I’m here, I’m here. Besides making the trip to BEA and going to a part of a wedding, it was also Victoria Day weekend in Canada, so yesterday was a holiday. Victoria day, is, I admit, somewhat difficult to explain to people who do not live in this country. May 24th is the Queen’s official birthday in Canada (even though her birthday is April 21st and her name is Elizabeth.) We celebrate it on the Monday closest to May 24. (So we can have a long weekend. Canadians are a practical people.) Even though that won’t always be May 24th, we will always call it May 24th, and this is further complicated by the Canadian habit of referring to it as the May “two-four weekend” even if it is actually May 18th. (A “two-four” is a case of beer, giving you a hint about the intentions of many Canadians for this weekend.) Victoria Day (or the May two-four weekend) is also the spiritual beginning of the Canadian summer, and in many parts of Canada, coincides closely with the safe planting date. This can be confusing because many years, like this one, it certainly doesn’t seem like the beginning of summer. (Is anyone else thinking about turning their heat back on?) Traditional activities for the May-two four weekend include:
(Canadians…feel free to add to this list that we may enlighten our friends to the south.)
– Gardening. Victoria Day weekend is the biggest gardening weekend of the year. Even where grocery stores are closed for the holiday, garden centres are open.
-opening the cottage, if you have one.
-helping your buddy open the cottage (to secure future invites) if he has one.
-plugging in the beer fridge out back.
– drinking beer.
– setting off fireworks in fields, backyards or parks near your house if you live in the city, and possible bonfires if you are rural or at the cottage.
-barbecue and eat outside. (Regardless of temperature.)
-Drive from Oliphant to Wiarton in a Pinto with a boy named Shawn and a bunch of your friends, sunburned, eating Timbits, wondering if you have enough money for a poverty pack and singing “Take On Me” at the top of your lungs. (That one may just be me. Best Victoria day ever though.)
While I wasn’t bemoaning the lack of warm sunny weather (lack of a two-four too, now that I think of it.) I was all over the place. We shall do it quickly, in pictures…before I bore someone half to death.
4:00pm Friday, Flying into Dulles, the sock spots Air Force One.
(Trust me. That’s it. I was a little slow with the camera.) I was surprised to see it there, just like it was a regular plane, but the guy sitting next to me said it was because Andrews Air Force base was having an Air show. I have no idea why I thought this was so cool.
(Harrison Ford association, likely.)
5:30 Friday, The sock is impressed by the Washington Monument.
(Did you know that it has an elevator and you can go up and look out those little wee windows at the top? Me neither.)
7:00pm Friday. In my never ending attempts to amuse the sock, I point out that the dinner we are at…
the yarn centerpieces match the guacamole.
10:00pm Friday. While we are chatting in the lobby of our hotel, Margaret Atwood walks by. The Canadian rules of engagement prevent me from approaching her. I curse them, but am ethically unable to pursue her.
7:00am Saturday. I may or may not speak coherently at a breakfast meeting. No way to know.
9:00. The sock unsuccessfully stalks Stitchy McYarnpants.
12:00 While looking for Stitchy, I find Michael!
(Let this be a lesson to you. Bloggers are everywhere.)
2:30, I speak on a panel with Deb Stoller, Candi “Slick” Jensen and Rachel Ray. (Not that one.)
3:45 Stitchy! Stitchy and an advance copy of her book!
(Her badge actually read “Stitchy McYarnpants”. I can’t tell you how much I love that. Her book is a wonderful kind of funny.)
Pam from Storey Publishing holds the sock aloft. It is a complete coincidence that Rush Limbaugh is behind her. Odd, that.
(Stop the presses. My sources tell me that it is possible that this is actually Newt Gingrich and I am stupid. No way to tell about the former, the latter is certainly possible.)
11:30pm Saturday. The sock (having being transported back to Canada) goes straight from the airport to Jody and Jeanette’s Wedding.
It couldn’t happen to nicer folks.
11:40, The sock finds the handsomest man at the party.
Dado, Jodi’s dad. (It is worth noting that the sock has achieved such fame and station that the Bride and Groom were looking forward to their “sock picture” and when I started to explain to Dado about the sock, he took it from me gently and said “I know what the sock is.” I’m starting to think this is the strangest tradition ever.)
Now home, I have returned to my regular activities. Making stupid knitting mistakes and avoiding the laundry. Seen here, the two fronts of the Erle sweater….
right before I realize that one of those two sides should have buttonholes.