Part of the Gang

I don't have a television. Now, that doesn't mean I don't watch things (Netflix) or even own whole DVDs of television shows (Buffy the Vampire Slayer). It just means that if I want to watch something as it is being broadcast, I have to go out.

For example, I might, if the need arises, have to go to a bar.





As everyone in the world knows except for a depressingly large number of my fellow Americans, the World Cup is on. The World Cup is, for the most part, found on TV.


I love everything about the World Cup (except FIFA, of course). I love hearing names and seeing faces from other countries. I love the politely insulting style of British sports commentators, the excellent play from some of the best athletes in the world, the fans with props and wigs and painted faces, screaming in super slow motion after their team has scored.













But I think my very favorite part might be knowing that I am not alone. Not just in the bar, but that around the world, every kind of person imaginable in every kind of place imaginable - including, of course, my family and friends - are watching too.

Because it's just not as exciting to be excited all by yourself. It's a lot more fun to be part of the gang.

Too Much Caffeine on a Tuesday

I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was feeling invincible due to getting enough sleep for an unusual three nights in a row, or maybe I thought that I could reenact the fabulous lives of the Knitters of Instagram. Possibly it was the cheerful pink and orange sign, or the fact that I so rarely go out for lunch these days and felt I should be making the most of it.

I still don't know why. What I do know is that is was not the best idea I've ever had.












So, the next time I feel like I need a good old fashioned, skin crawling, heart pounding panic attack at midnight on a Tuesday? Well, I'll know exactly what to do to get one.

It's Cute How Clueless You Are.

Let me preface this by saying I genuinely like the people I work with.

Today, my co-workers (who are generally entirely self-directed) were assigned a mandatory task. Despite their reaction, the task did not involve toilet scrubbing, hazard pay, or dangerous animals.

It was implied that they are not paid enough to be forced to complete assignments, and definitely not enough to provide proof that they were completed.

Again, I really do like these people. And because of that, I sincerely hope they never have to get another job for the rest of their lives.

P.S. Yes, they make more than I do.
P.P.S. Yes, I know there are many who work much harder and make much less than I.
P.P.P.S. Raise the minimum wage already.

Home Again, Home Again.

Being away from home and still at work is distinctly strange. Work has always felt like a mostly defensive situation to me, because I'm always worried I'm going to open my big mouth and give myself away as a person who really feels that most of the work we do is not only worthless, an opinion shared by most working people, but actively destructive.




It's not a sentiment that pairs well with what would usually be a vacation. Essentially I feel like I said too much about some things and too little about others and generally appeared to be a very strange person to my fellow trainees. Luckily, I'll never see them again and, to be honest, I am a bit strange.




Clearly, I'm still thinking about that circus thing.

Business Trip

In a few hours I'll be on a plane to California. It will be the first time I've ever been there for professional reasons, and that feels strange. Business trips are for grown ups.

On a related note, I have had a sinus induced toothache on and off for about a month and also I am now forty, or close enough to it as makes no difference.

Naturally my reaction to all of this responsible adult activity is to reflect on what I like best about my life. I like making things. I like traveling. I really like dressing up while still being comfortable. Obviously I need to run away and join the circus before I get too old.

Things that happen in the Fall if you are a Knitter.

There are 88 days left until Christmas, a holiday which inspires ridiculous self imposed expectations from knitters everywhere. Of course, I am far too clever to fall prey to that sort of...Hey! Are those three manly, thematically connected sock patterns that would be perfect for my father and brothers?

I can totally knit six socks in time to mail them to Colorado for Christmas. No problem.

Possibly inspired by the staggeringly delicious Pumpkin Ice Cream at Young's Jersey Dairy, I got 375 yards of this handspun, which is called Pumpkin Patch. This photo shows approximately 12% of its loveliness and cements my desire to buy a wheel and just start spinning, already. I know that I have a drop spindle and a spindolyn and that plenty of people spin sweater quantities not just on drop spindles, but on improvised drop spindles made of sticks and old AOL installation CDs. I'm not one of those people.

Also seen at The Woolgathering - Tunis Sheep. I also saw Finn Sheep, various goats, horses, jersey cows, and pigs - but I'm giving my personal "sweetest little face EVER" to these darlings.

I know that this photo is startlingly yellow. Rest assured that the sheep themselves have lovely auburn faces and creamy fleeces, and that the tent they were in was in fact startlingly yellow.
Tent color was a big factor in this whole event, actually. This was the better option, the rest of the tents were red and made everything that wasn't red appear to be red anyway. Knitters everywhere were ducking under the sides of the tent to be sure they weren't inadvertently buying red yarn.

There were also deep fried cheese curds, which were a normal shade of yellow, but startlingly delicious.

Just you and me, Mom. And the yarn.

The rest of what is happening is that I have three pairs of socks and a shawl on the needles, two sweater quantities of yarn (both orange - I'd have an excuse if I lived in a tent) calling my name, a new pattern booklet came home with me from knitting this week, I must knit a hat INSTANTLY, all the yarn in the world seems to be on sale, and I have scored an immensely coveted Fat Squirrel Fibers knitting bag.

Luckily, Leah is going to be gone all day this Saturday and I will be able to wallow in fibery goodness with wild abandon. I may pile all of the sock yarn on the floor and roll around in it while binge listening to podcasts and flipping through back issues of Knitscene. Or, you know. I could finish socks and a shawl.

Abundance

Out driving again, this time well and truly lost somewhere near Goshen. Suddenly, a pick your own orchard came into view. Yes, please!

I was expecting apples, and apples they certainly had. But I've never before been able to pick pears. We walked down a hill, over a creek, past the beans and the pond and the gazebo and found these golden beauties. We filled our bucket to the sound of contented bees, feasting on the fallen fruit. We got a lot of pears. Actually, it's a ridiculous amount of pears for just two people, which became sort of a theme. I'll be looking for pear butter recipes, and seeing if a pear a day keeps anyone away. The dentist? The chiropractor, maybe?

After the pears, we looked for apples. But then we got waylaid by the sight of a bucket full of grapes. Grapes! They were delicious, a world apart from the flavorless, seedless, chilly green globes in the grocery store. The air between the vines smelled like the grape juice you remember from your childhood, when a purple moustache was the fashion accessory of the summer. We totally went overboard on the grapes.

We did pick apples too - a mere twelve pounds, so apparently we had learned a little restraint by then. (Or the buckets got too heavy.) But surrounded by so much abundance, what can a person do but accept it?

I'm still not entirely sure where we were. But I took a picture of the sign, so we can find it again. In a few weeks, it'll be time to explore their pumpkin patch.