Let me sail, let me sail, let the Orinoco flow.
Sometimes when you're really not in the mood to witness a man and a woman asking God's blessing upon their holy union, you find yourself sitting in a pew in a chesty black dress holding a wedding program and praying for time to pass quickly. Last Saturday afternoon, Jeff and I attended a wedding. And because I was feeling sort of sad and Jeff was feeling punchy, we turned down the class and turned up the smart assidity.
Jeff (pointing to the line in the program that said Communion): So, I suppose *that's* going to happen.
Me: In these shoes? I don't think so.
Officiant (who I suspect had been drinking a wee bit): I hope we can all get together to celebrate the bride and groom's fiftieth anniversary on October 30th, 2059.
Jeff: I thought this was August 30th. 2008. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future.
Me: It's just a jump to the left, and then a step to the right. Actually, he's talking about their 51st and 2 Months anniversary. I think that's a big celebratory wedding anniversary day for the Catholics. They call it The Big 51-2. I'll Google it when we get home.
Officiant: I'd like to read to you from 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13.
Jeff: I'm going to pretend I've never heard this before.
Me: First Corwhathians?! Wait. What is that smell? Could it be an overdone Bible verse?
(Sometimes Jeff and I are real jerks. You heard it here first, folks!)
Officiant: This time around, I'm going to shake it up a bit.
Jeff: ???
Me: ?!?!
Okay. He then inserted the bride and groom names into the verses.
And when he was done, I mentally inserted OUR names into the verses.
And it went a little something like this:
Angela is patient, Jeff is kind. (Well, one out of two isn't bad, right? Jeff really is sort of kind. You should meet him someday.)
Angela is not jealous, Jeff is not pompous, Angela is not inflated. (Okay. Yeah. Jeff is not pompous. Also, stop looking at my butt.)
Jeff is not rude, Angela does not seek her own interests, Jeff is not quick-tempered, Angela does not brood over injury. (I don't brood over actual injury, but I *DO* tend to overreact to things I don't understand. Like the cyst thing above my right ear. In my mind, my swollen brain has busted through a crack in my skull and is planning some sort of gushing escape with the permission of my semicircular canals.)
Jeff does not rejoice over wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. (Gheez. I really *did* score a gem.)
Angela bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things. (I suck.)
And because we weren't good citizens during the wedding ceremony (Don't worry. No one heard our utterances. We are not unlike mice! Muffled mice!), the DJ at the reception paid us back by playing nothing but Enya.
Me: When I was in college, I once invited a boy over so we could make out to Enya. When that got old, we made out to The Lawnmower Man.
Jeff: I'm just hoping we're able to Cabbage Patch to an extended mix of Brahms' Lullaby before the night is over.
Copper Boom!
Do you ever suffer that thing where you want to tell a story, and when you start telling it you feel yourself getting all excited and pretty soon you're just yammering out half-sentences like "Oh! Cheesecake on the table and raspberry! And then Ira Glass! AT the table! No straws, but except for those cookie things! I was laughing SO HARD! Almonds in my soo-oo-oup!"
Anyway, I've been trying to put our Bruce Springsteen experience into words, but every time I start, the half sentence thing starts happening. And believe me, you would lose patience if you had to sift through the muck.
So, here. Three.
"Sound check! We were there! And Mr. Springsteen wore the cutest gray hat and I want to knit a hat like that, but seriously? I would never wear it! And we're SO CLOSE to him right now!"
"Backstage tour?! Um, holy crap! All the busses!"
"She's the One! She's the One! My face hurts from this big goofy smile!"
It was an amazing night.
And if you want to know how close we were to the stage, I'll tell you. In t-shirt talk.
We were THAT CLOSE.
And now, because it's Tuesday, here are some pissed off hippos and a very frightened girl child.
When the lights come on, you leave me in stitches.
You know, it's sort of funny. When I have something Yarn Related to tell you, I always hesitate. In my mind, 83.9% of you are NOT knitters/crocheters. Bang. I just had a quick explosion of inspiration to assemble a survey so I can find out how many of you dabble in the fiber arts. However, my quick explosions tend to fizzle, and right now I sort of lack the energy to Google "free do-it-yourself survey". So anyway. (I just stepped away to make a waffle. I have the energy for waffles. Multigrain!)
To those of you who really don't get this yarn thing, come back early next week, where I will talk about how I stood less than 50 feet away from Bruce Springsteen and how he has rocketed to the top of my Do Boy List. Actually, I should probably rework that entire list. Seriously? If John Krasinski landed in the same room as me, I really don't think he would feel even the slightest urge to make out. It's time to be a bit more sober, don't you think? John Krasinski, I hereby release you.
While I'm jumping around, let me take a moment to tell you that I'm really digging crumpets lately. Who would have thought?
Okay. Last Friday we picked Tempe up at 4:30 in the morning. (We picked coffee up at 4:15 in the morning. I love you, you stinking 24-hour Starbucks, you!)
