Holy Cow!

Better make that “Holy buffalo chips, Batman!” Here is Clara’s review of the door prize I won at Whirled Fibers’ grand opening earlier this month.

Sometimes I just love my inbox. Last night was one of those times. KnitPicks now makes their Gloss [70% merino, 30% silk] in DK and heavy worsted. For you knitting muggles, DK is short for double-knitting, though I have no idea why our British friends dubbed it that. It’s a little bigger than sport yarn and not as big as knitting worsted, which is what I grew up knitting. Heavy worsted is about Aran weight, a little bigger than worsted but smaller than bulky and super-bulky.

To put it in terms more of you can relate to, and guessing wildly since I don’t have the ladies all lined up here in my living room for your viewing pleasure:

Laceweight is Twiggy, or that Olsen twin.
Fingering yarn is Kate Moss or Heidi Klum.
Sport yarn is Sandra Bullock.
DK is Susan Sarandon.
Worsted is Catherine Zeta-Jones.
Aran is Kristin Chenoweth.
Bulky is Marilyn Monroe.
Super-bulky is Mae West.

Each of them lovely in her own way. [Your mileage may vary.]

I have a new iron. I bought it a few minutes after the oh-where-is-my-car adventure. I saw Lorelai when I stepped off the train at Richland Hills, but I was almost immediately swept up into theta-stage, designing a skirt for my doll or more precisely wondering how to tweak a pattern I saw on Knitty a couple of years ago. I walked down to where I usually park, and Lorelai wasn’t there. I looked back up the sidewalk. Multiple vacant spots, but no Lorelai. I walked farther down. No car. I walked back up to where I had stopped. She had not materialized. I was beginning to get worried, because the train had pulled out and nature was calling. [Rather in the mode of Minnie Pearl hollering HOW-DEE!!!] So I walked back up toward the platform, and I found Lorelai cuddling between two big, bad pickup trucks. The hussy!

Whenever something like this happens, I wonder if it signals the new normal. But I seem to have been perfectly lucid for the remainder of the evening, having ice cream with a friend from church, dashing through my email, getting things ready to make this morning’s departure a mite easier.

I was hoping to be able to say, “Behold Autumn Asters pinned out on my bed.” But my tape measure is still AWOL, and I probably need more T-pins. So I will be heading to Jo-Ann’s or Hobby Lobby after the stake Pioneer Day activity tonight. To which I will be late, because I am going to ride the train and have a nice visit with Trainman and some happy knitting, which I will need, because:

[cue the Music of Doom] I was not able to get to the laundromat to wash the infernal team-building shirt for work today. I may just pull it out of the hamper and swipe it with a damp washcloth where the banana ricocheted. Or I may wear something else and smile peacefully at the office manager. Either way, I will not be wearing that shirt on the train this morning. Or this evening. I will wear a nice blouse if the shirt absolutely has to go through the washer, or my dontcha shirt if the washcloth works.

It’s not like I have time to go to the laundromat every week. Or that I’m a 16-year-old parochial school student who has to wear a uniform or be expelled. Maybe it is time for some exquisitely civil disobedience.

Remind me to examine my forehead while washing my face: does it suddenly say Gandhi?