I was standing just past the top of the stairs at the entrance to the museum, chatting with the security guard. I was waiting for my friend Jean: the last time I’d seen her, we were in high school.

He told me about meeting up with old friends from high school; some you do, some, it just never seems to happen, but the friends you made are friends forever.

I very much agreed  with that last part.

Then he said he’d graduated five years ago. I smiled and told him, I’m 66.

And wondered out loud if I would recognize her. I’d given her a description of what I was wearing just in case, but that was all silliness because of course the moment we saw each other I exclaimed to the guard, There she is!

The smile on his face for us was as big as our own.

Her brother was with her and he toured the museum while we found a cozy spot and caught up on things. There was nobody else in that room but the echoes of our words and our memories.

Favorite teachers. Classmates gone now, ones still here, who had I seen, whom had she seen. Katherine: yes! Both of us got to see Katherine, one of the most fearless people I know, a USAID worker willing to go into any country any time.

Who thankfully was stateside visiting her mom when that entity got broadsided by a proverbial Cybertruck with no brakes, but anyway.

Such a good time. We took pictures. We stood in front of a sculpture in bright yellow of two letters: depending on which side you stood, they cheerfully called out, YO! Or… oy.

Needs a J, I said, as her brother raised his camera.

My grandmother was a very proper woman whom I never heard speak ill of anyone.

Except once.

Her husband was a Republican Senator who kept for posterity his thank you letter from Martin Luther King Jr. for voting for the Civil Rights Act.

Strom Thurmond, on the other hand… One of my older cousins asked her how he’d done his historic 24 hour filibuster and Gram did a sharp sniff, took a deep breath, and told us kids, “Well! He had a catheter installed under his pants.” The disdain in her voice was something so unexpected coming from her that I’ve never forgotten it.

(I debated saying contempt, but Merriam-Webster says disdain means considering someone as being beneath one’s notice or dignity and that captures it perfectly. Like I say, she was a proper woman.)

Today I watched now and then and then all of the last 45 minutes of Cory Booker’s speech before Congress. Senator Booker, with enough African heritage to know what it is to be a Black man in America today, was determined  to best the record of a man who had agitated for segregation and the snatching away of rights of people who looked like him. Booker was speaking up for the rule of law, the sanctity of the courts, and the rights of all of us. For us to reclaim all that is good in us as Americans and in our government.

And he did it. He did it. And he kept going, just for good measure, long enough to get past that 24 hour 18 mark to a solid 25-plus so that his number and Thurmond’s would never be the same. Beat the old bastard once and for all. It was a declaration that the old racist fascist in the White House is going to lose out to the judgments of history, too.

Gram’s reaction was never about the catheter. It was just the closest she could come to saying how p***-poor  Thurmond’s ideas had been and what kind of a person would go to so much effort towards damaging the lives of so many others.

Cory Booker stood there, for 25 hours on his feet straight he stood up for every single one of us and I am so proud and so grateful.

And thank you, Wisconsin! 

Someone had a lot of fun putting a dragon eye in that tree. The fact that the iris looks like a black beetle is the perfect extra Halloweeny touch to it.

Wrote to my city council members today. Wrote my congressman. Weighed the morality of being part of the April 5 peaceful pro-democracy demonstrations vs doing right by my family and not risking a flare by being out in the sun to hold up one of those placards. The physical reality of lupus always wins and I always stay inside and it’s so deeply frustrating–but it’s also how I made it to thirty-five years since diagnosis.

But by golly I can drive past slowly honking my horn and waving and cheering in solidarity.

Dunno if you saw the guy who tried pulling a stun gun on an older woman at a demonstration in front of the Berkeley Tesla dealership last week. It is fair to say that that UC Berkeley medical school professor was not having it. Peaceful, peaceful, guys! but yeah, she was not going to let him do that to anybody else.

Deep breath. And a thank you to the cops who came to serve and protect peacefully and they did.

I woke up this morning with the thought, Maybe I can get a row in before church.

Oh wait.

(Still needs a natural-light photo to do the colors justice. Might need to tighten up that cast-off line. Photo will embiggen if clicked.)

