You Know You Gotta Vote

This is wonderful. You have to watch. Really. Trust me.

If you aren't registered, DO IT NOW. If you are, VOTE. Because I'll tell you what. If you come to me to complain about any facet of our government, if you come to gripe, bitch, snipe, grouse...and you haven't voted? I'm gonna kick your ass right out my door.

Seriously. And don't even THINK of kvetching if you don't vote.

Yarn Overdose

As I mentioned in the prior post, I hit four yarn shops before I even saw the ocean on my trip to the Outer Banks. I even showed admirable restraint in not going to a fifth. But pretty much that was ALL the restraint I showed.

First, you have to understand, I have no local yarn shop (known in knitting parlance as LYS). The closest ones to me are close to an hour away, and for the most part, are closed when our studio is closed, and I am therefore free to visit them. So getting to actually go to a LYS and fondle the yarn, see the color without wondering if the monitor is changing it, contrast and compare and ask questions, is pure heaven. And so I did, DH frequently wandering to neighboring shops, but returning to act out his Sherpa duties. :::wink:::

I found the differences between the shops to be fascinating, because at two I felt right at home, and at two, while perfectly pleasant, I was not comfortable. And my purchases reflect that.

The first shop I visited was in Richmond, The Yarn Lounge. I had liked their website, an important necessity in this day and age. I walked into a shop that had yarn all around the walls, not tons, but a nice selection. A few needles and tools, and a huge central table. I felt welcomed, that they were interested in me, and not pushed. We talked about A Fine Fleece and one of the ladies showed me the front and back of a sweater from it that she was doing in a yarn called Imperial Stock Ranch. Amazingly, she'd only used two skeins for a 44" bust cabled sweater. This yarn says 200+ yards in a skein, but it has to be considerably more. It's from Oregon, made from Columbia sheep. I got four skeins of it in 2 ply in a shade called Canyon Shadow Blue. I also got two skeins of Malabrigo worsted in Tuareg, a color I also have already in their lace weight. Here's a shot of what I got. The colors are a bit washed out, so I encourage you to look at the website.

My next yarn shop didn't hit me nearly as well. It was Knitting Sisters in Williamsburg, which I found entirely by accident when we stopped for coffee. It's in a cluster of very artsy fartsy shops called Village Shops at Kingsmill. Although the help was quite polite, they weren't warm, you know? I'm always irked when a shop has a sample out that they don't have the yarn to make. I fell in love with a colorwork mitten that was solid with tiny insets of multicolored yarn. They had tons of the multi, almost none of the solid. But they tried to push a kit on me for another, totally different mitten. Nice, it's in Vogue and I liked it, but not what I wanted. When I asked about another yarn, they didn't have it and waved me toward another that wasn't really similar at all. The shop was busy, and the staff was helpful toward most everyone, but I just didn't feel the love. I cannot pin it down better than that, but I can show you that all I bought was two skeins of Noro that I think are destined for some mittens.

This is showing a bit brighter than actuality, but you get the idea.

The next shop was recommended to me by the ladies at the Yarn Lounge, and bless them for it. It was my favorite. Called Knitting Addiction, it's a wonderful, roomy shop, as the picture on their home page shows. They even kept their pretty cat away from me, since I'm allergic. I fell in love with the colorways of Ellyn Cooper, and found a shop pattern (free with the yarn) to make a vest with her Cotton Ripple in Blue Hydrangea plus some Mission Falls cotton. Here you see half what I bought to make it.

All the solid shades of Mission Falls appear in the Cooper yarn in the center. While I was picking them out, the shop owner had already wound the Cotton Ripple!

I saw another quickie pattern, a shrug, that looked perfect for keeping winter chill off in the office, and got it with some Plymouth Brushed Baby Alpaca. It's a lovely gray.

Last, I visited a shop on the Manteo waterfront called Fine Yarns at Kimbeeba. This was a smallish shop but with some nice yarns and another very good website. Again, I didn't feel as at home here, but I did get helpful service. She didn't have the Berroco yarn I wanted, but showed me a couple good substitutes, and even showed me one yarn, an Elsebeth Lavold Silky Wool, that would be about half the others, especially once I got her 15% off for ten skeins or more.Unfortunately, I felt pressured by the shop attendant (owner?) to purchase some very nice Noro sock yarn that I didn't want or need, and that was off-putting, but she did toss in an entralac pattern which was nice.

Thinking back, the thing my two preferred shops (and I emphasize, all four were nice and had helpful aspects) had over the less-preferred was that I didn't feel condescended to. I am pretty yarn-savvy. I run three knitting lists, but in the two shops where I was less comfortable, the staff ASSUMED a lack of knowledge on my part. It seems to me to be a healthier attitude to assume I have a yarn background, and if I have to ask more questions, then go more in-depth with explanations. Or simply ask how much help understanding various yarns I might need.

Assume I'm smart. I'll like you better. More important, I'll spend more. *sigh* Probably more than I should.

OBX

For the cognescenti, that stands for Outer Banks, and it will often be seen in stickers and magnets on cars...now including mine, since the DH and I got back late yesterday from our first vacation in seven years.

