Kiss My Knits!

When Emily was a toddler, she loved Clementine oranges. Couldn’t get enough. I had to limit them or she’d get diaper rash from all the acid. Somewhere down the line, though, she stopped eating them. As she’s gotten older, her diet has gotten more and more limited. I’m working to reverse that. And so, I pull a page from the Mom Trick Book. It’s called “Food that looks like stuff.”

It’s working. She smiled really big and is happily eating them. Of course, I also told her that she had to, and she’s very good about that sort of thing. She’s picking every single bit of the skin off of the wedges, but I remember doing that with oranges when I was her age too, so that’s fine. I’m not going to complain – as long as she’s eating them.

Yesterday morning, I started out from Charlotte to Richmond to see my friend Pat. I got a little bit of a later start than I’d planned because I wanted to finish up a little project to take up to her. However, I still felt I had a good chance of being able to see her while she was awake.

WRONG!

On the near side of the NC/VA border, right in between no and where, I swerved to avoid a giant piece of metal in the road. As you may have guessed from the picture to the right, I didn’t swerve far enough. I zipped along for another half mile or so before the telltale “kathunkathunkathunk” sound alerted me to the fact that something was up. Yep. Flat tire.

Let me tell you, those lug nuts were superglued on there. I saw my hopes of making it to Richmond at all start to go up in smoke. But kindness and generosity are not dead! For lo! A trucker stopped! And not just any trucker, but a trucker with a can of WD-40!

It didn’t look like he was going to be able to get the tire off either, but this guy just would not give up. With a burst of strength that would put the Hulk to shame, he muscled the last two lug nuts off. YAY! He got the doughnut on for me, reminded me that it was only rated for about 50 miles per hour (which is good, because I’d forgotten) and let me know which exit to take to find a mechanic.

Things I know about this trucker: he’s from Hickory, where he lives with his two daughters and his wife, who has fibromyalgia. He was driving from Winston Salem to southern New Jersey, a destination he had to make by morning. He was hauling empty bottles up to the Arizona tea company.

Things I don’t know about this trucker: his name. Thank you, anonymous good Samaritan.

So I crept slowly up the highway to exit 12 on the other side of the VA border. The service station there did indeed have a tire for me.

Them: You want that new or used?
Me: As long as it rolls, I’m okay with it.
Them: Okay, used it is. I guess we’ll getcha one of them round-shaped tires, then.

Heh. I passed the time petting the gas station kittens, which they tried very, very hard to foist off on me. The lure of “free kitten with every tire” didn’t work on me. The mechanic joked, “I keep saying, if we just start putting ’em in people’s cars, they’ll get attached to ’em and keep ’em!” I promised to pass along that they had free kittens, which these brusque guys have gotten their shots, litterbox trained, and named. So I’m passing it along. There are very sweet free kittens at the garage off of exit 12 in South Hill, VA.

I called who said that Pat was sleeping now. Well, at least I would still be able to sign her book. I got in to Richmond after dark and went up to Pat’s room. She was indeed asleep, but I wrote her a note.

I also left her a little something. Pat gave me some roving on our trip to Raleigh last summer. I had dyed it and spun some of it up. And so, knitting straight from the bobbin, I made a small gift for her from the gift she’d given me. I attached it to her book. I hope she’ll like it. At the risk of being corny, there’s a lot of love in that heart.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Here’s a story I haven’t told before.

The list as it stands.

Q: What is yellow and blue and holds a temperature?

A: A banana with blue skin that is sick.

Well, she’s recognized the inherent comedic value of the banana, so that’s a step. Keep at it, sugar!

You remember I posted a few days ago asking for suggestions for moisturizers? Well, took matters into her own hands. Look at what I got in the mail! It’s a Burt’s Bees Hand Repair Kit! Yay! It comes with Shea Butter Hand Repair Creme, Beeswax & Banana Hand Creme, Lemon Butter Cuticle Creme, and a pair of cotton gloves with bees on them. Too cool.

So far I’ve used the beeswax and banana creme and the lemon butter cuticle creme. The beeswax and banana creme really does smell like bananas. I felt like I was slathering pudding on my hands, in a good way. The smell quickly vanished, and it really does feel great. I love the way the lemon butter cuticle stuff smells too. Mmmm… lemons.

Thanks again, !

I was zipping along confidently on the Shedir hat without bothering to look at the pattern. My overconfidence was my undoing, as I apparently purled two stitches together at one point when I wasn’t looking and didn’t notice it for four rows. D’oh! I did a passable fix with a crochet hook. Unfortunately, passable isn’t perfect, and it was bothering me, so I decided I had to rip back and fix it properly. Let me tell you, with all the cables, this hat is a pain in the neck to un-knit. I’ve gone past the mistake and am ready to starting knitting forward again, but I’ve lost a lot of enthusiasm for this project. Doesn’t really matter, though, it has to be done, so I’ll suck it up and keep going.

Yesterday’s hair got more and more questionable as the day went on, finally degenerating into a Peter Tork style pageboy by bedtime. Today it looks like… well, it looks like I need a haircut. Back to square one. I want my 2006 hair back!

On the other hand, perhaps complaining about my hair while knitting a chemo cap is a bit ungrateful. So I’ll live with it for now, and be happy for what I’ve got.

So my old hairstylist moved to California about… I’m gonna say between four and six months ago, and I haven’t found a new stylist yet. This shows you how often I get my hair cut. Last week, I looked in the mirror and realized that my hair had reached the point where it looked so bad that there was nothing that even the least talented stylist could do to it that would make my head look worse than it already did.

So I bit the bullet and made an appointment. I brought with me a picture of what my last stylist had done for me, taken for a post back in March 2006, after a previous stylist had attempted to scalp me.

I walked in with the picture to the left and showed it to the stylist. The guy said, “So, short.” I said, “yep!” And that was the extent of any discussion about my hair.

Next thing I know he’s got the gel and the spray and all kinds of stuff out and is going to town. My glasses are off, so I’m kind of trusting to fate here.


I actually like the way this looks. It’s more grownup than my last cut. After I put my glasses on and saw myself, I said, “wow, now I need some new clothes.” However, although I will try, I am certain that I’m not going to be able to maintain this. I don’t have a curling iron, I seldom blow-dry my hair, and “product” still makes me think of my days making TV spots. I’ll give it a go… but realistically, this style is too long for me.

I’ve got another appointment for two months from now, as opposed to my usual four to six. We’ll see how this goes.

In the meantime, apparently my giant cones of orange yarn have arrived, so I’m off to pick them up. These should last me another couple of months. Yay!

P.S. – you guys know this trick, right? If you don’t have a self-timer or other way to stand away from your camera, don’t take a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror – it just never looks good. Instead, use the mirror to check the viewfinder while you turn the camera toward yourself. Works every time.

Emily’s attempts at jokes continue.

Q: What did the teddy bear say to the doll?
A: Snuggle us up for a thousand times!

If you can’t get funny, aim for cute!