Monday, February 26, 2007

wintry

Everyone here keeps saying how droughtish we are and how much we need this constant sog, but I can’t stand it. I’m wringing my hands and wandering around the house picking up objects and putting them down again, and I need more sun. In Charleston, we have great big crashing thunderstorms and drama and torrential downpours, but then, it’s over. There isn’t this lingering drizzly pall for days on end, where the dog won’t go outside unless propelled by a booted foot, and all my coats are damp, and its so depressing. What is with this rain?

I guess, on the other hand, that it means snow, and YES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, this is essential because I now have SKIS! Cross country ones. And ski boots and ski poles and ski gloves and a brand new spanking pair of somewhat flattering ski pants. I say somewhat flattering, because I’ll be damned if women’s ski products have changed since George Mallory. If they aren’t jammed up your hiney in ways that make it impossible to sit, then they force un-hardcore types like moi to reenact Hammertime in the foyer of the Marmot store. I know that the important thing is their wicking function and sub-zero wind sheer, but who skis in parachute pants? Simons, who used to work at Marmot after college and was talking with all of his outdoor buddies and using ridiculous phrases like “agro” and “jammin’ uphill” and “totally sweet solo ascent on Whitney,” tried to pretend like we were not together. The truth is he’s just jealous that he and MC Hammer aren’t tight.

And guess what else I bought this weekend! Guess! Guess! You’ll never guess. (And you won’t care when I tell you.) Here’s a hint: it involves sheep. No, it wasn’t an early anniversary gift for Simons. It’s wool!

Sonia and I attended Stitches West on Saturday, which is a knitting conference . There, we rolled around in vats of cashmere and alpaca and fended off other buyers with pointy sticks…because we’re cool like that. Seriously, there was fancy yak wool that cost $65 per 20 grams or so, and handcarved rosewood needles and trendy knitting bags and every kind of yarn and knitted lingerie and books and koigu galore. Every pattern and fiber and spinning wheel and loom under the sun was in one building, and Sonia and I scurried around like the yarn harlots we are, and I spent at least five hours worth of writing on enough wool for a new fancy finger weight scarf and an alpaca sweater in cream. And I bought needle bags and patterns and a new Kenya market basket to hold everything in…although I refuse to feel any remorse for that, since the woman was there representing a basket weaving co-op in Kenya and Tanzania. And if you’ve ever been there, you know if anything is going to get better in rural Africa, it’s the women who are going to do it.

So soon the yarn for Andy and Harriott’s wedding present will be here, which will take me months, and I also have enough yarn for two scarves, four or five hats, one more baby sweater, five pairs of baby booties, two sweaters, four pairs of socks and a shawl. I’d take pictures but my camera is broken. And no one cares except me anyway, especially not Simons who cackles every time a moth flies through the window and I have a panic attack. He is bored rigid by wool.

For instance, I nearly brought the alpaca to Holly’s dinner party on Friday, but Simons said, “Why? Is the sweater for her? No? Well, then why would she care?” And he has a point. So I went with wine and chocolate bread pudding and Provencal napkins instead, and we drank FAR, FAR too much wine, and ate almost enough cheese to satisfy even me. Holly is an excellent cook, and her quiche and gratin potatoes with gruyere and lashings (I love that word) of crème were fabulous. I wanted to take some home but felt tacky asking. Their apartment has rewarded their many hours of suffering and trips across the bay to Ikea and Target by being positively adorable and monochromatic except for these glorious splashes of color from Sean’s photographs of their Asian adventures. Hopefully Sean will recuperate enough so that they can accompany us on our Tahoe trip next weekend, so Holly, GO BUY SKIS!

And one last thing, did anyone else feel sorry for Peter O’Toole last night? I didn’t even see Venus, and I wanted him to win. Poor old guy.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dude, you can bring you alpaca to my dinner party ANYtime and I will ooh and ahh with you. I'm so jealous of your knitting show adventures. Why is knitting so addictive?

I would be jealous of your skis but I suck at skiing. :) Have a great time on your trip.

rachel

Stepping Over the Junk said...

I felt bad for Peter O'Toole too. Even though I don't think he is that great of an actor (so shoot me). I WAS grateful not to have to see Joan Rivers on the red carpet.

YAY TAHOE! I am so jealous! Nothing like West Coast skiing/boarding! Here on the east coast, well, we just have these hills that pose as mountains. (compared to out west)

The Sorority said...

I felt bad for Peter O'Toole because he looked so cadaverous and that no one had told him he died last year. He is not fond of the Academy and has said so on many occaisions so I was not at all surprised that he didn't win. However, Eddie Murphy's reaction was priceless - that was a man who thought he was going to win.

Although I cannot knit to save my life, my mother and sister are great knitters and I have benefitted from their abilities on many Christmases and birthdays. It, along with playing the piano, are skills that I wished I possess.

Have a great time on your weekend to Tahoe.

barbie2be said...

oh! did you make my bread pudding? it sounds like it was a lovely dinner party.

have fun in tahoe but stay warm. and be prepared for traffic.

Jill said...

Come up the road a bit, we have four feet of fresh powder here in Tahoe ...