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I just got back from looking at a condo. Lord, I was all a’flutter even before I opened the door (okay, my realtor’s brother opened the door because they NEVER let me use the keys. But I was hot on his leetle heels). I know the golden rule of house hunting is not to get your hopes up. But someone (was it Maggi?) pointed out that I’m strong enough to bounce back easily enough if I’m disappointed. This place, yes. I’ll let myself dream a little. It’s only a four-unit place, sixty years old, and small, and has a claw-foot tub and real wooden floors, and I could only keep about six balls of yarn in it (hello, ebay sale!), and my heart, mind, and soul feel happy and rested and good when I think about it.

But we’ll see. I’ll land on my feet (or stay on them here) just fine. Deep breath.

Lala likes her gauntlet whatchamacallits! They keep her warm at work! That makes me happy. She totally played hookie with me yesterday and we had one of those perfect unexpected days, wandering Telegraph and stepping over trippin’ kids from Marin, shopping for CDs and books, doing a whole lot of nothing and having a completely wonderful time. This is a fabulous vacation. Why have I never stayed at home for vacation before?

Well, that’s probably because I thought it would end up like today did—running errands all over Oakland, waiting in line at TWO smog check stations (oh, you’ve been randomly selected to go to a Test-Only station. Sorry you waited behind three cars for us to tell you that, but you have to go to Berkeley, good thing you brought your knitting), paying bills and cleaning up after ants (boy, are they messy when they throw their little ant-parties—all those teeny tiny beer bottles and spray cheese everywhere…). But yesterday totally made today’s errands worthwhile. (Along with the errands, I got to see Celia, who works at the same place Christy does. Go say hi to her. She’s cool. And Christy gave me cookies! She’s the BEST, I tell you.)

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.