"properly practiced, knitting soothes
the
troubled spirit...
and it doesn't
hurt the untroubled spirit either."
~elizabeth zimmerman
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Friday, March 14, 2008
2 comments 
The Return of Freaky Friday! (a.k.a. Coming Up For Air)
Well, the work nightmares have mostly come to an end, but then I got sick. Stupid cold. Who gets a cold at the beginning of spring? I don't even know anyone else who's sick! Ugh. Anyway...it has come to my attention (probably ridiculously belatedly) that Freaky Fridays don't necessarily need to involve me injuring myself; they can just involve ways in which I've embarassed myself, or been embarassed. These instances, my friends, are countless. So, bring on the shame! Several years ago, when I was a young'un (in middle school, I believe), we were invited to have Christmas Eve dinner with mom's then-boyfriend's family (sister? cousin?). [Yeah, I'm nothing if not timely with the holiday tales] I dubbed then-boyfriend Slimey because a) it rhymed with his actual name, and b) it oh-so-aptly described him. So mom dragged my sister and I to Slimey's Family Christmas. [World's worst/best ever book title?] As we were heading out the door from home mom instructed me to grab a present for each of us (my sister and I) from under the tree so that we too would have something to open while Slimey's family exchanged all their gifts. [Do you have any idea how a surly pre-teen felt knowing that the whole family would be exchanging gifts and we'd each have one measly one? Not good, that's how.] Mom pointed to a couple of gifts, "Grab those! Let's go!" Many hours later, gift giving finally commenced. Because I think I was in college before mom stopped giving my sister and I matching gifts [come to think of it, has that practice stopped??], we were always directed to open our gifts at the same time. And because we were the guests at the Slimey Family Christmas, all eyes were on us as we opened our matching purses. With a slightly puzzled look on her face, mom said, "I'm pretty sure I wrapped another gift inside each of those purses. Open them!" We waited for the news to spread throughout the room, and again, everyone stopped what they were doing and focused on us. It was with some excitement that we ripped into those purses because usually a gift within a gift meant something really cool--a charm bracelet? earrings? Just as my hand closed around something cloth-like, mom gasped. And I pulled out of the purse, for all to see, UNDERWEAR. Oh, yes. Several pairs of girly, cotton underwear. The crowd tittered; mom [to her credit] looked really, really sorry for pushing us to open the gift for the throngs of not-our-own-family; I probably turned bright red. And then my sullen, surly, pre-teen angst re-asserted itself and I was really, really pissed. Dude, there were cute teenage boys, older, cute teenage boys not related to me, at that party. And they'd just seen my pink, flowery panties! And not in a way that was going to make any of them think about asking me out [my sole goal in life as a surly pre-teen]. ************************* I know it doesn't seem like it, but there has been much knitting going on. Socks, of course; a baby sweater to welcome a sweet little girl (and she'll be able to wear it next winter--my gauge may have been a wee bit off); squares for a blanket for the sweet little girl; seaming the whole blanket of motley squares for the sweet little girl and made by the knitting group (4"x6" means something entirely different to everyone, it turns out); the beginning (and end) of a sweater in which the yarn just would not make gauge; and finally, the beginning of a new sweater. There were probably some other things, but I can't recall them. I also threw a baby shower for the first time (is it normal to put yourself into the poor house with your efforts?). So.Much.Fun. I've been doing some exciting events with the OC Knitting Meetup Group (I'm a co-organizer), including a yarn hop trip to San Diego. And probably other stuff that I can't think of because I need to get back to work and see the stack of "To Dos" looking at me accusingly. Until next week, enjoy my mortification! |
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