After finding our way to the convention center in Schaumburg, we parked the car, hustled in, and headed straight to The Fold to admire the Socks that Rock.
(The six hours between Leaving St. Louis and Arriving in Schaumburg were mostly uneventful. I ate an egg and cheese biscuit. So there's that, if you're interested.)
After The Fold, things get blurry. Let's see. If you want to see the yarn I purchased and what each skein will eventually become, you can head over here.
Oh! Do you remember that episode of Dawson's Creek where the kids were heading out to a rave and they had to go get an egg before they were given directions to the barn where the rave was to be held and Dawson was questioning the whole egg thing and Pacey said something like, "Don't ask questions. We just need to find an egg!" and Joey got really wasted and now that I'm typing this really long sentence I'm wondering if this episode ever aired. Am I making this up?! Anyway. During our second pass of The Fold, the fabulous Knitting Hawkeye yelled, "Hey! Fluid!" (I'm really NOT making that up!) She then told me to go to a certain booth and grab a pin. THEN, head to the Malabrigo booth. The pin will serve as a tip-off, and if you play your cards right you will be handed some back-alley sock yarn that has not yet been released in the states. The three of us earned our pins and headed to the booth where we were given two skeins of the yarn. Three people living in three separate houses were told to share two skeins of yarn. Ah, well. At least we had what I believe was a Dawson's Creek adventure. But maybe it wasn't.
Long Story Shortened: We each purchased all of the yarn that we needed and headed out into rush hour traffic. We met some really nice knitters. We wore our shawls. And the day? It was good. And on the way home Tempe received a shocking telephone call that put Everything into perspective. The yarn? It's not important. The two skeins for three people thing that I chose to harp on for at least an hour? Not important. (I really need to dump out that big pot of Grudge that's been simmering in my head for so long. I'm constantly adding to it. Such a waste of time. Grudges? Go hang out with John Krasinski! You are released!) What's important is the time spent with the people you hold dear. And you might think that's hokey, but believe me: It's So True.
So now I'm back. And I'm closing in on finishing my August BlogHer socks. (Progress thumbnails are in the left sidebar toward the bottom.)
And Meredith is loving kindergarten.
And Harper is loving preschool.
And I've got great friends and a first-rate family.
(I've also got a little crush on Bruce Springsteen. And Jeff doesn't mind, because he digs Mr. Springsteen, too.)
Not Unlike a Compound Fracture
The winners of the M&M's Giveaway have been notified, and all but one has responded. (If you are Betsy who guessed the winning M&M amount at the shower, please shoot an e-mail my way! You're a winner!)
Anyway, this morning I lugged four boxes of M&M's to the post office. And I'm exaggerating when I say this, but: each box weighed about eighty pounds.
Post Office Guy: Do these boxes contain anything liquid or perishable?
Me: Well, each box is filled with M&Ms. But I've packed them with weird bubble wrap stuff. I just need to send them all as inexpensively as possible.
Post Office Guy: Do you want insurance or confirmation of delivery?
Me: Nope.
Post Office Guy: You don't care if they get there, do you? You didn't even put a return address on these boxes!
Me: I sort of want them to GET there, but if they don't, I definitely don't want them back. I really can't be trusted with M&Ms in the house.
Post Office Guy (using his Sly Hopping Eyebrow): So you're kind of Whatever about the delivery, and you don't want them back, right?
Me (proving that my eyebrow can jump higher than his): Truer words have never been spoken, Mr. Postman.
Post Office Guy: Thank you for the M&Ms.
Me: Enjoy them. I liked the raspberry ones the best.
Post Office Guy: You know, when you leave this building, I'm going on an M&M break.
Me: If you have to suffer a break, I hear an M&M break is the best kind.
Later this week I'll update you on Stitches Midwest and Bruce Springsteen.
Ah, Bruce Springsteen.
Samuel L. Jackson will appear in the sequel to Snakes on a Plane.
After nine months of not going to a Weight Watchers meeting, this morning I experienced the urge to go to a Weight Watchers meeting.
(I still have a few free days before my freelance project is delivered. As you can see, I'm taking full advantage of my free time. Weight Watchers Meeting! Falalalala! Jealous?)
When I walked in the door, the receptionist greeted me with a big, "Welcome to Weight Watchers!"
Me: Actually, I've been here on and off for the past five years.
Receptionist (scanning my bar code): Oh, yes! I see you haven't been here for nine months! What have you been up to?
Me: I had a baby?
Receptionist: Ooh! Really?
Me: Nope. But it sounds better than, "I received a big stupid box of M&Ms, and someone needs to step in."
Receptionist: We're running a sale on 2-point bars!
So I bought a few boxes of 2-point bars, and I headed into the meeting, where the topic was Interim Successes.
