My enthusiasm for good yarn trumps most weather, party because I love the wool, but I am also enabled by air conditioning. I am devoted to the Kochoran; the angora has me in its paws. I have never allowed myself to buy some before because it's usually ::gulp:: twenty dollars a skein, but a sale can wear down even the strong willed, or the moderately so, and I am able to find a minute here and there during the day to pat the bunny.
Can you feel it? Close your eyes, touch the screen, and feel the fuzzies.
Being Memorial Day, I hung out the flag.
And I weeded.
And I marinated chicken and eggplants for the grill later.
Having performed three out of the four Memorial Day traditions ( I just couldn't face the parade, you might understand why), I was free to be kidnapped by my gardening-impaired pal Megan (who got the Dunkin' Donut mittens? You remember Megan, don'tcha?) to cruise the gardening centers to look for things to put in the ground to make her yard pretty, but that require absolutely no work. We ended up with some gorgeous specimens of nepeta Six Hills Giant and salvia May Night.
But while we were toodling around, and this is relevant to the Kochoran I promise, we parked downtown to buy some of that killer lemonade you can only get at street fairs because -- get this -- there was a street fair going on. We found a space for the car (a miracle in its own right) and threaded through the crowd to buy the lemonade. When we got back in the car, we drove off, and suddenly I wondered where the knitting was.
Yes, so devoted to the bunny am I that I was knitting as we hopped the garden shops. You think it's funny, or pathetic, or cute maybe, but Megan was driving, and some of those places out here in the 'burbs take ten whole minutes to get to. Lots of stitching time in my book. When we went to get the lemonade, so as not to stick anyone in the crowd, I left the knitting in the car.
With the windows down. There were plants and books and groceries in the car too, but the knitting was missing as far as I could tell.
(I am so gratified to know that right now, you're thinking what I was thinking, because Megan didn't get it until I had to tell her myself. This is what unites us while we live among the muggles).
I made Megan stop the car. I moved everything in the car around, I looked under my seat, I looked under Megan's seat, we took the plants out of the way back. We searched.
Megan wondered out loud, who would steal knitting?
I said: It's expensive yarn, and it was on an Addi Turbo. All it takes is one knitter to walk by with poor impulse control and woof, no more knitting. Angora, girl. It's a powerful thing. It's like musk in rutting season to a knitter."
"I thought that was cashmere." (she may not be a knitter herself, but Megan's been my friend for a long time. She's picked it up through osmosis.) I conceded that it depends entirely on the knitter. Some fall for merino. We all have our kinks, and clearly one among us likes to jack yarn.
And then, you may have guessed (because you are less cynical than am I), Megan unlatched the fold down seat and revealed the knitting on the floor. It had slipped back there and been hidden from sight. ::sigh:: Everything was okay.
As my blood pressure returned to normal ( I was mostly concerned with the two days of knitting I would have to make up, and where would I get enough yarn to finish Earnshaw? etc etc.) Megan shook her head that I would think that the world has someone in it who would steal -- of all things! -- knitting out of a parked car. So little faith in humanity I must have.
Yet she's never seen the scrum in front of the Socks That Rock rack during the first five minutes at Rhinebeck: how could she understand? She hasn't pushed the refresh button six times to try and make it on to Vesper Julia's site when the yarn goes up for sale. She's never had someone say they'd like to make off with the sweater she's wearing in a way that seems at once like a compliment and a threat. While I love knitters, and think that knitters are almost universally lovely people, I also know that the yarn sometimes brings out the Mr. Hyde in all of us.
So I hereby apologize to all of you for thinking such things, but you know it. You just might be tempted, if only for a second. And I love that about you.