Wonderful Things

Gee, I should ask for household hints every day. I get more comments that way.

Before all the (much-appreciated) suggestions to use vinegar came pouring in, my Depression-era neighbor advised me to add baking soda to the wash. Being primarily acquainted with baking soda's fire-extinguishing qualities, I was puzzled; but I complied. Wow! You know, I've never really cared much about how I do the laundry, just so long as it gets done; I have never even used fabric softener or dryer sheets. But today, sniffing my sweet-smelling, baking-soda-ed clothes released my inner laundress from whatever dark dungeon she has been cowering in all these years. The formerly funky-smelling laundry smelled so good, I was almost inspired to line-dry it in the sweet spring air. Almost. Fortunately, it's raining today, so I was saved from acting on this rash impulse. And line-drying is outlawed in my 'burb, anyway.

Yes, we are that plastic here.

What astonishes me is that I had such a great weekend, and here I am posting about laundry. Sad, really.

As Amy has already written, one thousand knitters is a sight to behold. And one thousand knitters marching across a small New England college town trying to be first back to the yarn store is almost surreal. And one very funny, very articulate knitter (aka the Yarn Harlot) attempting to sign copies of her book for all these avid fans/knitters is...well...awe-inspiring. And I'm not just saying that because she told me she likes my blog. Ahem. She probably says that to everyone. But, being pathetically needy, I chose to believe her.

And, of course, she may have said that because I once wrote that she is the rock star of the knitting world...

I met many bloggy friends. There was MadMad, of course, who admitted at one point that I was nothing like she pictured me. This confession of hers made me wonder if I were projecting some sort of false persona in my blog. But then Amy, of Live,Learn,Knit, insisted that I was exactly as she had always pictured me (and the feeling was mutual), which just goes to show something profound about blogging, if I could just figure out what it is. Persnickety Knitter was there, as was Newton's Knitting (whose hand-knitted vest was really cool) and Lily Potter Knits, both of whom carpooled with Amy...the list goes on. I felt as though I was having some weird sort of dream where all my imaginary friends were meeting each other.

Amy, I must say, demonstrated remarkable aplomb while speaking with the Yarn Harlot. Her poised performance was in marked contrast to my stuttering and giggling when brought face to face with the reigning queen of knitting. It was all I could do not to genuflect and kiss her book-signing pen. MadMad generously included me in her dinner plans on Saturday night, which included dining with some other knitting royalty (Melissa Morgan of Melissa-Knits). That just added to the weird dream-like quality of the weekend.

I met my first male knitter, who was very personable and urged me to listen to his knitting podcast. He obviously doesn't read my blog, or he would know that I am not yet technologically advanced enough for podcasts. Someday, though...

And I haven't even mentioned WEBS yet. Where to start? The shelves full of patterns and books? The room full of looms? The piles and piles of yarn all begging to be stroked and touched? I was reminded of the archaeologist who first gazed into King Tut's tomb, opened after thousands of years. The person with him asked, "What do you see?" and all he could say was an awestruck "Wonderful things!"

Yes - wonderful things, indeed. And wonderful people. And a hotel room all to myself on Saturday night. I sat and knit in the blessed quiet, interrupted only by MadMad calling at 10 PM to report that she had just shared an elevator at her hotel with the Yarn Harlot herself. I was beside myself with jealousy.

I got up early the next morning (why? I don't know). It was so peaceful to shower, dress, and dry my hair without having to talk to anyone, or settle fights, or tell people to do things. I ate a yogurt and nobody cried. I sat down and knit for half an hour, just because I could. I enjoyed my solitude so much, I started to think about running away from home and joining a convent (preferably one that supported itself on the sale of handknitted items); but then I remembered that, alas, I am not Catholic. Do you think affirmative action might require the sisters to take a few Jews?

Anyway, I got a lot of knitting done over the weekend. I was proud of the progress I was making on Rachel's little vest, and I decided to finish up the back of it during the Yarn Harlot's talk Sunday afternoon. There was just enough light in the theater to knit by. There was also just enough light to realize that, somehow, I had totally messed up my knitting the night before (and I couldn't even blame the kids for distracting me). So, while Stephanie Pearl-McPhee waxed rhapsodic on the joys of knitting, I was busy ripping out every single bit of the work I had accomplished during the weekend. But I did it cheerfully, secure in the knowledge that I was sitting among a thousand other people who all, at one time or another, had had to do the same exact thing. Misery does love company, you know.