Hands to Work, Hearts to God

I have hatched a new way to quantify the actual time and space of traveling between these States United.  I call it B to B:  Bed to Bed.  I left one bed in Fairview, Oregon at some variation of One Million O'Clock in the morning (okay, it was 5 AM), and I face-planted in my destination bed in Albany, New York at 12:30 AM.  Yes, there were one or two time changes in there, so I relied on my watch and my rudimentary math skills to determine that the actual B to B was 15.5 hours, which in human time = 4 airplanes, 3 peanut snacks, 2 loud talkers, and 1 airport beer.  I figured we'd earned it.  And a fine beer it was.  And when I say WE, I refer to my crazy-useful publicist and sometime Sister, the indomitable Susie (also a Dreadful Damsel).  Susie came with me because of:

        1.  I require constant supervision
        2.  She wanted a crash course in all things fiber (Hello? Rhinebeck?)
        3.  I promised her Beer

On our first morning, we stumbled into the town of Colonie, home of Ann Lee, which is also America's first Shaker settlement.  Due to the heroic efforts of the Shaker Heritage Society, the settlement, and its treasures of history, art and humanity have all outlived their congregation.

Here is the Official Society Cat, William, with Susie.

The Shakers were masters of organization and utility.  Need to get those chairs out of the way so you can dance?  Hang 'em high!  I'm still trying to figure out the basics of floor space vs. fiber stash.  Mother Ann could probably have helped.

I have long wished for a shaker box of my own.  Temptation, thy name is Copper Rivet.

And in case you were wondering, yes, there were leaves, and yes, we did peep.  To wit:

More fun than this has not been had at Mother Ann's joint since she was here herself.  Lucky for me, the gift shop didn't have any reproduction furniture for sale (I'd have tied a dining set to the top of a plane, for sure), and good thing the cat wasn't interested in joining us on the road.

If you have ever thought to yourself, "You know, I should really share the bounty of my good life with some people whose cause is worthy.  To whom should I send my generous cash donation?"  Here is your answer.  This history is important and beautiful, so I encourage you to give till it hurts.  Or at least order up a beautiful shaker box. 
 

Thumbs Up

Remember when I used to knit stuff, and then blog about it?  Yeah, that was cool, back then.  Thought I'd try a little of that today, just to see if I could remember how.  Turns out I do.  Here is a little mitten I busted out, whilst schizophrenically (that's a word - my husband the English teacher said so) dodging back and forth between the Knot Garden, the Frog Prince, an Elizabeth Zimmerman percentage experiment, and some socks.  

I call them Queen Of Hearts, because they make me think of playing cards.  Not to wreck my perfect average, they, too, are unfinished.

Notably lacking in the thumb department.  I should probably figure out how to make that next.  Calls for a wee chart, which will hopefully be the last thing I do before packing up the laptop for tomorrow's big pilgrimage. 

The only thing wrong with traveling is the traveling.  It will take all of tomorrow for me to fly between the west coast and the east coast.  Fortunately there will be a couple of times where I get off the plane and stretch my legs (run?) between terminals, so hopefully the atrophy won't completely set in.

Besides chart-drawing (doesn't everybody have to finish designing a mitten so they can get on a plane?), my other last-minute preparations include the following:

    1.    Where are the directions to the bed-and-and-breakfast that my publicist sent to me (subject heading: "Put this somewhere Safe because I will Loose it)?

    2.    What knitting am I taking, anyway?  There's a strong chance that I could finish the mitten on that long a flight, and then what?  Aside from the obvious 2nd mitten.  I'm thinking EZ % sweater, but it is kinda big and sweater-y.  I'll take the socks, hoping that steel DPNs don't anger the TSA Gods, but I find I can only work on socks for so long before they start to bore me.  Then of course there is the writing I'm supposed to do, but I never can tell if inspiration and/or lap space may be at too high a premium...

