Man, am I tired. I was going to write that I had no idea why, and then I started to write this post and it all came together. I flew to Boston,
(A word about the approach into Boston airport? Scary. The wind throws the plane all around as you come in close over the water, hoping against all hope that the pilot has better depth perception than you do because mercy, the bouncing plane is close to the water and there’s a big wall at the beginning of the runway.) was met at the airport by my lovely friend Julia and we did the only thing that two friends who have not seen each other in a long time can do. Go to Circles. (What? That’s what you would do, isn’t it?) I scored some beautiful Chasing Rainbows yarn
(seen here gracing the fetching carpet at the hotel) and learned that Julia couldn’t sell wool to shorn sheep. While Julia was dumping Circles entire sales bin onto the floor (that woman has no shame) I discovered this ball of yarn.
For my fellow Torontonians:
What about this yarn says Toronto to you? The glitz? The colour? The ARCTIC HUSKIES TRAVERSING THE MOUNTAINS?
We pondered the depths of Red Sox fans souls, ate dinner and I ensconced myself at the College Club. After an eight hour loss of consciousness, I woke up, knit a couple of rows on the baby sweater, packed my things and straggled downstairs to the reception room where I met and was charmed by the Boston Knitting Guild.
(I have pictures, and I’d post them…but I liked these ladies too much to do that too them. They’re terrible. I apparently have no understanding of my digital camera at all. These appealing and elegant women (and Bob) have done nothing to deserve how they look in these pictures.)
Then I got a taxi…
Today’s taxi blog picture is brought to you by Ahmed. A very nice man who was kind enough to play tour guide on the way to Cambridge and showed the sock the Harvard dorms.
The sock admired the view of Boston over (what I believe to be) the Charles River,
and wound up (thanks Ahmed) at Porter Square Books, where I learned that they had moved the event to the Masonic Hall across the street. (Jane, who co-ordinated the event for the bookshop, said the best part of the whole thing was trying to explain to the Masons what she wanted the hall for.) Lucy, owner of Mind’s Eye yarns was helping her to set up, and this is what they had.
Is it just me or is that a lot of chairs? I stood there, stunned. That many chairs? This was going to be bad. This was going to be what my mother warned me about. This was going to be me, in a Masonic Hall with a bizillion empty chairs facing me while I spoke nonsense into a microphone. Couldn’t we just knit instead?
I offered to go lie in the road, but they suggested I stay. I offered to help them put some chairs away. They declined.
Against my better judgment, I stayed there, but did take out my knitting and stand quietly in the corner waiting for…I don’t know what. It wasn’t this though.
Darned if the knitters didn’t come. There was Team MIT from the Olympics
(These are smart people. If they did the Knitting Olympics it must not have been crazy.) There was Frecklegirl,
Briar, Suzanne (who completely addled my tired brain by spelling her name aloud to me “S. U. Zee A.N.N.E. I sat there looking at her for a minute until it computed. Zed. Zee. Same letter.) There was Patience and her charming mate..
Grumperina, Ms. Jaywalker herself, standing there looking like a mere mortal.
Guido, from the podcast “It’s a purl man”
Do not ask what the blue and white knitted object is in his hand. I assure you that it is largely innocent, but am a little creeped out anyway. Guido, dude. Sew that up so it stops being weird.
and Susan (sadly, blogless) showing off her very impressive, gold medal winning Olympic socks. Very, slick. Very.
There were others, I loved them all. Sing out in the comments.
I went to dinner with some buddies from Team Boston, and Lucy the yarn shop owner, and after dinner? After a really fun dinner?
Lucy opened the shop just for us. Life is sweet.
(And her merino/tencel handpainted sock yarn is pretty good too.)
Today I’m at Classic Yarns of Grafton, and I gotta go. Taxi’s waiting.