The gist: If you spend all of your time stressing about your final goal, you'll miss out on celebrating each tiny success! And each tiny success will carry you onward through the journey to the final goal! So focus on the tiny successes, and eventually you'll be able to say something like "Eureka! I've reached my final goal! 'Tis a gift to be simple!" (I tend to poke fun. I'm ridiculous.)
Anyway, the most curious thing happened right at the end of the meeting.
Weight Watchers Leader (WWL): So, we all have big goals. And we also have busy lives. Tell me, what keeps all of you coming to these meetings every week? What keeps you on track?
Someone named Karen: I know that journaling keeps me on track.
WWL: Excellent. Yes. Jennifer?
Jennifer: Snakes in my garage.
Me: What?
WWL: Yes! Actually, I think that sums it up perfectly. THAT is the secret to keeping up with Weight Watchers! Okay then! Keep that in mind, and I'll see less of you next week!
So, after putting it off for nearly two years, I think it's time to have my hearing checked. I've noticed that I spend a lot of time cocking my right ear toward whomever is speaking. (Side note: I'm only 43% sure Whomever is correct in that sentence. Also, when I see Whomever in writing, I mentally pronounce it as wah-mehver.) My father wears hearing aids. I've reached the point where talking on the phone is sometimes difficult. Argh.
Snakes in my garage.
Not completely unlike bats in my belfry, I suppose, but come on! Sixteen people now know the secret to keeping up with Weight Watchers, and I'm walking away scratching my head and wondering if Jennifer chooses to park on the street.
Jellicles do and Jellicles can!
If you are a knitter (and most of you are, whether you know it or not), you understand the importance of planning semi-regular journeys centered around fiber festivals, yarn store sales, and places that bake kick ass pies.
Last year, my mother, Tempe, and I drove to Chicago to stir up some trouble at Stitches Midwest.
In less than 100 hours, we'll be doing it again.
To prepare for our pilgrimage, I've been doing a bit of research. (Consequently, because of this research, I've learned quite a bit about the Muslim religion. Don't you love getting smarter? Me too!)
Anyway, the first thing a Muslim must do to prepare for a hajj is ask Allah for time and resources.
Second? You must score enough vacation time from your job to swing the trip.
Third? Start saving up and shopping around for decent deals.
Fourth? Research the legal requirements. (You need a Visa to get to Saudi Arabia. You do NOT need a Visa to get to Chicago. However, a Mastercard will definitely come in handy! HA HA HA HA. Oh. Not so funny? Okay then.)
Fifth? Familiarize yourself with the rituals.
Sixth? Keep yourself physically fit.
Finally? Set up time to visit with someone who has made the trip.
Let's break it down.
1. Asking Allah for time and resources. Let's see. I thought about Stitches Midwest as we sat in church last weekend. Side story: It was our first time visiting this particular church, and the sermon was all about Joseph and the importance of taking a bit of time to step back from people and situations that make you crazy. (I can relate to that. Can you relate to that?) Eventually, what goes up must come down and those same people might be exactly what you need to survive. And if the elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy. Punch a higher floor! Anyway, as I sat and looked around the room, I discovered that the guy I stood next to in Marching Mizzou (shut up, you weren't there) was sitting right behind me with his wife (who was also in Marching Mizzou) and their kids. It's been something like seventeen years since I've seen these two, and I believe Alicia Silverstone was once in a movie titled Blast from the Past. Anyway. I think we've found our church--not because I was in marching band with some folks who go there, but just because. (They had Oreos in the auditorium. Meredith wants to live there.) Wait. Where was I?
2. Vacation time. Dear Jeff, Could you take a day off work so I can make an 18-hour run to Chicago with my mom and Tempe? Okay then. Thanks! Done.
3. Saving up? Fail. Shopping around? Um, I've studied the vendor list.
4. Legal requirements. I will be driving, and I have a license, insurance, and a loaded Starbucks card. Good to go.
5. Rituals? I have taken a loofah to my chin--the place where I rub yarn to test our compatibility. I have come to grips with the fact that I love knitting with silk.
6. Physical fitness. I have now been meat-free for a month and am planning on wearing sensible shoes. Does that count? I can lift a heavy tote bag?
7. Visit with a veteran. My mom and I will be visiting Tempe at 4:30 in the morning on Friday. (And they don't know this, but I'm going to treat them to my best Driving and Singing performance of Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats as soon as we hit Springfield, Illinois. Don't you wish our car wasn't full?! I have fake whiskers!)
To the knitters out there: Is there anything you have fallen in love with during the past year that I need to search for at Stitches? Are there any kick ass pie places in Schaumberg, Illinois? Are you blind when you're born? Can you see in the dark? Can you look at a king? Would you sit on his throne? Can you say of your bite that it's worse than your bark? Are you cock of the walk when you're walking alone? Because Jellicles are and Jellicles do, Jellicles do and Jellicles would, Jellicles would and Jellicles can, Jellicles can and Jellicles do!