Where was I ? Right. Finishing up in Pittsburgh, where knitters are friendly, the yarn shops terrific and every road leads to a bridge. Round about this time I had a life that looked only like this.
I know. That’s the hotel room in Pittsburgh, and I’ve got to tell you, while it was very clean and comfortable, it had all the personality and soul of that guy Mark I dated in the 10th grade. (Mark actually had his mother call and tell me and cancel a date. Who does that? I had my mother call and dump him. I regret nothing. ) I believe that it was this bland hotel room that caused me to cast on this.
Have you ever seen anything less Stephanie in your life? What was I thinking? A baby surprise jacket (I love me the baby surprise jacket) in pastels? What was this doing in my stash? What sort of leaving home panic caused me to grab this? That will teach me to plan better. Never leave your knitting selections to the last minute. If it wasn’t for the hotel room I probably would have realized that I was knitting something I hated, but the carpet got to me and I kept going. Weird. In the meantime, the hotel had served it’s purpose, and after a very disturbing conversation with a night clerk at the hotel, (He writes sexual science fiction and wants the name of my agent. I didn’t give it to him. She can thank me later) I caught a deadly early shuttle to the Pittsburgh airport and flew to Philadelphia.
I arrived at the Doylestown Bookshop via car, and the place was charming. Actually, all of Doylestown seems charming. Very white picket fence/ American family movie sort of place. The architecture is beautiful, the parks are beautiful and more than once I smiled as I drove through and saw all of the blossoming trees. (Toronto is not blossoming yet.) When I arrived at the shop they had 10 chairs set out, and were feeling pretty ready. (I have low enough self-esteem that this didn’t seem like it was going to be a problem.) They assured me that A) I write knitting books. B) It was raining/snowing and C) I write knitting books. 10 chairs it was.
These pictures were taken before everyone got there. We ended up a team of more than 40 or 50 knitters. (I love freaking the muggles out.) There was Liz (In a great sitcom chic. Every time I see that sweater I think over knitting one.) Laurie, who was way more smooth than she thinks she was, Amy and Francesca, Chrissy (who was surprised I knew her blog. TIP: The blogosphere is a community. I read your blogs, you read mine. Neat, eh?) Mark (excellent taste in yarn.) Buttercup, the fabulous S.Kate (live and in the flesh) Regina, who’s socks looked self patterning and absolutely . Were. Not.
This woman is a very good knitter. (Regina, I have not posted the picture of you in your sweater as a personal favour from me, to you. I assure you that it was the most unflattering picture ever taken of a human being and seeing as it resembled you exactly the way that cheese curds resemble ballet dancers, I’ve not posted it. It was a great sweater though.) More knitters were there, including a Canadian (Good to see you eh?) Teresa, and many more. I had a very good time, especially when I looked up and saw my salvation, the force put on this earth to rescue me from cabbies, soul-sucking hotel rooms, bad airport coffee and strange processed cheese…
She and I left with S.Kate, visited the nearby Yarn shop (What was the name of that place? Forever yarn? She had fleece artist.) and we made our merry way to a restaurant for lunch where I enjoyed S. Kates company and was able to thank her in person for all that she did to make the Olympics work, and for how generous she is with KWB. It was, once the thanking was done (thanking is not so funny) one of the funniest meals I have ever snickered my way through. S. Kate was spindling suri alpaca, and it was everywhere. Everywhere. Webbing her to the seat, on her leg, in her hair and in this picture, though you can’t see it….
in her mouth. (What can I say. The woman loves fibre.)
We parted in the parking lot and Juno and I began the drive back to NJ. We drove for a bit, reflecting (read giggling ourselves stupid) on what a fun time it had been, then fell into a quiet silence, while I chose CD’s for the ride and we stopped for a red light. It was at this exact peaceful moment that someone ran up to the side of the car, knocked on the window and held something up, momentarily terrifying both Juno and I.
It was S.Kate. It was a Suri sample. She thrust it into the car, said “I’m so glad it was your car” and bolted.
I love knitters.