Fiber Whupped

So here’s what happened. Mind you, I have precious few memories of the whole episode as, tragically, when overly nervous my brain takes a trip to “my happy place” where the pool boy Hoanui, plies me with lovely little island umbrella drinks…

Anyway, they arrived in the late afternoon, carrying with them an assortment of metal bin/steamer trunk like things. It was impressive. They could’ve had Jimmy Hoffa in those trunks they were so huge. I think I’ve moved friends who owned less.

The gentlemen in the crew were… well, they were gentlemen in every sense of the word. Their attributes spanned the gamut of polite, funny, mindful, and engaging. However, it was all a ploy to lower everyone’s defenses because they Houdini-ed out equipment to film at Sip and Stitch. It turns out the trunks contained a cameras the size of well fed emus and some of those lights they used in World War II to search for enemy planes. Somehow, I had imagined a couple of guys, one with a headset and a microphone and the other with a video camera, all “America’s Funniest Home Video” like. Not so much.

Waves crashing in the distance with the heady aroma of Coppertone wafting on a breeze…

Instead, their equipment was the good stuff. The kind that captures every detail, like what that leftover lunch mystery is in your teeth, your pores, your DNA, your soul.

“I require darker sunglasses Hoanui. And, can you have more mango brought please?”

Everyone at Sip and Stitch looked a bit more sparkly than normal, but I suppose the threat of television airtime does that to people. It was hissy-freakin’-sterical to see the pained expression on peoples faces once they felt the omnipotent presence of video camera upon them. It’s that look you get on your face when you bump into someone out of context out in the wild and you know you should know who they are, mainly because they call you by name, but also because they look vaguely familiar. I would feel bad for everyone (myself included), but we all knew about it and we all showed up anyway.

“Fearless Leader” was in rare form. Our favorite boyfriend, Rich the ever tranquil UPS man, brought us presents that afternoon. He brought the Kauni and Art Yarns Cashmere 5. High homina factor all around. For dramatic emphasis, Fearless Leader waited until mid-evening and then whipped out the delicious new goodness in much the same way Bruce Lee introduced his mortal enemies with the nunchucks. We were powerless to the fiber whuppin’ she gave us. Serious fiber whiplash all around. I wonder if they filmed the collective moans of delight and desire? Aak, the filming! The trauma!

There is a melodious “Tra-la, tra-la” sung from the child-like mouths of the rare Cocktail Cherubs whose wings resemble butterflies. They flit and flutter along the beach looking for thirsty souls. My Sidecar glass is never empty…

Let us begin first with the beauty that is Kauni. Lovely toothy wool that is perfect for Fair Isle, it slowly shifts in color. Just imagine all the traditional Scandinavian color work in Technicolor. It’s just like when Dorothy opens the front door of the farmhouse just as she’s landed and all of Munchkin Land is brightly shining to greet her. Egad it’s lovely.

Katie, our resident Estonian taught us all (sorta-kinda) how to pronounce Kauni.. Let’s practice, shall we? Say it with me:
“Kauni”
Once again with confidence this time.
“Kauni!”
One more time for the folks in the back!
“Kauni!”

See? It’s not hard at all once you get the hang of the diphthong.

Now, the people who make Art Yarns Cashmere 5… what can I say? Pure unadulterated yarn p0rn is in every (luxury) fiber of their being. You can think of them as the “Larry Flint” of the yarn world. People had some serious withdrawal issues just by touching the fluffy little love bundles of wonderment.

I won’t lie, I succumbed. My palms were sweaty and I had the yarn shakes bad. Something needed to give, and it seemed my pocket book was the weakest link in the whole affair. Lookie:

I’m knitting a Mobius earwarmer/headband for the mother unit based upon the life affirming knitting craziness of Kat Bordhi. (You should check out her book if you are confused. You’ll be more confused by the end but in the good way.)

Last night as I was knitting, I found myself pulling a Doreen Larkin:

“Who’s the pretty yarn? That’s right, you’re the priddy, priddy yarn! Yes you are!”

That kind of behavior does not settle well with a Muggle roommate suspicious of the dark art of knitting (Mine near-immediately accused me of trying to felt something. She’s got some felt-phobia issues.) Although I’m not the fan of the variegated yarn, I do have a deep and undying love if it pools or flashes. Love it. Love it. Love it. Hmm. I think I’ll incorporate that into my place of happy.

As I knit from the endless ball of yarn, I notice the magic handiwork of the Goddesses of Variegation: striking lightning bolts of color sweep across my knitted cashmere canvas…

It was a great evening and I felt confident my knitting project was intriguing and colorful while still being recognizable. (I went with the hat project for dad. 2x2 rib skull cap in a mash up of Joseph Galler Prime Alpaca and Great Big Sea by Hand Maiden). I’m pretty confident (read delusional) I’ll finish all (read most) my holiday presents on time this year.