May 18, 2005

Another ordinary day.

Just grateful to be home yesterday, I had nothing planned. I've learned a thing or two about burning out on re-entry and I'm slowly phasing myself back into laundry and housework. (I'm lying. You all know I'm lying. My normal approach to housework is slow. Slowing up my normal approach means I am doing nothing at all, with the exception of emptying Mr. Washie's lint filter, an intimacy that, despite his recent dallying with Joe and the girls...we still apparently share alone.) I'd contemplated upgrading "nothing" to something like dusting, but was thwarted by the fact that in order to dust a surface, you have to find a surface. I was considering moving some of the stuff (read "yarn") from the top of the piano and giving it a wipe when the phone rang.

It was Joe, who wanted me to come to the studio with a camera.

"Dude", I said. "I'm working." This was sort of a lie. One of the good things about being a writer is that you can say you are working just about all the time, since a huge bit of writing is thinking. What I was actually doing was knitting, but since I write about knitting that's really work. (Brilliant eh?)

(I have four rows and a cast off to go on the alpaca dental floss shawl. I have posed it here with my wee violets, just for Chelsea)


Joe says "I need the camera" and then in a hushed tone "Gordon Pinsent is here".
It takes a minute to register. Remember, I've been out of town. Clearly I have missed a few really interesting developments.
"Okey dokey" I say, and instantly shove the camera into my backpack. I thought then for a moment, and then shoved the sock in there too. It's not every day that the sock gets a chance to meet an icon of Canadian culture, or someone who has received The Order of Canada.

I troupe myself down to the studio and when I get there it is really Gordon Pinsent.


I can't explain to you why I was surprised that it was really him, but I was. (I spent a few minutes while he was singing trying to get a hold of myself. Mostly, when these impressive things happen I give myself a little talk. "Don't say arse too much" (Trying not to say arse completely is out of the question) "Don't gush" (Even though as a Canadian of my age group Gordon Pinsent is eternal and godlike) "Don't talk about knitting." (That one is just hopeless. Do I even have another topic? What was I thinking?)

We talked then for a little bit, about knitting (he learned in school) about famous Canadians (he knows them all) about The Canadian Celebrity Rules of Engagement (very different than those of our American friends) and about winning every honour that Canada has to bestow on an artist.
(Let's not even try to relate to that.)

I was really trying to be all impressed and awestruck (I mean, c'mon. It's Gordon freakin Pinsent) but truth be told, he's such a charming and lovely man that after a few minutes you forget that he's impressive, er, I mean... not that he isn't...but, well. You know. (Shut up Stephanie) I left then (having apparently finally learned that when the voice in the back of my head says "Shut up Stephanie" I am probably mere moments seconds away from humiliating myself in some way that will be mean that I need to spend the rest of my life dodging Gordon Pinsent.) leaving behind the sock (for the music mojo...I mean, Ron Sexsmith held the sock. What could it hurt for Gordon to finger the cuff a little?) and the camera. When Joe got home I had this picture.


Take me now, for the sock has done it all.

(Last night I told my mother-in-law that I had met Gordon Pinsent and that he was lovely. "Oh yes" she said "that he is."
"You've met him?" I asked.
"No Dear" she replied, "but he's a Newfoundlander."
Enough said.)

For those of you who are thinking that yet another Tuesday for spinning has gone by without even a nod toward Joe's Gansey and suspect that in my wild attempts to distract you from my slacker attitude I have actually begun to corral Canadian celebrities to aid me in my despicable avoidance of the Gansey in question, I give you this.


Fresh washed fleece, drying in the sunshine of a Toronto spring.
I am immune to your gansey guilt.

Three points of business.
1. Lene has a new blog. Go torment her.
2. I updated the Tricoteuses sans Frontiers total. I hope the sun shines on all of you today.
3. Claudia needs your help. She and her accomplice (I think she's married to him) will be putting themselves on a bike and riding in a fundraiser for MS, a cause very near to my heart. If you can spare anything at all, go sponsor her. (She's bribing you with a shot at some very pretty yarn, but I know you'll all do it for the warm fuzzy feeling it gives you.)

Posted by Stephanie at May 18, 2005 12:23 PM