It was wonderful. Other than basic outlines, we made no plans. Considering how structured most of our life has to be, that was wonderful. We left after our last appointment on Thursday, and headed south, thinking we'd spend that night at about the halfway mark. We stopped for dinner, then found a hotel. A Holiday Inn; nothing fancy, but we were just going to sleep, get up, eat and go.

Well, it wasn't too fancy, for sure. When I awoke, my back was covered with some kind of bites. I can only assume from bed bugs, since they most certainly weren't there when I went to sleep. When the DH informed the front desk at checkout, their response was a cavalier, "Sorry about that!" Yes indeedy, a letter to corporate will be sent.

Before leaving the Richmond area, we went to one of the two yarn shops I had found on the 'Net. In fact, I ended up visiting FOUR yarn shops before I ever saw the ocean...I intend to blog on all that a bit later. Then we thought we'd head over to Williamsburg and have some lunch, maybe a bit of a walk around, before finishing our journey, since check-in was after four. I thought it would be nice to eat at the Kings Arms Tavern, because we'd eaten there on our first anniversary trip, thirteen years ago.

Yeah, well, it was a good plan. If we'd had a map so we knew how to park near there. We didn't, so we parked at the visitor's center, planning to walk over. It was hugely muggy out, and after picking up a map, we realized it was WAY more of a hike than we wanted to take, so the darling DH went back for the car, arranging to pick me up at an underpass just ahead. While I waited, I got this lovely shot with my tiny digital.

Don't you just love the play of light? And if we hadn't goofed, I never would have seen it. That became a recurring theme...we'd go off in a wrong direction, and end up with some beauty we never expected.

As we headed on down the road, it was raining on and off. We weren't worried; we knew it was due to clear, and basically, we weren't going to melt. But then we got quite a sign. If you were going on vacation and saw this over the direction you were heading, wouldn't you feel pretty confident?

It was a full rainbow, both left and right, and including the slight ghosting of a second one. Just lovely!

Unfortunately, our gaffe at Williamsburg meant we were caught in rush hour heading around Norfolk and into the Chesapeake tunnel. We got into the Outer Banks after dark, and checked in, having dinner in the Ramada restaurant. Next morning, we got up and headed out for decent coffee (the room provided Maxwell House. We shuddered.) Did a little shopping, including two more yarn shops! - and then drove around a wildlife refuge. It was too late in the day to see much activity, but we did see some snowy egrets. My little camera couldn't get them, but the DH did get a few. I contented myself with a bit of scenery.

If you look beyond the reeds and to the left, you can see some white birdy blobs. :-)

We also went to Kitty Hawk and the Wright Memorial. I liked this view of the Memorial in the distance from the Visitor's Center.

We had a great meal at the Outer Banks Brewery that night. Scallops that were the tenderest I'd ever tasted, and a very good Porter for me. The DH, being a home-brewer, did a sampler of four of the other brews. Another notable meal was at Penguin Isle, a restaurant my cousin had recommended. We got up early enough to capture the sunrise over the ocean, and this place let us watch the sunset over Albemarle Sound. Utterly glorious, and the DH was in charge of capturing them.

One place we found with excellent, fresh roasted coffee was called The Front Porch. They had Kill Devil Hills roasted coffees, and this hysterical sticker on the toilet. Yes, I did go back out to grab my camera just to capture this.

We visited one of the Outer Banks lighthouses on Bodie Island. It's imaginatively called Bodie (pronounced body) Lighthouse. Did we climb it, you ask? Surely you jest.

We had a lot of fun, some romance, found some nice shells, even had a great round of miniature golf, at which, dear readers, I'm distressed to tell you, the love of my life cheated like mad. I still beat him. Life is good. It was even good when, sitting at the edge of the surf, I got a suit full of tiny pebbles. Some in places that I would have thought nothing could reach. :-X We watched plovers, and ghost crabs, and waves, and barely touched the books we'd taken.

Yesterday we had intended to spend a night on the road, but realized we'd rather be in our own bed. However, we had unfinished business. This time, address in hand, we found where we could park to eat at the King's Arms, and we did. Nice lunch, and a bit of a stroll around before a thunderstorm threatened. The DH was suitably punished for his cheating. His face is obscured to save my shame if he were identified in public. LOL

Coming up through VA yesterday evening we kept skirting what looked to be a nasty storm. I caught this shot through the windshield. But we got home safe and sound, much to the delight of the dogs.
The best thing is that we have very little post-vacation letdown. The DH's sweetie of a brother vacations at OBX and has invited us to join him for a few days next July. So we have THAT going for us!

Gaelic Mist is Done!!!

Yesterday evening, the last day of summer, I finished my first ever knitted cardigan, Gaelic Mist. So just in time for fall, I have (if I do say so) a lovely sweater for when the chill hits. Which was NOT today.

I just washed and blocked it out on the spare bed, and couldn't even wait till it was dry and I'd sewn on the buttons to share it with you. Not that I'm bursting with pride, or anything.

A detail of the cabling that forms the bottom of the sweater, and shapes the waist slightly. It is meant to ruffle a bit at the bottom edge, and you'll notice I've pinned the button band to dry flat.

