Saturday, September 12, 2009


Let's Start At The Very Beginning

It's a very good place to start (or so the story goes).

(My apologies for my disappearance. Apparently 6 days and ten hours are one and the same to me, which may explain why I have not been allowed to chair meetings for several years now. I started my "ten hours" by doing the same thing I do every fall -- I go to bed for a nap and sleep for about 24 hours.

I have done this when the weather turns pretty much every fall that I can remember; I think perhaps I have the urge to hibernate or something.

And yet, every time it happens I think I have mono again or maybe I'm dying. I don't seem to learn particularly quickly -- every spring I think I'm getting a cold until I realize it's allergy season again.

Anyhow, I went to sleep, stayed passed out more-or-less for about 24 hours or a little more, and I've been scrambling to catch up with everything ever since. So far I have failed to do so.

But I digress.)

Yes, let's start at the very beginning. I know you perverts were hoping that we'd jump straight into the juicy details of The Happenings At The No-Tell Motel, however you're going to have to put up with me making a long story even longer. We haven't even gotten to the border yet.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, I was rabbiting about the landscape, hoping against hope that I could make 3 skeins turn into enough yarn to fill half a booth.

Despite the wobbliness of my confidence (and occasionally my knees) I thought I should book myself into the fibre fest in Victoria first to get my feet wet again. (Alas, I got my feet very, very wet as it was slightly rainy, as per usual, and the festival is held atop a windy bluff.)

I spent the next couple of weeks dyeing everything in sight and skeining madly while working graveyard shifts (fortunately I can skein stuff at work). As I mentioned before, the sales in Victoria were very disappointing, however reconnecting with old friends and acquaintances was most rewarding. At the end of the Fest, I gave all of my unsold yarn to the nice folks at Knotty by Nature to sell, and merrily returned to Vancouver.

Only to realize that a) I had almost no stock left and b) I really couldn't afford to place an order with my supplier.

(Um, yes. This whole "planning ahead" thing takes a little getting used to. Shut up.)

The long and the short of it is that I ended up getting the bulk of my stock in-house about ten days before we were due to leave for Portland. A couple of days before it was time to leave, I packed and shipped everything and decided enough was enough and I'd just deal with it, until the night before we were about to leave, when I looked at the list of items that I'd promised as door prizes and for the silent auction and realized that I hadn't dyed any -- not one skein -- of one of the promised colourways.

Words were said. Some were repeated, emphatically. Yarn was dyed.

And on the morning of August 5 I wended my dye-splattered way, with a suitcase full of bags of moist yarn (and I emphatically agree with Joe when he names "moist" as the most unpleasant word in the English language) to Abbotsford, where Barb B, my father and I, in classic style (and stylish class) parked our cars in the McDonald's parking lot and then ambled over to Tim Horton's to have coffee before starting on our journey.

I'm now at work, trying to finish my meal (I no longer have a name for the thing I eat in the middle of the night) and finish my paperwork (for which I have many names) and make a list of things that I would do today if I weren't going to be comatose; therefore, this saga is, once again ...

to be continued ...

Eek, completely agree about "moist". There's a commercial about contact lens voiced by one of those annoying blondes from an "entertainment" show, and every time she says That Word I come over all squicky.
Yup, "moist" is bad. Whenever someone uses it in a book, I duck and cover. Keep the story coming, baby!
She forgets to mention...while she and her Dad (the funniest guy in the world) are sucking up coffee INSIDE out of the MOIST I am standing beside my car in the rain so they can't possibly miss me when they drive up.
Yup. Those are the good times.
(They did drag me inside for a coffee, but still!)
I wonder why. Is it the connotations? Also, how widespread is that opinion?

Anyway, I'm glad you've returned. When bloggers go silent, I worry.
All right. It's the 17th, at least in my time zone. Continue.
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