Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

I have known for quite some time that this day would arrive.  I didn't know which day it would be, just that sometime, it was coming.

534 days ago I sold an idea to a clever and talented bunch of people.  And today is the day it became reality.

Here it is, standing on my very own desk, with real pages and everything.

I didn't realize until I held it in my (shaking) hands that I secretly suspected it would arrive with all blank pages, or someone else's writing inside, or a title page that said "April Fools!" or something.  Not rational, I know, but the power of doubt is substantial.  Fortunately, so are the powers of optimism and tenacity.  While repeating to myself the mantra that I really could do it, I have also been pinching myself to believe that my book was really happening.  For 534 days.  

I have been wondering if, when it finally arrived, I would have the intestinal fortitude to read it again.  I surprised myself by actually wanting to.  And read it I did, cheered on by the smallies, who chose it for their bedtime story.  Higher praise, I could not ask.

Hope you like it, too.
 

Not Really My Fault

Let me be perfectly clear:  I tried not to. 

I tried not to buy sock yarn.  I tried not to first covet, and later procure, the finest sock needles.  I labored to avoid sock books, sock blockers, sock project bags, and free sock patterns.  For a while there, I even attempted to hide from sock knitters.  Neither my children, angling for anklets, nor big brother, begging me for kilt hose could sway me.

You see, I thought that there was no need for me to be interested in sock-knitting.  I don't need to design socks, because it looks really hard, and gobs of clever people are already doing it, much better than I could.  I don't need to fuss with all those little DPNs (I'm guaranteed to lose at least one).  I cannot afford the luxury of self-indulgent personal knitting when I have professional knitting projects backed up around the block, and deadlines for them all.  Nope.  There was absolutely no need for me to branch out into the hosiery realm.  I was a monolith of resolve, even in a storm of temptation.  That's how I know that what happened was Not Really My Fault.

I found myself at the Sock Summit (couldn't help it - they threw the party right in my own backyard), and my ironclad will went like cotton candy in a car wash.

Carson started it.  He had these gorgeous handspun socks on that he made from Targhee, and it took everything I had not to get down on the floor to gawk his ankles. 

Then we went to the marketplace, which was ground zero for all things socksy.  My resolve started to rattle loose when I saw the yarn, but I held on to the thought that I have lots of yarn of my own at home (cause that was bound to work).  But none of my yarn is sock yarn.  My yarn is good; great even, but it's for other things, having been procured in specific amounts for specific projects.  One new little skein could make me a whole pair of socks, and there would be no need to disturb the stash.  One little skein could never hurt.

And that's when I saw the Scottish Terrier Sock Blockers.  If there were one thing I could have told you I really don't need, I would have to have been STSB.  But there they were, and Carson bought the Poodle ones.  That was it.  The twang of my self-control slipping from its cogs could be heard around the block.  I clutched the STSB to my heaving chest, breaking the cold sweat of a junkie as I wrote the check.

Everything after that is a blur.  I vaguely remember screeching to a halt in front of the sock needle display.  They were all there - all the sizes, and you could try them out...

And then there was the Blue Moon Fiber Arts booth, which Tina and her ilk had cleverly baited with all my favorite colors.  I staggered through, drunk on wool fumes, with only one thought:

"If I knit them really fast, it doesn't count."

Honest, I can quit any time I want.

Bad To The Bone

Is it hot out here, or is it just us?  Susie's in front, I'm in back.  Photo by Patricia Duff.

One of the delights of my vacation last week was being interviewed by Patricia Duff of the South Whidbey Record.  Susie and I saddled up the ponies to meet Patricia and took her for a wee joy ride, Dreadful Damsel-style. 

It seems that there aren't too many women motorcyclists living on the south end of Whidbey Island, WA, so intrepid reporter Patricia set out to meet us and find out what makes us tick.  Slow news day not withstanding, we had a lot of fun telling her stories of how we learned to ride, and how forming our own motorcycle gang changed all the other parts of our lives.

The best part of the interview was when Patricia learned that I'm a knitter and designer: Watching her try to square that image (and the piece of knitting I brought out to show her) with the woman in front of her in the very tall boots was a scream.  Books and their Covers, man - don't try to judge!

The weather was breathtaking, and Patricia was a great sport, blithely hopping onto Susie's passenger seat for a trip to the beach and back.  While we were stopped at the beach, Patricia took a turn in the drivers' seat, where she learned to balance the bike and understand its mass (this is the first lesson in MSF training).  I'm pretty sure we recruited her for future Damselhood.

In other news, I am pleased to report (and maybe even a little smug) that I've been on a Finishing Jag.  In addition to the Red Faery, I completed my secret Winter Retreat project for Madrona 2010, and (get this!) TWO WHOLE SOCKS.  I know.  Blows the mind.  I might even consider retiring as a knitter, just because for once I could actually say I quit while I was ahead.  I credit my success to being on vacay, and to my bangin' new Signature DPNs.  Those babies can really move some yarn.  Of course, if I did retire, people waiting in lines with me might be in real danger, and you might never get the Frog Prince pattern.  I have a feeling that one or two of you might come looking for me if I don't make good on that promise...

Ready, Set, time to Rock the Frog Prince!