Rhinebeck ’09: Tales from the Holidome
October 21, 2009
Ay yi yi! We’re gonna just go Jazz Odyssey on this and see where it leads us.
Rhinebeck this year was the sort of weekend when time moves superslow and superfast at the same time. I LOVE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS. The basic configuration was Kay, Ann, and the sublime duo of Mary Neal de Chicago and Bonne Marie de Chicago.
In the calm before the Holidome, it was important to have a little palate cleanser. After reconnoitering at La Guardia, we beelined for the Met, where we managed to see Vermeer’s Milkmaid (tiny) accompanied by a guard standing one foot to the right of The Milkmaid (staring right back at us like some animatronic sculpture of a bored-looking museum guard). All that lapis lazuli paint was great, but we really lost it in the new Roman Art wing.
By the way, just to be clear, the deer hides were not at the Met. That was later. At the Ravelry party.
Whoops. (They have GOT to come up with a better name than FRIED DOUGH for this product. I’m thinking Pillow Clouds or Sugar Dream Puffies or even CRISPY Dough if they have to keep Dough in there. Even McDonald’s knows to call something CRISPY if it’s been dropped into a vat of boiling oil.)
Ah, here we go:
Mosaaaaaaics. Knittable mosaics!
We learned that in ancient Rome, life was pretty much exactly the same as life today:
How do you say Wal-Mart in Latin?
After an epic run to Rhinebeck that led us through a dinner involving crepes on fire and a long discussion of Eileen Fisher and the Evolution of the Elastic Waistband, we finally finally FINALLY made it to the Holidome. Once we cracked the door to Entrance 4 and let that rich, cleansing scent of chlorine wash over us, we knew we were HOME.
The simplest way to start a conversation with anybody at Rhinebeck is to ask, “How many handknits are you wearing?”
I discovered that Bonne Marie shares my love of reenactors.
I was grumpy that President Washington’s stockings weren’t handknit. Did he think we weren’t going to notice THAT?
I think the cold brought out the pioneer spirit in everybody. The vibe seemed to me extraordinarily cheerful. Or maybe it was that I was just buzzing from all the vegetable-dyed fumes in the air:
Among the handknit accessories spotted all weekend long was the Belinda Wrap that I have been working on for SOMEbody’s big birthday, which I finally finished after an epic two-week stint in the blocking parlor.
A linen-and-silk wrap really ties together a look, especially a black puffiecoat and red Hunter rainboots. Thank you for valiantly transcending the seasons to give ol’ Belinda a tour of Rhinebeck.
The load-out at the end was tricky, but we made room for the cones of yarn and the rug hooking loom and the indigo-dyed fisherman wool and the yarn made from Petra the ewe and Shadrach the goat, and and and. It all fit once we snarfed the Kettle Corn.
It was so great to see everybody–my cheeks still sort of hurt from all the laughing. What a reunion! And a special hello to Rose of Norfolk, Virginia, who introduced herself to me in the bathroom of the Metropolitan Museum. See? Those knitters are everywhere.