When *I* am speechless…it’s really saying something. I’ve been trying to post all day, looking for a way to fit it all into one post. I’ve finally accepted that it’s not going to work.
I have had the biggest adventure possible. Since I am still too tired to string together very many complete sentences, you are going to have to make do with whatever ramblings I manage to produce. Many, many more details to follow.
Wednesday: I leave my house in Toronto at 2:30 PM destination…glorious Albany, NY. I arrive in my hotel room in Hartford Connecticut at midnight. If I ever recover from the trauma of what happened to me in the intervening 9.5 hours…you will be the first to know. (Hints: “Homeland Security” and “Fuel Leak”. As you construct various imaginary scenarios using those four words please know that my life was in no actual danger at any time. My sanity? Can’t say the same.) I would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize to my buddy Linda for the string of increasingly hysterical messages that I left for her during this time. I had a bad attitude and her phone number.
Thursday: Fred the cabbie picks me up and drives me to Massachusetts. I go here. Infer at will. Rhinebeck and I spend some quality time in the hotel room.

Friday: Linda Roghaar and I embark on a yarnish road trip. We end up here.

This is Claudia, standing in front of Countrywool, her shop in Hudson NY. I can’t remember the last time I had such a good time in a yarn shop. Claudia is funny, smart and kind. (We had no coffee. She made some. I love her.) I bought many things from Claudia, but the killer is part of a beautiful moorit fleece. You should go to the shop, even if you don’t need something. I promise that she’s worth the trip. (Wait till I show you the spinning kit. You’ll die.)
We met up with Tara Jon Manning and her lovely baby Zane and continued our journey ending up at Sky Lake Lodge.

Buddhists on retreat are very quiet. I am not. You may once again, infer at will. (It was a time of enormous personal restraint). The Buddhists were however, just as kind and interesting as they were quiet, and I will be eternally grateful for the bowl of soup that they rustled up to save us from starving to death after we drove in reverse up a mountain in the rain. Rhinebeck and I shared some private time at 1AM in the living room installing a zipper. (See that? Finished the sweater with 8 hours to spare.)
Saturday (and Sunday): Rhinebeck and I arrive at Rhinebeck. I hadn’t even stepped out of the car when Sharon spotted me. I was so stunned to be recognized that I barely spoke to her, but she will forever hold a warm spot in my heart as the first person to say something nice about the sweater. Hi Sharon!

Rhinebeck is beautiful.
It is so much bigger, fuller and wilder than you could ever imagine. Everywhere you look there is fleece, sheep, alpacas, llamas, yarn, roving…felt…it is sensory overload. The sweater watching was boggling. The Rhinebeck sweater quickly developed an inferiority complex as I spotted knitwear to die for. The best hats, the best socks (Hi Cassie! Cassie also takes a prize for shawls. She was wearing the most beautiful icelandic shawl. Everybody was talking about her. I wish that I hadn’t been so stunned that I forgot to take a picture.) I met so many people who read this and I’m grateful that all of you grabbed me to say hi.
Bloggers who turned out to be actual people? Norma. Who arrived at the festival a knitter and left a spinner. Note the fabulous sweater.

Joe

Gina (who’s mother-in-law is possibly the sweetest lady ever) , Our lady Kathy of the comments, (Has Benoit arrived?) Claudia, Anj, Kerstin, Annie(who ran away from home, just like me), Sandy(Sandy is real fun. I’d say more nice things but I’m me and she’s her, so I’ll just nod in her general direction. She knows what I mean.), Kim, Deb (owner of the best bag in all of Rhinebeck Texas), Silvia( I would like to be re-incarnated as her hair.), Annie(When I met her I was so star-struck that I wonder if I blathered like an idiot. I sure hope not.), Carolyn, Leigh, Cindy, and Marybeth. There were more. I will tell all. Just not now. You may content yourself with this rare photo of a nest of bloggers in their natural habitat.

Some of the bloggers in this picture are eating lamb. Am I the only one who thinks this may be counterproductive in terms of yarn? Just sayin’.
There was Claudia’s treat. I will show you the bags. You can guess what it is.

(I really genuinely liked Claudia, and I’m not just saying that because she gave me a treat. I’m saying it because she was clever, charming, kind and generous. She has a wicked wit, she taught Norma to spin..she spoke sweetly to everyone, her sweater was perfect and her taste….impeccable. If you ever get a chance to meet her you should.)
Was there yarn? Oh yes. I may have had a “yarn seizure” in a place or two…but nothing compared with the moment when I was discretely standing beside the sock yarns at the Spirit Trail booth. (Beautiful stuff) I had slunk over to a quiet spot beside the tent and was quietly staring at the yarn in a fibre induced trance when the wind came up, the side of the tent flew loose, smacked me in the face and revealed my stunned expression to all inside it. Red handed. I am only grateful that the tent hit me. If it hadn’t then everybody would know that I was just making my “yarn face” not my “holy crap a tent hit me in the face” face. (I am a little concerned that these faces are indistinguishable from one and other.)
Since everybody is artfully posing their new acquisitions gracefully in baskets, I thought I’d try.

What? Can’t see the basket? (Wanna know something embarrassing? Even though this pile is next to my desk, this photo is my desktop image.)
More tomorrow when I’m not this delirious. (Like Laurie (yes, that Laurie) in her incredible sweater knit from the famous hand dyed sock yarn, and Annie trying to choose yarn, and my stuff in more detail than you could ever want.) I leave you with this photo.