And the ends of the sleeve which mirror the sweater bottom. For those of you who care about such things, the yarn is Cestari DK weight in Heathered Forest. I used about five and a half skeins.

Since I couldn't wait until I put on the buttons, I decided to let you see them too.

The sweater requires five, and I got a sixth for safety. I am a HUGE sucker for things Celtic (you should see my many pair of silver Celtic knot style earrings!) and I thought these would go well with the cabling without being too busy. Feel free to agree with me. :-)

I'm so tickled with myself I can't see straight, and the DH keeps giving me that oh-so-masculine "You're being such a cute little woman" grin. So what do you think?

Very Punny

So this morning, the wee Sheltie we own is being even more clingy than usual. He's a neurotic mess, but loyal and loves the DH to distraction. Anyway, all morning Oreo has been under foot, about to get trampled, or trying to get up on our laps as we get ready for work.

After the umpteenth time telling Oreo to get down, get off, go lay down, the DH looked at me and deadpanned, "I think I have Freaktose Intolerance."

And I think *I* am the witty one!

Tina Does Sarah

No, it's not a porn movie that most men would love to see. Instead, it's the funniest thing I've seen in ages. Tina Fey was parodying Sarah Palin on SNL last night. Take a look.

I'm assuming you know what SNL is if you're cool enough to read my blog. You are, aren't you?

Lest We Forget

I'm the daughter of a history teacher. Dad had to give up teaching when he was a bit younger than I am now, and he suffered a stroke. Before that, he was articulate and persuasive. He saw history not as dull dates and events, but as the stories of people's lives. When you tell history from that perspective, I maintain that no one can remain indifferent. Washington and Jefferson put their pants on one leg at a time, and being able to think of them in those terms made everything they did both more human, and more awe-inspiring.

So today, the anniversary of arguably the most profound national event of my lifetime, it occurs to me that the true measure of 9/11 is not the massive event itself, but the myriad of personal stories and memories of that day. And being the historian's daughter, I wanted to get mine in writing too.

The morning of September 11, 2001, was beautiful. Many people have said that it was the kind of day that made you glad to be alive, and so it was. At that time, I was working part-time in a Behavioral Health Unit, and as I was driving to work, I was listening to the Imus in the Morning program. As I began to pull into the parking lot, there was a sudden report of a plane hitting one of the Twin Towers in New York City. At first, it was thought to be private plane. Bizarre, I thought, but who knows. A pilot might have had a heart attack, be suicidal...it would certainly be interesting to see what played out. I had no idea. None of us did. I turned off my engine, but left the radio on while I put on some lipstick before heading up the stairs to work. That split moment of time made all the difference, because Warner Wolf, an Imus regular, called in. He told Don that he'd seen the plane go by his apartment window, and it was no small aircraft, but a passenger plane, huge, and impossibly loud. He said from what he saw, it was no accident.

That changed everything. I turned off the radio, and bolted inside, going in an employee entrance, glad that I could because I didn't want to frighten any patients. One of the counselors in the practice, Peter, had a small television in his office, and I made a beeline there. He wasn't with anyone, and I told him to turn on his TV, quick, as I started to fill him in. Soon everyone not in a session was watching, having no idea just how much more surreal this day would become. We saw the second plane hit, and the towers crumble, one after the other, like eggshells. We saw the horror on the New Yorker's faces echoed on our own. And the rumors began of planes heading for Camp David, just to our north. One counselor got panicky...her child attended school near there, and she had to leave. No one blamed her. Then the word of Pentagon attack, just 60 miles from us. We all knew people there, or families that had members working there. It was all too much to take in. No one could turn away.

After we got the TV on, and saw the first tower burning, I called my husband. He was doing pro bono photography work for our local United Way's Day of Caring. He ended up being the one to break the news to all those people. After the second plane hit, I heard that one of them was believed to be from American Airlines. My ex flies for them, and I was suddenly terrified that he had been on that plane. Not a good relationship, ours, but still, he is the father of my children. I called his home, and kept getting a busy signal, but finally got his then-wife on the phone. He had gotten home late the night before, and was fine. I thanked God.

I left around lunch time, my shift being up, and went to our studio, where the DH waited for me. We held each other, and we cried. We couldn't turn off the radio; we had to constantly know what was happening. For days we all watched as the victims of the attacks, and the heroes who tried to save them were brought out of the rubble. And we cried. We began to hear those individual stories, the near-misses who stopped for a cup of coffee, or a band-aid, and missed being inside the tower. The persons who missed those flights, and the ones who made them. The phone calls, full of fear, resignation, and ultimately, messages of love for those who'd be left behind. And the incredible bravery of those who refused to let their flight be the instrument of evil. We all questioned our inner hearts, wondering what we would have done, who we'd have called, what we would have said. And we cried.

I remember, days after 9/11 as I sobbed yet again, saying to my DH that I wondered how I still could have so many tears left in me...that surely I should have cried them all out by now. And on every anniversary, as I watch ceremonies of remembrance, I think this will be the year that I'll finally be done grieving. I won't need to cry.

As this morning, and the writing of this post prove to me, this is not that year. Not yet.