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I’ve been working on that Rowan Denim People cardigan which continues apace. I started it for Strawberry, so I’d have something to work on during the music and at camp, and I only have to finish the left front and make the right front, and I’ll be done. No pics, though, ‘cause they’re boring. It WAS totally fun to create a pocket within the work. Never done that before, don’t know why.

And Christy’s birthday present! No modeled shots, since I forgot to bring my camera with us when we went out, but the chair shall stand in, eh?

It’s the Yarn Harlot’s wonderful, incredibly easy pattern, found here. And the stripe is inspired by this fabulous poncho. I know, I was once a poncho mocker, too (and that’s just so fun to say; try it! Poncho mocker). And I still can’t see myself wearing one. I am just not That Cool. But Christy looked great in it. Take my word for it.

Don’tcha love a tassel? No, wait, it’s fringe. I always call it the wrong thing. (Yarn: Dale Sisik, 3 balls red, two black (they probably have real names, I just didn’t keep the ball-bands because I’m like that, you know).)

And I gotta show you Lala’s gift. She’s one of those who feels the cold easily, and she works in a building where they keep the temperature at a comfortable forty-six degrees Fahrenheit, so she deserved these:

(Gauntlet patten: IK Winter 2003; Yarn: Frog Tree Alpaca, one ball made both gauntlets. Wait. Are they gauntlets? They might just be fingerless gloves. Whatever. I like to say gauntlet, too.)

Do you appreciate my fine duplicate stitch skills? Do you? Nah, I don’t either. Screw that. Yesterday I sent to Christy a picture of the first banjo I painstakingly duplicate stitched, and she confirmed what I believed—it looked more like the female symbol. Or a crop circle. Or a crop circle summoning female aliens. I ripped it out twice, swore a hell of a lot, and then just roughly embroidered that damn banjo on. The La was fun, though. And La IS fun. Have you noticed? I am smitten. Enamored. Charmed. And a whole lot of things I couldn’t put on a blog my mother reads.

Blushing off now…. Mwah!

** Late addition — I rarely post quiz results, but this one is too deeply funny. It’s a truly tasteless quiz. I love it. Thanks, Mindy!

Grover on Ecstasy

You’re funny, you’re loveable, you’re entertaining,
you like to call yourself “Super
Grover!”–You’re obviously on ecstasy.
But that’s why we love you. Be careful, ok?

Which Sesame Street Muppet’s Dark Secret Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

This is odd. I totally want to blog, but I’m having a hard time finding words I think interesting enough to place here. I’m not bored, I’m just content and happy and tired and relaxed, and while it’s wonderful to feel this way, it doesn’t make the best blog fodder. The cats are napping in the sun, no one’s peed today (well, not in any bad places, anyway), I have plenty of TiVo cued up for this afternoon—a private screening of Underworld, even though I heard it sucked, followed by Bend it Like Beckham, because it’s so cute. I’m learning how to duplicate stitch. I hate it, so far, thanks. But it’s far, far better than intarsia.

Squeamish? Spoiler here—stop now. * I need to trim the cats’ nails. The other morning, as Adah was walking over and around and over and around (and over and around) my head at four in the freaking morning, I flipped her off the pillow, as I often do. It doesn’t deter her in the slightest, but it makes me feel better. This time, though, I got a claw through my eyelid. All the way through. It wasn’t on purpose, it was just what she hit when she went over my head. I screamed. Loudly. When I was in the bathroom washing it, the soap went through my eyelid and burned my eye. Isn’t that deesgusting? Luckily, the claw didn’t hit the eyeball at all, and I’ve kept antibiotic on it for two days, and it’s almost all healed, but still. Please. I was mad at her for a whole day, and it wasn’t even her fault. Bad me. We’ve made up now, but then she escaped this morning and came back covered in mud, so we’re still glaring at each other a bit. Teenagers. What are you gonna do?

God, I’m back to having no words. Just wanna sit on the swing outside and look at the sunny day and think about knitting and eat chips. Happy.

Oh, it’s good to be home. I’ve been running hard lately, literally and figuratively. Yesterday I woke up at 6:15am and started getting ready to go run in San Francisco. As I was padding around the apartment, I heard an odd noise. I thought, “funny, that sounds like rain. I know it’s NOT rain, so I wonder what it could be? A leak perhaps? A pipe trickling? A sprinkler left running? Strange, sounds JUST like rain.”

Well, yeah. It was rain.

Marama picked me up at 7am, and we drove into town. We got there really early, and sat in her warm, dry car, watching the runners gather in the dripping dark. She was a rock, I have to say. I kept making these little noises in my throat, small whines of discontent. I’m usually really good at staying strong, but yesterday I kept starting sentences like, “We could always make this run up later in the week….” and “Breakfast…. Mocha…. Bacon….” I was hoping she would finish the sentences for me and peel out of our parking spot, flying past those silly wet runners, laughing out our rolled-up windows.

But no. We slogged into the muddy meeting area and ran. I will admit it did not rain on us. It stopped when we started. But it was still sloppy and I give us twelve extra points (my own special scale of nothingness) just for not running away. Yesterday was a short eight mile run. I can’t believe I can type that, let alone think it. Shin splints hurt today, for some reason. Still frustrating, but I can manage.

It was sister Christy’s birthday yesterday! Hooray! At some point this week, I’ll get my camera out of my car and download the pics of her poncho that I made. She liked it! She really did! I was hoping she would… It’s only the second poncho I’ve ever made, and quite possibly the last, but I have to admit there was a small part of me that was covetous when I finished it. It’s red, with a black stripe for a border, black fringe, using the Harlot’s pattern. Couldn’t have been easier or quicker, and she likes it!

