Seven of a Kind
September 25, 2006
Big doings around here. I won’t recap the entire weekend, because I’m saving it for the HUGE AND DISHY NOVEL that I’m going to write someday, but it was Dad’s 75th birthday, and we managed to get all seven of his children, families attached, from six different cities, in one place for an entire weekend. You know, at the circus, how they have that guy who spins twelve plates on sticks, balances a ball on his nose, and juggles eggs all at the same time? Like that.
But it happened, and it was great. If any of you has a complicated family out there, let me tell you: even a complicated family can come together. It can be done, and it will likely involve a lot of barbecue, bacon, and butter sculptures of your dad’s head. (Actually, brother Aubrey used I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, and I can’t believe he actually made the thing at all. It is quite low in cholesterol.)
Happy birthday, Daddyo–it was amazing.
Speaking of Elaborate Projecks
The shawl. Ye olde Print o’ the Wave. Don’t get me wrong–I’m still craving the finished product, all right. But for the love of PETE, this border. Oy!
Of the 80 little wavey repeats, I’ve finished 37, which puts this thing almost at the halfway point. If this is the Paris Dakar Road Rally, I’m in Tripoli, I’ve busted my radiator, and my driving partner won’t stop talking.
It’s big enough that I had to do a Photoshop Photomerge to tile this thing. (Please, I encourage you to go tile something in Photoshop Photomerge. It is just the coolest.)
The driving partner who won’t stop talking is THIS NEEDLE. This needle is holding all the stitches that are being lovingly, tediously, slowly knitted together with the border as I’m blasting through the Sahara. This needle is wholly unreliable–it drops a few stitches every once in a while, it worms its way into the border, it is in the way. If it weren’t so freaking essential to this border, I’d take a corner hard and hope he falls out the door. But no–we are in this to the bitter end, until the last 33 repeats are done. I’ve drawn a line down the bench seat and told it never ever ever to cross that line.
A problem potentially more vexing than the irritating needle is the possibility that we’re going to run out of fuel. I don’t really see how this three-inch ball of yarn is going to make it through 33 more repeats.