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Nope. Just keep thinking of things.

Know who’s funny? Marcia is funny.

Know what’s crazy? This is crazy.

Know what truly freaks me out, but you kinda have to see/hear it? This truly freaks me out. I have no way to deal with this.

You all know how I Don’t Rip, right? Hate ripping. Rarely do it. Wate of time. Call it a design detail, and I SWEAR no one will notice, not even the best knitter. Promise.

But if you add a cute little rolled collar and it rolls to the INSIDE, people will notice, dude.

I ripped. Sigh. I told you I felt discombobulated, right? And I ain’t even added the zipper yet. Sheesh.

Look! My first tomatoes!

Okay, that’s not true. Two days ago, I had the first two, but they were almost identical to these little suckers. No way you’d have known that, though. Don’t know why I felt moved to explain. I tell you, eaten over the sink, sprinkled with salt, nothing better.

Hey! It’s Lala’s birthday! I’m happy about that. I lurve birthdays and can’t wait to celebrate it later with her.

I’m a little discombobulated this morning. I’m just about done with the pink handspun sweater, which I think is going to be nice. This in spite of the fact that  I was making up the pattern as I went, and I apparently thought that my arms were a foot long. They’re not, by the way. I ended up with three-quarter length sleeves, which I actually like better than full length, since I’m always overheated. I just need to do a collar of some sort (I’m thinking simple rolled edge) and a zipper. Yay!

https://rachaelherron.com/look_my_first_t/

Golly. This past weekend was SO busy and SO much fun. Of course, now I’m exhausted and I’m about a week behind in email (forgive me), but I’m happy-tired.

Lala’s show on Saturday was great — it was held down by the water on the embarcadero in Oakland, in one of those in-between spaces — not really legal, no one really minding except for the city council every once in a while, but then the city forgets again they’re there. People live on their boats and in old warehouses, and every once in a while throw a great big party like they did on Saturday.

The Whoreshoes were up first, but they were missing their fiddle player Joni, a resident of the marina, so people stood around and drank beer and barbequed what they’d brought. Janine and her husband showed up and we sat knitting on the concrete, watching the people. It was a good mix of adults, kids, and dogs, but while I’d warned Janine it might be a lot of hippies, turns out I was wrong, and it was a lot of hipsters. (Janine confided "we probably would done better with the hippies….") I didn’t quite fit in, either, but thank god I was wearing my new shirt.  

The fiddle player finished her boat race (they lost, thus the lateness). The band was great, as usual. The crowd dug ’em. Of course. They’re hot. Afterward, a group of us trooped down to the water to see Joni’s new little yacht, which was lovely. Made me want to live on a boat, just for a moment. I love that rocking, that moment of finding the place in your knees where they turn to mercury and move with the water. I’m good on water (which is why I don’t understand why I get so carsick, but there you go).

When we got to the boat, there were already people playing: two fiddles, a stand-up bass, and two guitars. Lala boarded with her banjo, and I boarded with my knitting. Yes, I felt a little funny about that, but I offered contralto on "I’ll Fly Away," so I called it good and kept knitting.

The sun went down. We watched the pelicans dive. Music drifted over the water. It was gorgeous.

And I really like this one:

Apart from that night, though, I got precious little knitting done, and NO SPINNING. There. Aren’t you sad for me? Tragic, yes. But Wednesday afternoon, I should get a little in. I hope. I’ve also agreed to train for the SF Half-Marathon (that Mariko may be cute, but she’s RUTHLESS), so I have to get a run in too. Lord. Spin or run? What would you pick? I can tell you which one I like best. Bet you can guess.

Two observations that I made when I got home this morning:

Eight = the total number of squares of toilet paper that I had left in my house when I entered carrying the new pack I bought last night.

That kind of GEENYUS was quickly snuffed out as I put the last little bit of Chubby Hubby Ben&Jerry’s in the microwave for ten seconds to thaw it a bit, started to count to ten (since it’s on an old dial and I have to set it for one minute), and then forgot completely (I’m pretty sure I got to three) and wandered away to look at the pretty, pretty yarn in my bedroom. I now have ice cream soup. And it ain’t half bad.

To bed!

I wish I had a picture for you, but I don’t, but I want to show you the socks I’m making out of some Cormo handspun.

Dude. I spun wool and now I’m making socks. That’s WILD. (What is that the Yarn Harlot says about our obsession? At least we’re not this obsessed with cabbage. Thank god. It could be so much worse.) And I spun it so fine that even double-plied it’s about DK weight. Maybe a tad heavier.

And that Cormo is soft. I was skeptical while spinning, because it was such a pain in my arse, sticky and short, just at the edge of my spinning ability, but knitted up it’s pretty dang fine. (But I can’t think about Cormo without thinking P0rno, which is what Lala heard when my friend Deanna and I raced off to track it down in Maryland. The P0rno fiber. Oh, yeah, baby.)

This weekend: The Whoreshoes are playing the 5th Ave. Marina at the Oakland Embarcadero on Saturday afternoon. Come on by if you’re in the area, and hoot and holler a bit. I’ll also be relaxing. It’s been a long week, and I some TiVo to catch up on. Can’t WAIT. (Originally typed Can’t WATI, which is accurate. I don’t think I can wati at all.)

And I wrote. Woot!