She wore it when we went to the Hootenanny yesterday. (I can’t believe my computer recognizes that as a word.) It was one of those Pretty Damn Hip afternoons in the City, at a warehouse/bar out in the back of beyond, behind the Giants stadium on the water. A bunch of bands were playing including the Whoreshoes, and you know I have rather a vested interest in them. I’d actually never seen them play, and I was really impressed. Even had I not known the very cute band member, they would have been my favorite of the day, hands down. And we got to eat hot links and drink beer and dance a little, and best of all (after the music, of course), there was a mechanical bull!

Okay, I look silly, but damn it, those are hand-knitted socks.

More house-hunting and bidding today, and I’m plumb tuckered out. Hey! Didja see, Cari got married? Whoo hoo! Remember when he proposed on their LOVEseat? I love a good ending.

I know, it couldn’t be much further from the last skin, could it? But I’m feeling rather…. industrial. Industrious, no. But I’m lovin’ hard on Oaktown. This is part of the freeway called the Maze*, and I drive under it every day. Something about that concrete makes me happy. More gray, for the skies that are coming. I am mad for fall and winter.

* This is another part of it:

At one point, there are eight different overpasses flying over and under each other. Modern-day buttresses, people. I love that I know where all the exits lead and how to find my way through and around the city streets, and I love flying on the top level, the 980 split to the 880, past the Greyhound station, looking left to the Oakland skyline and right to San Francisco lights. Home is good.

I didn’t get the condo. Apparently they “accepted” two offers, and countered us both, asking for more money. I accepted the counter-offer, but the other party not only accepted but raised the amount offered. I’m second in line, should they fall through. I have to say, though, I don’t even wish that their bid fails. When I woke yesterday and heard the message from my realtor, I was disappointed for a few minutes, thinking of that lovely street, and then I was completely okay with it. That whole zen thing I’m trying to do must be working out all right since I just mentally (and probably physically) shrugged and thought, okay. It wasn’t the right place. (As Mariko said in a comment, “Aiyaaaa! Serenity now!!!”)

Shucks, though. Why can’t the right place just sit up and wave at me? Eh, the properties are frogs, and this is my frog-kissing time, I suppose. Ribbit.

Oh! I keep forgetting to advertise this:

Knit-Out!
Sunday, October 10th, 1pm
Temescal Cafe, 4920 Telegraph Ave, Oakland (next to Article Pract)

I already know there’s gonna be a special guest appearance from a far-away blogger, so if you’re in or anywhere near the Bay Area, mark your calendars. Nothing but fun, kids. (And it’s not the Divine Ms. Em, since she’s going to just miss that particular party. But I get her all to myself! Ha! I canNOT wait.)

Ribbit, ribbit. Off to look at another house. And just for you, pink sheep.

This whole sleepy thing? It’s like an extreme sport, only you don’t get sweaty or sore or Gatorade. This morning while driving home, I was making an extremely difficult turn (other people know it as “left”—I know it as “concentrate very hard right now”) and I almost turned in front of a white VW because it was white. Really. Somehow, the car didn’t count because it was so pale. Not a real car. Okay to turn left in front of.

I exaggerate a little, and the steering wheel didn’t even turn (that much), but I had that stupid-decision-immediately-followed-by-shocked-realization moment, where you blink rapidly and mutter things like, “jeez, sorry dude, tired, stupid, orange marmalade, TURN SIGNAL, MORON” at yourself. Then you make the turn and you iMEEjatly forget what just happened and you think only about the fact that you’re in LOVE with the new CD in your stereo. I am one of the six best multi-taskers in the world, but not when I’m that dang exhausted. I can drive. Or I can listen to music. Doing both at that point is not intelligent. But, eh. I’m training for a marathon. Talk to me about intelligent after December 12th. (Mom, I don’t write things like this to freak you out, I swear I don’t. I’m fine. I slept well today.)

The CD: It followed me home, I swear it did. It was on my doorstep when I woke up, and it’s totally my new favorite CD (I know I had a new favorite last week, but I have no problem with musical infidelity). It’s The Knitters Poor Little Critter on the Road. It was hard to move that rock I’ve been living under ‘cause it was heavy as hell, but finding out that X did a y’alternative album with Dave Alvin kinda blew my mind. And come on. The name of the band? That’s the reason it ended up on my porch. That and I must have done something very right to have warranted such an amazing Wednesday gift.

Let’s talk for a minute about the person who gave it to me, shall we? Let me introduce you to her, formally. Knitblog world (and other esteemed guests), this is Lala. Yes, that’s her name. It doesn’t actually say Banjo Girl on her driver’s license, as surprising as that might be. I gave her the nickname in haste, but it has become clear that she is more than that. As Banjo-Guitar-Fiddle-Accordion-LapSteel-Mandolin-
Harmonica-and-Vocals Girl is a little unwieldy, as she herself points out, from here forward she will be called by her name. It’s a good one, too. It took me a while, honestly, to get used to saying Lala: I wanted to throw an R into it somewhere, or I got stuck and landed on just one La and then just felt awkward, holding an extra la in my hand, trying to stick it behind my back where no one would notice, but it rolls off my tongue now.

(I just had a random memory of a boy I used to know. He didn’t want me to know he was smoking one day when I saw him outside, so he put the cigarette behind his back.)

Enough for now. I promised myself some writing time, and then a run. And then perhaps coffee with said Lala before work, if I’m lucky. And tonight is my last night working for eighteen days! Yowza!