate them too much. And I’ll probably hug people and smile and chit-chat, and the ONLY reason I’m going is to look into Bob’s wife eyes, just for a second. To smile at his daughter. To hug the cop that he adopted as son. I know Bob doesn’t give a shit whether I go or not, he loved me, and I loved him, and the last time I saw him we told each other. We always told each other. But I want my presence there, my body to be standing with the hundreds and hundreds of people who will celebrate this incredible man’s life today.

The church will be full, most in uniform. I’m going from work, so I’ll be in uniform. And I’m dreading the bagpipes more than anything in this world.

I am a new woman today. I accidentally stayed up from 4:30am on Saturday until 8:30pm on Sunday, 40 hours or so, and by last night I was an irritating moron and didn’t feel too well, either. I didn’t plan it, just had to work a lot, but wouldn’t let the opportunity of seeing Devil Makes Three playing WITH the Whoreshoes pass me by, so I went out Saturday night after work, knowing I had to get up at 4:30am to go back to work. I was tired! So I had coffee! Two cups! And then proceeded to stay WIDE AWAKE for the three hours I had available to sleep. Bah.

But the show was great, possibly the best show they’ve had, I think. And I met Lisa, who won for coming the farthest way to see the Whoreshoes — all the way from Alaska. She lives there, and yes, PERHAPS she had other reasons for coming to San Francisco, but she made it to the show and she was great. You know how you meet a person and you’re like, oh, yes, that’s a nice person. And then you meet someone and you think, Yeah! Great person, so glad she’s here! That was Lisa. Plus she gave me a bottle of wine, which was sweet and will not go unappreciated. And she’s a nurse/midwife, which will remain one of my unfulfilled dreams, so that makes her even cooler. Thanks, Lisa. Come back soon.

Also, I wore my new stole (the pattern says it’s a capelet, but it feels more like a stole in the wearing):

It used 2 skeins Lambs Pride bulky, I think I used size 13 needles to get gauge. Took about five minutes. I found the brooch in my jewelry box (I don’t really have one of those — I have a bunch of places where I keep costume jewelry, but I like to say that I do), and it worked out perfectly as closure:

And it went with my outfit for the show:

And a bonus shot, since the camera was set on sepia when I started shooting:

***Added a bit later – How cute is Mandy’s new sweater? Don’t you want her to sell the pattern? I need a lacy little sweater like that, go bug her to write it up***

Good morning, kids.

I haven’t been here that much lately, have I? I must admit I’ve been rather uninspired when it comes to the blogosphere lately. I’m reading posts, but hardly commenting. Not moved to write posts myself. Blogennui.

Is it because it’s becoming summer? Is it because I’ve been ill and worn out? Is it because at home kittens crawl all over me when I’m on the computer? I do spend a lot more time on the internet while at work, and I don’t spend that much time on it, compared to what I used to spend. (Also, grammar has gone out the window, obviously.) Lala is terrified I will go the way of all her priors gals, most of whom professed to lurve the internet, only to forget every password they ever knew as soon as soon as they knew Lala’s birthday by heart. I think I won’t do that. I lurve the internets. However, I think I’m resting a bit. For the first time ever, when Google Reader (LOVE MY GOOGLE YES I DO) says that I have 100+ posts to read (isn’t that polite? That’s the most it ever says I have, even though I know it’s more like 600+ posts unread…..) I don’t care. Just don’t care. I have a folder called Friends, and my favorites ever are in there (that’s where your blog is), and I make sure I read everything in there. All the rest, things like lifehacks and writing news and crafts posts, eh. I mark ’em as read and I DON’T CARE. Liberating, really.

Know what I do care about? Besides knitting? (You wouldn’t know it, would you, but I have been knitting, and made the CUTEST shrug from this pattern, just no pics yet — I don’t even like shrugs, but this is just like a cute short sweater.) I care about knittens! Crazy chasing knittens!

    Fluffy Willie, looking like a big cat

    Miss Idaho is still unsure about all this.

    Willie Smush Sleep.

    Oh, the curled up Waylon cuteness.

Enjoy your weekend, all, and if you’re out and about  tonight, Saturday, please come by the Great American Music Hall for the BEST show — the Whoreshoes are playing with Devil Makes Three. It’s gonna kick ass. Yeehaw!