Yesterday, I was a little tiny bit homesick. (Ok. I was really a whole lot homesick but I was trying not to be pathetic on the blog.) I miss Joe and the girls and my own bed and… I miss my yarn and my knitting books. (Have I mentioned that the strangest thing about my new alternate universe is that it only has one book in it?) I miss having my things around me and spending really good intimate time with Mr. Washie, who I am sure is grieving in the basement of my house with a sodden lint filter. My attitude at the beginning of the day was a little bit of a downer. I smiled and drank whacks of coffee and had a really good lunch and then I sat in the hotel room and called Joe, who was not in the studio, and the girls, who were not home. (How dare they go on without me?) Then the sock and I sat on the edge of the bed thinking about home until it was time to go over to The Fiber Art Center. Really, I have to tell you that the pout I had on the bench outside the hotel was practically Shakespearean in it’s lugubrious melancholy. (Being pathetic for decent stretches of time affords one opportunity to think up really descriptive words for this.)
Little did I know, that knitters were going to rise to the occasion again.
Straight off…the Fiber Art Center is seriously cool. There is, right in the lobby, a felted chesterfield couch. It is so completely funky that the minute I saw it I was completely overcome by the realization that I am a Hack. Whatever I may have believed about my ability to make beautiful things was so completely outshone by this thing that one word rang over and over and over in my mind. Hack.
(Note to self. When you see something that cool….take a freaking picture. Hack.)
Then, there were knitters!
Friendly, lovely, funny knitters. Look closely and you can tell that this whack of knitters was a lot of fun. (Note: The term “whack of knitters” is being used here as an equivalent to “flock of seagulls” or “Knot of toads”. More here, much fun.)
Knitterpated came and brought me a little wee felty Harelot.
(You know…it just occurred to me that at least part of the problem with explaining about blog friends might have to do with the names…) I feel that I must tell Amber (Geekpixie) that although we may appear to be laughing and smiling and having a really good time in all of these pictures that without you…it was nothing.
In fact, in this picture
Where the afterparty crowd, including Mamacate (who is really as lovely as you would expect…and more) and Adrienne (go congratulate her on finishing her own bookbookbook…even though it’s not about knitting) are all appearing to have fun hoisting a local pint…we are not. We are without Amber, and we are only pretending to have fun, just so the waitress wouldn’t feel bad.
So we’re sitting there, feeling horrible that Amber couldn’t be with us, when suddenly, I hear bells. Jingle bells. Now, I’m the suspicious type and since it’s May, there’s very little chance that Santa Claus is approaching from behind me…so naturally, I figured that I was having a stroke. There were more bells, and then more, and then more…and finally, when the ringing in my ears was deafening and I couldn’t possibly stand the intrigue or the noise….
I asked if anybody else could hear it.
They could (thankfully…since some sort of stroke would really be a bad thing in my life right now.) and it turned out that we (well…the pub) was being beset upon by a largish team of Morris Dancers.
They were delighted to meet the sock.
Many thanks to Mamacate, who was the bold one who investigated the possibility of the photo above. She wisely asked the accordion player, who surely wields the power.
Finally, please wish Amanda luck. She has a violin solo tomorrow evening. I know not much can make up for me missing it….but maybe your well wishes will take the edge off. Good luck, my little chick.