3.    Did I charge my mobile?  Thinking of small and irritating personal electronics, where in the !#$^%^* is the camera? 

The Camera.

I think I left it on my desk at the office when I last reported there (way back before the Pig-Headed Flu) and oh-my-gosh-do-I-really-have-to-drive 40 MILES to and fro to retrieve the F)@!@W Camera?

Yes.  Yes I do.  It's Leaf-Peeping time, and I have to blog, and there is no way I'm not taking a picture of my first-ever Rhinebeck and Book Signing.  Camera Fetch unavoidable.

.25 miles from home I nearly engage the ABS in my car when I remember trying the camera in the new laptop bag to see it it was going to fit...

At least I didn't get all the way to my office before I remembered.  Lucky Break Caught.  Brain cramp clearly emerging from the Ass-Chasery of my day.  I telecommuted today, which meant conference call-staff meeting, working online on a pre-colubian artifact of a laptop which processed so slowly that I was actually doing laps around my living room between databases, several breaks to feed/comfort/sedate my convalescent child, back to the demon databases, dash off to the post office-bank-pharmacy and back in time to receive the second non-convalescing child home from school, respond to all the AM e-mails from the hospital, button up as much pending *#)$&@^ as possible before being absent from the day job for 4 days, and make dinner for the smallies.  Phillip at grad school tonight so single-parenting it for the evening.  No sweat.  Just another day in paradise.

I think I could invade a small nation with fewer mental gymnastics than my days here in paradise, never mind pack for a trip  Experienced road-warriors I have asked tell me that it gets easier with practice.  Let's Hope.  See you on the other side (of the continent).

Sure Hope There's A Pool

Can you tell by looking whether or not this high-diver is worried about his luggage being lost?  Wondering what happened to his book-signing pen?  Missing his children, who begged him to bring them along?  Second-guessing how much he should have tipped the restroom attendant?

Me either.  Of course, I'm not qualified to judge, but the fact that this guy is not actively throwing up is enough to impress me.  Dude obviously knows how to take a leap.

I like to think I'm like that:  Brave (enough), Self-Reliant (ish), and Composed (sorta) to the degree called for.  And mostly I am.  I only start to wonder about myself when I have no idea what degree will be called for.

Thinking ahead about my book launch in Rhinebeck feels like standing on the dive platform.

Last week I was interviewed for my first podcast.  I wasn't really nervous, but it sure is surreal to talk about oneself.  True, I'm pretty knowledgeable on the subject of Me.  But I was brought up to avoid seeming conceited at any cost, which means self-deprecating in the face of accolade, aw-shucksing at the threat of compliment, and actually hiding behind a newspaper in case of flattery.  These behaviors, while now instinctual, are not especially conducive to publicizing ones work, and by association, oneself.  I was answering questions that I knew the answer to, but the whole time I was thinking "Oh my gosh, did I really just say that out loud?"

At least with a podcast, they can edit out anything truly heinously stupid; I just have to have faith that they will do so.  It's real-time transmissions, like talking to people, where you really have no control.  Funny how that doesn't scare me at, say, the deli counter or the gas station.  But put me in front of a real human who either has read, or is about to read the book that I made, and I have no idea what will happen.

My gift is the ideas that come outta my head, and my head is the thing I hang my face on, and my face is the thing people know me by.  It's also the location of my mouth, which has the documented ability to get me into trouble.  No different from anybody else.  But something happens when your thoughts get written down in the form of a book:  There's all this unexpected credence given.  And you can't go around apologizing for it, just in case it makes you sound like you have a big head "Oh - sorry - I didn't know you were actually going to read that!" 

So I'm spending some quiet time in contemplation (and prayer) this week, before I go out to meet the knitters.  I'm going to focus on smiling, nodding, and listening.  Nobody ever got too badly off track by paying attention to what others have to say, after all.  And of course, I'm reminding myself not to take anything too seriously.  I'm not at all afraid to dive in.  I just really hope there's a pool down there.