All right. This is going to be a long entry, but at least it will get me back on “real time”. There’s something tremendously weird about writing about cities you left two days ago while flying through other ones…so I’m going to do LA and Wichita and get back on the horse that threw me. I’ll try not to leave too much out.
In Los Angeles….
I think that I can’t be the only one who finds LA a little hard on the ol’ self esteem. There is an alarmingly high ratio of tall, beautiful people compared to us ordinary souls, and it usually doesn’t take long for me, the shabby and usually bra-less to feel out of place. Add into this that I was in a downtown hotel on the eve of the Emmy’s (thus increasing the number of tall beautiful people) and you can see how it might get to you. It didn’t though, because this time when I was in LA…I got to walk among my people. (Not that they aren’t tall and beautiful…but you know what I mean.)
I spoke at the LA public Library in their Auditorium (The next speaker is Alan Alda. I’m feeling sort of flattered about that.) It’s a beautiful space.
The knitters, as always, were the very best part. A sampling….
Meet Kris and Andrew..representing for the um….Cute pre-knitters and their charming mothers.
Shirley. Representing for the Wool Pigs.
She gave me this one. It’s made out of her very own handspun. (It’s a finger puppet, and I have already used it to amuse a baby sitting in front of me on a flight. The baby was as charmed as I was.)
There was the first sock crew, representing for those taking the plunge everywhere. Here’s Robin,
Kate (her first socks are a Mens size 13.)
Laura (who also donated some beautiful stuff for Knitters Without Borders)
Rose’s first socks were her olympic project…
Anna’s 1st socks were shamelessly shredded by her husband.
Lynda’s first sock may have had some gauge problems.
Annette had potomatamus….(I am never going to be able to spell that)
Collen did just fine too.
Amanda had a whole pair of first socks…but I am too kind to post her picture. (Sorry Amanda. If you saw it you would thank me. ) Lori made me a washcloth with a golden snitch, and Kristie made me a California one.
Finally, the lovely and charming Jean, hat lady #1
and Wendy from the Sand and Sea Knitting Guild who was hat lady #2 . You know you gotta love a city where an abundance of hat ladies turns up.)
Exhausted by the good times and flurry of first socks, Wendy took me to Little Tokyo where I had a good beer, ate some awesome tempura, window shopped a Japanese dollar store,
and then returned to the hotel where I was in bed by 8:00 so the early morning rise wouldn’t hurt…which it did anyway. (The irony of missing the Emmys on TV when they are practically next door to you is still funny to me.)
It turns out that the thing about LA? It doesn’t count if you’re a knitter. All knitters are beautiful, and some of them are even short.
I think I might be in love with this city, just a little bit. It’s nothing like home, which I always like, (not that I don’t like home, I just appreciate the differences a lot) and it is long and low and flat and a breeze blows all the time. (This is, I think, because there are no trees or hills to break it up.)
The other interesting thing about Wichita, is that it is “The Air Capital of The World” (I read that on a sign) because their have a massive number of airplane building companies and a big Air Force Base. The interesting-est thing about that?
They have a really, really little airport.
They do have really, really a lot of knitters.
They have Melissa and her entirely cutie-pie baby Ella (shown here simply because I cannot resist her little pixie face.)
and they have Ingrid.
Ingrid just finished basic training in the Army, and she had the following fantastic story to tell me. She was knitting during some period of waiting at a hospital, and her Sergeant came in and saw her.
“Are you KNITTING soldier? I have never seen a SOLDIER KNIT.”
Ingrid, without missing a beat, replied:
“Would the Sergeant rather I was wasting my time or being productive, SIR.”
He looked her up and down, thought about it, and replied:
“Carry on Soldier.”
Beth had a Missouri washcloth, which is excellent, since I don’t think I’ve ever been there. (Although I might have…things are a little blurry around my edges.)
(Beth appears to be a little blurry too. Sorry about that.)
Beverly knit me a Kansas washcloth with a buffalo on it….
Which I totally missed the point of and remarked on the incredible irony that Kansas, having so many bufffalo was also buffalo shaped! (It isn’t. I’m an idiot. To her credit, Beverly didn’t totally fall down laughing at the dumbass Canadian.) Her shirt reads ” I knit because the voices tell me to….” (I love that.)
Annell knit me a washcloth with the actual right shape of Kansas on it…
which turns out to be not at all buffalo shaped, but rather rectangular.
There were knitting kids galore, this is Miranda, sporting a “knit” tattoo.
(It’s not real. It came from Twist, which has such devoted fans that it must be one of the worlds great yarn shops.)
And this is the lovely trio of Avalon, Molly and Elodie.
Knitters all three.
There was more, much more, but dudes, I have got to get to the end of this. I am in New Orleans, and I have 3 hours free, and as much as I love you, love Kansas and have entire and wholehearted dedication to both, I am not so far gone as a blogger that I can miss a chance to see this place.
I’m going to leave you with this. It came via Carin (filling in as big helper over at Lime and Violet) was made by DragonMadKnitter, and is the brainchild of the aforementioned two podcasting terrors.
It’s a felted squirrel, and he has a note that reads:
We, the members of the Squirrel Fleece Liberation Front, have your fleece.
If you ever wants to sees it again, leave six pounds of nuts beside the back door.
And No More Trapses!
PSes. Limes and Violets made us write this. They offered us sunflowers seeds and we cant’ resists them. They are going to sell you fleeces on ebays and make moneys to take over the world they says.
I really hope nobody searches my bag at customs. This one is going to be hard to explain.