My knitting friends are out-of-control. I blogged last week about T and now they all want to be the star of the show. Honest to Pete, I have never, N-E-V-E-R, met such a bunch of divas in all my life.
We went to see the musical "Menopause" a couple summers ago. At the end of the show, the cast calls out to audience members to come up on stage if they've "changed" after seeing the show. Yeah, I didn't really get it, either. All I know is one minute I'm sitting quietly in my seat, chuckling away, and the next minute I'm being pushed to get up and get on stage.
I don't want to go up there. I HATE doing stuff like that.
But I'm with this bunch of nutty women that think it's fun to do stuff like that. So I get up, pretend to smile happily, and go up on stage.
While I'm up there, I start looking around. And decide I might as well be center stage.
S and I exchange a look, maneuver our way to center stage and we are feeling pretty pleased with ourselves.
Until we get upstaged by the Queen.
She comes strutting out onto the stage, like she's on the catwalk during fashion week, and stands right. in. front. of. us.
That's a diva maneuver if ever I saw one.
We discovered S is an unknitter like T.
Between S, T, and PKB (what a bunch of alphabet soup) I'm not so sure we can call ourselves a knitting group anymore.
We're more like a maybe-someday-we-can-call-ourselves-knitters knitting group. Since so many of us knit in the wrong direction, that is.
See that pile of blue, yellow, and gray yarn under the purple felted ball head? That was a sweater that S had started. And ripped out. Two sides done and she rips it out.
Aaaaargh. You're going in the wrong direction, S.
Three skeins of yarn worth of ripping out. And she wasn't done.
She was working on a red sweater with lots of brambling. Don't know what that is? Me neither. But it looks hard and I'm not ever going to do it.
So she gets stuck at one point and cries out for P, our teacher. P takes it, looks at it, and starts ripping out LOTS of rows. S sees all this yarn flying off the needle and says, "How many rows are you ripping out?" To which P answers, "Fourteen."
"Fourteen?" S cries. "I didn't even think I had a problem!"
Much laughter. Spewed scone crumbs. And T smiling away, looking at S, the newest addition to the unknitter's group.
While P was ripping out the red sweater, S created our new mascot. It's kind of a cross between the robot from "Lost in Space" and....I don't know what she was thinking with this thing.
But I'm thinking she should focus more on her knitting and less on doll creation. If you see what I mean.
I'm hopeful that we won't have too many more winter days ahead of us. I couldn't resist a few more shots from around town.
I'm loving the white, white, white of the buildings against that blue, blue, sky. Clean, crisp, pristine.
For a cow farm.
And these pretty little red berries, some of them locked away in prisons of ice, added just the splash of color I was looking for.
Fear not, little berries. You'll soon be free.