For the second time in three days, I drove to Houston and back last night. I got back at 2:30 am this morning and I am a little jittery from lack of sleep, even though the sleep I did experience was exquisite.
What would make me do this kind of thing, you ask? I did it for women, of course. A whole freakin’ huge crowd of women. On Sunday, it was for the Roller Derby Governor’s Cup, in which my beloved Alamo City Roller Girls played the opening bout against the Assassination City team (they’re from Dallas. Roller derby == sick sense of humor). Regrettably, my girls got their assess kicked, but they never gave up and they came away a little more experienced. I’m looking forward to next year.
Last night, the reason for repeating the trip was a little get-together that we like to call a Yarn Harlot Book signing. Stephanie is always worth a 400-mile round-trip, whatever the circumstances.
On the way out, my elbow started to get a little sore from all the driving, so I reached into the back seat and grabbed a ball of yarn left over from the marshmallow hose to use as a cushion.
Quite effective, that.
Once I found Twisted Yarns in Houston (actually in Spring, a few miles North), I bought a copy of the latest book, plopped down in a chair and started knitting – and found myself right next to Plum Texan! (Whom I have not seen in person since the *last* Yarn Harlot book signing.) I also saw Christine (whose camera is MUCH bigger than mine) again, and met Ray. (Go buy his hand-dyed yarn. Go.)
I also Kinneared the Harlot while she was doing pre-talk interviews. Crappy, crappy pic, but she didn’t see me! Hee hee hee.
Then we walked over to the school next door and took our seats. The Twisted Yarns ladies held a raffle in which many bags of fibery goodness were given out and many mutterings of “aw, shit!” were heard from people whose ticket numbers *almost* matched those being called. It was great fun.
Then Stephanie came out and explained, among other things, the dangers of CHOKE. At one point, I kind of stole . . . no, borrowed her thunder. She was talking about social perceptions of male knitters being “odd”, and I and another man in the audience (Ray?) gave delicate coughs. Then she said “People think if you’re a guy knitter, you’re gay.” At which point I coughed so loudly that it echoed in the auditorium. This made the knitters laugh and made Steph think I’m a smartass. Which is accurate.
She went on for I think an hour and a half, and just as before, we all laughed so hard our sides hurt.
Afterwards she displayed her continuing good nature and fortitude by signing books for even longer than she talked. When I finally got to the table, she gave me a hug, signed my book, and we took pictures of each other. Me with the traveling sock, and her with my in-process cardigan, which I believe is now blessed and imbued with mystical powers.
I also gave her a framed photo that I took last year at Rhinebeck of a maple leaf. I think she left pretty present-laden, as I know at least one other knitter had brought her a bag of pecan brittle.
And then, still buzzing from the joy of the evening, I drove home through dark and fog and finally got home, to collapse in my bed and dream of socks and sweaters.