We’re moving into deadline again, which can mean late nights and little knitting time. But, man, have I got a ton left to do! I’ve prioritized, so the “must haves” will be done by the big day, but there are a few other things I’d really love to do and FSM only knows if I’ll have the time. I refuse to worry too much about it!
First on the block was Dad’s Dashings. My goal last night was to complete the first one, which I did. After I sped through that — shortening the hand and knuckle portions to fit what I believe to be his hand measurements (Dad has shorter but thick hands so I knit the large and shortened the length) — I picked up my new favorite pattern: the felted Flying Spaghetti Monster felted ornament, designed by Shelley Hattan.
I want to make three — two gifts and one for me — and finished up three sets of meatballs last night. Also got a good start on the first set of noodly appendages. Easy, fast and totally awesome! And a nice break from the Dashings, I have to say.
Tonight I’ll start Dad’s #2 Dashing, finish up noodly appendage #1 and hopefully don’t develop carpel tunnel in the process.
Wanna hear a funny story? Back in 1986, my folks took me out of my junior year of school and we sailed their freshly built sailboat down the Baja coast and up to La Paz. We made it there just in time for spring break and the infamous Sea of Cortez Race Week (originally sponsored by my current employer). My best friend flew down for the week and we had the BEST time. We went sailing on an old schooner, bronzed our 17-year-old bodies on the beach and discoed at the now-defunct Gran Baja hotel.
Part of my job is to set up our monthly calendar. I occasionally contact clubs and organizations to firm up dates, especially at the end of the year. A couple days ago, I emailed the commodore of one such club and read the following in the response: “On a completely unrelated note, back in 1986, the year of the shuttle launch disaster, I met a young girl in La Paz with your name who was on her parents boat of the same name. It was at a party for the race week. That wouldn’t have been you, would it?”
That got my attention, to be sure. We met tons of people down there, so how did I know this guy? I asked. Here’s his response: “Regarding La Paz, I was a callow youth who showed up at that party with a sailor friend who introduced me to the joys of sailing. It was my last night in Mexico after spending three months there. You were hanging around with some girlfriends and we started talking. What I remember most is that kiss you gave me as your dad was rowing ashore to come and collect you. That’s just the sort of behavior I’m going to be discouraging with my daughter. “
Well, if that doesn’t bring one’s memory back in a hurry! He was the dude I met at the Gran Baja disco who looked just like a young, thin, curly-haired George Michael who gave me my first french kiss! I actually referred to him as ‘George’ from then on, though we never had any contact after. If you’d asked me yesterday what his name was, I couldn’t have told you. Today . . . well, I’d like to say I’m proud I could tell you but . . .