Chapter 23: An Inauspicious Beginning

In which Ms. Knitingale discovers the presence of an LYS mere moments from the college campus, and attempts to learn the Virtue of Patience

So, I got up this morning at 4:00 am, not because I have a burning desire to experience a dark, drippy, Pacific Northwest, early morning, (which I was already pretty sure looked a lot like a dark, drippy, Pacific Northwest late afternoon) and not because it really takes me 4 hours to go from sleep to presentable (oh, I’m not saying I couldn’t use the time…only that I really lack the motivation to do so and consider that I am nearly black-tie ready if I’m showered and my socks match) but because of Mr. K. I love Mr. K from the bottom of my heart, as you all know, and I would never cast aspersions on him…but can I just say that if he sawed as many real logs as he does metaphorical ones, we would never have to pay for heat again? Naturally, he snored for 45 minutes…and then stopped at the precise moment I gave up and got out of bed.

From there, with only minimal grumbling (he can’t help it, I know he can’t….) I went and watched the morning news and did the exercise bike for an hour, unraveling a thrift store sweater as I pedaled. (I never said I wasn’t productive in the wee hours—I’m just not particularly pleasant.) I had some extra time, even so, and I used this to prepare for my day. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I have an 8:30 – 10:50 class, and then a 1:10 – 3:30 class. Lousy, I know, but so many classes filled up that I was stuck with this. So I packed snacks, I planned to do homework from class one while waiting for class two but threw some knitting in a bag in case this wasn’t enough, I prepared an extra water bottle—I was set. Off I went, to this lovely institution of higher learning:

(With all these cars in the parking lot, as it happens--quite scintillating photography, yes?)

I went to the classroom, and I waited. And I waited. And I waited. By 8:45, 18 or so of us were waiting, but none of them were the instructor. We waited some more. Eventually someone went to the secretary who came back to tell us that the teacher hadn’t called in and no one knew where she was and they were dismissing the class. This was 9:00 am. I had over four hours until my next class, no homework, and it was raining. I can hardly be held accountable for what happened next….can I?

I went for a short drive, actually looking for a Starbucks so that I might apply a small amount of mocha to the situation and found (picture music and a beam of heavenly light here) an LYS. Small, tucked away, not the best selection ever (what do you mean you don’t carry alpaca? What kind of a fiber obsessive do you call yourself??), but it was wool. It was warm and had that lovely wooly smell and ladies around a table knitting. I knew then that all would be well. They had some new sock yarn, and some of the prettiest Crystal Palace laceweight kid merino I’ve ever seen. In the end, I stopped with mere petting and some knitting talk (did you ever notice how talking about knitting is like crack to an addict? I swear, I’m shameless. I’ll ask anyone about any project at any time and even reach out to feel the yarn. It’s a sickness, it really is.) and didn’t buy a thing. Which sounds quite virtuous until you really go through my stash. Believe me when I say that the Crystal Palace was calling my name in long, loud syllables—but I have to face the truth that I already have enough laceweight yarn to make a lacey housecover, with enough extra left over so that the cars and mailbox can match. It is rare that I can draw a line, but draw it I did. Painfully, and most probably temporarily…but drawn is drawn.

Somewhere during this time, the teacher of the 8:30 psych class called to personally apologize. She said she was calling all of the students—27 had signed up, so she had a lengthy time of it. And I was initially quite relieved to hear that she hadn’t been in an accident or something, and impressed that she had taken the time to call. But then she produced her explanation: “I just got to doing things….and….well, you know….time just got away from me.” As a person, I have sympathy. As a person who can knit 4 hours in what feels like 5 minutes, I have mega-sympathy. As a student who hauled my weary ass across town at 7:45 in the morning and who can expected to be graded down for tardiness of self OR of assignments…well….it was less sympathy and more WTF? However, I figured she was already having what my mom used to call a bitch-kitty of a day (my mom is nothing if not colorful), so I just told her I was glad she was all right. I’m hoping she has her act slightly more gathered together on Monday. And gets the whole shebang shoved into the car in time to come to class.

Statistics was better…but for the fact that the teacher is a tall, follicularly challenged gentleman who kept coming within fractions of an inch of gouging his head on the corner of a ceiling mounted tv/vcr unit which he himself pointed out…but then kept almost backing into anyway. By the end of class, I had muscle spasms from pre-emptory cringing. I probably can’t get extra credit for figuring the statistical probability of him requiring first aid before the quarter is over….can I?

In addiction news, I’m in love with the lace pattern on the sleeves and yoke of Bianca, in spite of having done all of one repeat of it on the first sleeve:



It’s those little scallops. I’m a complete sucker for little knitted scallops, probably because they always seem to appear almost magically. Isn’t it sweet? I already desire desperately to wear it…which, to be frank, does not bode all that well for the ETA of Mr. K’s socks. Mind you, if I slept better, I might knit faster……