I’ve been holding off to see if Sissy B is gonna have this kid already before I post my hurrah-it’s-done Summer Baby Blanket FO.
Her due date has passed, so she’s been left to wait patiently for el laboro. And she’s not the only one. Maizy and E-dot are all over this baby thing.
There’s no way in heckfire I’m posting the FO yet; it seems jinxy. Good to have the gift done before baby is born, good to bestow soon after baby is born, which also seems a good time to post the FO.
In the mean time, I’ve had a couple of posts come and go in my head without actually posting them. The most elaborate one involved a rant about being grumpy on an airplane; slightly peeved to find a bunch of colleagues boarding a plane to the same place I was going. This was unfortunate because I suspected my plans to knit obsessively for several hours (and maybe even finish an elusive crochet border) could be thwarted by the need to appear more committed to productivity.
It was also unfortunate because I was caught unprepared in the Looking Professional department.
I’d rolled out of bed and proceeded to the airport looking very greasy indeed. No shower, so the hair was a bit wild; in fact, I don’t think I even brushed it. Straight to the messy but functional ponytail.
And, I’m not quite sure my make-up remover from the night before had done the complete job; I seem to remember a bit of smudged eyeliner lingering near one eye. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
Anyway, there I am, looking ship-shape for promotion in my I’m-sure-no-one-will-see-me travel outfit.
I really should have known they’d be on the same flight with me since there was a big conference happening, but sadly, this did not cross my mind when I arose at 6AM to head to the airport. The scary thing is that this has happened before. Recently.
I’m an idiot.
It’s not a huge problem, really, knitting on a plane in the presence of colleagues, but it’s true that I had work to do (yeah, like the kind they pay me for) and my laptop was right there. So I was forced to abandon the productivity-eschewing ways of my D hook to do stupid work.
Until my battery ran out.
Well.
OK, it didn’t actually run out, per se, since I just got a new extended life battery (curses!), but it was plausible that it could have run out after two hours, especially when I shut it down and said (to whoever might hear), “Wow, this battery is really losing its mojo.”
Then I got my blankie out and powered through another row of the border.
I love the way the crochet turned out, but I’ll save that report for the FO post. Suffice it to say that there were a few bumps in the road with this part, because I’m an idiot (see above) who reads directions, understands them completely, and then ignores them. But more on that another time.
It’s fun, the crocheting. It’s a yarn hog, though. I think I knew this before about crochet but had forgotten. It does make sense as there’s a lot of stitching before much is produced. Crochet fabric, made out of simple stitches, is definitely denser than the average stockinette.
I ran out of yarn about two-thirds of the way through the border; or at least what seemed like two-thirds of the way.
I couldn’t believe one skein didn’t do it. I mean, it’s a trim, right?
Point is, I needed to make an emergency run to get another skein. I had to call six LYSes to find anyone even carrying Blue Sky Alpacas, let alone my Skinny Organic. Love it.
As much as I complain about the quality of my LYSes (not even all local, but within a 30-mile radius), it was sad to learn in the course of these calls that two of the shops I’d visited before had closed since the last time I went a-calling. I feel bad – even though it was, in all honesty, probably because they sucked that they closed.
Right, so Summer Baby Blanket - that’s where things are until that new baby comes out to receive it.
After the blanket was off the needles, on the last leg of my return trip home (I did shower before getting on that plane), Fifi, bless her heart, got a few more inches added to her. She’s been so patient. She just wants to be loved. And I do love her. She now has my full attention, and really, I should be able to knock this out over the weekend. Should.
One more thing to share before I close. Back on that flight from earlier (the one where I was stinky): after we’d all boarded and were more or less seated comfortably in our little rows and things had gotten nice and quiet, I hear a voice half-shouting half-singing, “Spank the monkey!”
“Ohhhhhhhh….spank the monkey!”
The guy on the aisle in my row had piped up with these lyrics, which may have been coming from his own head (no iPod in sight). I think it might have been Peter Gabriel’s “Shock the Monkey,” except with “spank” in there instead.
At first I thought he might have been trying to embarrass or entertain a friend traveling next to or near him. He got a few glances but I saw no takers in what might have been a little inside joke. One of the dudes in front of me craned around to have a look, but that was about it. A fancy-pants I-showered-this-morning coworker also sitting in that row didn’t flinch, too professional-looking to be fazed by the oddity.
The freak show continued for a few more minutes, varying between singing, mumbling, and moaning. There were some hand gestures thrown in, too.
After the monkey-spanking, I couldn’t make out much of the song(s), but he was grooving over there to whatever it was. I felt bad briefly because it occurred to me that this man might be mentally challenged or have Tourette’s or something (although I didn’t hear any swearing) and perhaps I really shouldn’t be laughing…but then he broke out of his reverie and starting maintaining a perfectly lucid conversation with the lady across the aisle. Not in a we-know-each-other kind of way, but in a strange-weather-we’re-having-isn’t-it kind of way. Then he proceeded to fall asleep before take-off, and the weirdness was suspended. He piped up again toward landing, and then smiled and nodded at everyone upon de-planing, as if he weren’t a weirdo.
Well. I may play the role of Stinky on planes these days, but at least I don’t sing out loud and frighten my travel companions. I don’t.
Pretty sure I don’t.
