Oh Dear

When I was a kid, I was incessantly clumsy and was always dropping, losing or otherwise ruining things. My parents branded me as careless, which I suppose was true to a certain extent, but not quite. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, it was more that there were just too many things going on in my head for me to keep everything in there and I’d forget things because I was in a hurry or was trying to do too many things at one time. Just to be clear on this, it was, and still is, equal opportunity carelessness. It wasn’t just that I lost things I disliked, like my glasses, my retainer or those tops Mom bought me with pink lace that I loathed so much. I lost or ruined my favourite clothes and toys just as often as anything else. Regardless of whether loved or loathed, I sweat bullets and blood every time I realized that something else had gone wrong. I tried to hide things or cover them up just so I didn’t have to admit that, once again, I’d screwed it up. This means I pretty much lived in a constant state of anxiety for about 10 years of my life, since it really was a problem I didn’t seem to be able to solve, no matter how hard I tried. I think both my parents even asked me years later if I did it all on purpose and they finally believed me when I said I hadn’t.

It's years and years later, and finally some good came out of it all. My aunt told me the story of her Hermione Scarf this weekend. She and my uncle wanted a change of scene and so they drove up to Shaver to reccy their vacation spot and have some lunch. She bundled all her stuff up, including the scarf, and carried it out to the car. On the way, they stopped by the post office and then headed off to the mountains. When they got there, my aunt couldn’t find her scarf. They tore the car apart trying to find it. My poor uncle, not only did he have to search the car, but he knows how much my aunt loves her knit wear and they were probably both sick to their stomachs knowing it was lost. Uncle is a fix-it kind of guy and something lost is something you can’t just fix, so he would have been terribly frustrated. Anyway, no scarf. So, on the way back home, with Aunt sweating bullets, Aunt forces Uncle to stop off at the post office on the million to one chance that someone will have turned it in to lost and found, even though Uncle is sure they will just have taken it if she did drop it there. As they drive up, they see something black and sodden lying in the parking lot. Dreading the worst, Aunt went and looked. Sure enough, it was the scarf. Four hours of post office parking lot. You can imagine. She picked it up to an audience of onlookers who were surely wondering why such a nice lady would be picking up black, oily cloth from the ground and putting it in her car. But it was The Scarf and she wasn’t going to leave it there. So figuring she had nothing to lose, she took it home, washed it on the hand wash cycle and you’ll never believe it, but it apparently looks as good as new.

Now, I wasn’t particularly thrilled to hear that a scarf I’d knit and looked forward to giving her for months had lain in the post office parking lot for hours and was driven over hundreds of times, but I was reminded of my childhood and that I’d been there, done that and felt sick about it, so who was I to throw stones or be upset. It happens. Also, it wasn’t a Dale of Norway. $15 and 8 hours = a new one. Not a big deal.

It also taught me that Lang cotton yarns hold up really, really well, so if you’re looking for a very sturdy, light cotton yarn, look for Lang.

Bosch washing machines also seem to be quite good.

Finally, to break up all the text, meet O’Leary; knit for one of my friend’s dissertation profs. It’s knit with a new wool called Gala which is a merino, cashmere, angora, cotton blend. It’s very soft and yummy, if expensive. I hope he likes it.

Now really, onto my Byzantine.