Casting off in purl stitch from a wrong-side row to end a seed stitch border gives it such a polished finish. Love it.

Meantime.

A fun bit of amateur theater at church this evening. For me, a four year old stole the show: all dressed up as a mouse, she had a tail. A long tail. A tail she could twirl. A tail she could wrap around her waist in a hug. And again. A tail she could flip up and down, lasso or yo-yo, all the things, but she did, she had a magical tail and it would soon be all over and she was not going to miss one moment of it.

She was adorable.

We needed a grocery stop on the way home. Richard said he’d sit in the car and read his book while I ran into Trader Joe’s; I invited him to join me, but something felt cheerfully like he had the right idea.

When I came back to the car, the first words out of his mouth were, Well that was weird.

What was weird.

A guy knocked on the window. He had a little kid, and said the younger one had fallen asleep in the car and he didn’t want to wake him up and if he gave Richard his phone number so he could call immediately if there was any problem whatsoever, could he leave Richard keeping an eye on his little one while he ran in real quick?

And you let him?! (I said as my brain jerked back decades before to a local baby who had been snatched when a parent ran in a store ‘for just a moment.’)

He, on the other hand, had had the immediate reaction that I had to think my way past my knee-jerkiness to: he remembered what it was like and how hard it was at that stage of parenthood. He had a clear line of sight to the kiddo. It was a compliment to be taken for the kind grandpa that he is and that the guy had instinctively trusted him to be. He lived up to that trust by not taking his eyes off the kid till the dad got back. Three, four minutes at most, he told me, he was fast.

I said, That WAS fast–they’re in the middle of rearranging the store right now like they occasionally do and everything’s moved out of place. It took me forever to find anything that wasn’t in the dairy case. But I bet his wife wouldn’t be thrilled if she knew, though.

Maybe.

Did he thank you when he came back out? (He was already gone by the time I did.)

Oh yes. Richard added that he’d seen it as a chance to make the world a little better place for one overwhelmed dad in this one place at this one time, to be a neighbor. And who wouldn’t want that?

Twenty rows on the bottom edging, not 13, 13 was the number of edge stitches. Darn. Of course. Fourteen done now, six to go.

Those long rows are giving me a little more time to plan the next one in my head as well as on paper.

I had had a particular yarn all set to go for the next project, but…

I finally messaged my little sister. I told her I had asked Mom her take on it and that she’d thought the same way I had, that Anne has all the pictures she could ever want in her house and with my turn to give to her next Christmas, I should knit her a monochrome afghan to play as quiet backdrop to all her gorgeous watercolors.

And I sent her a picture of the yarn that it was purportedly going to be made from, making clear that that was an offer, not a requirement.

By this time my siblings are on to me: Carolyn got her picture of her house right down to the tire swing with the scuffed grass below it, the one that started all this, Morgan got the moose and the river and forest and strawberry farm from our childhood memories.

I want one with a story! she texted back.

She wanted me to give it my all like I had with them. She was really hoping for a picture, too.

Part of me felt a near-giddy sense of having been set free. Intarsia is where my knitting soul is right now. But also–a story? Which story, out of a lifetime? How on earth do you choose?

And so my brain has been (mostly) glad to have all those long tedious seed stitch rows in order to leave it rummaging through its drawers these past two days. I poked around on Ravelry this afternoon to see if there were any already-invented wheels on some ideas.

Ooh, look at… And… I could tweak… Yeah….!

Now to make them all come out to scale to each other and to the afghan’s overall size. And how much of that green did I use up last time. Okay then. Let me just finish this last little tiny bit….

(I’ll put the P.S. up here: In falcon news, the female was sound asleep brooding their four eggs when her mate decided he wanted some nighttime duty too and woke her up to kick her off. This video is for every one of us who is not naturally cheerful at being unexpectedly woken up in the middle of the night. She was mad!)

—

Weird chunks of raised itchy scalp. Memories of a hairdresser from when I was pregnant with my second and long before I’d ever heard of lupus feeling those dried lumps in her hands and asking me gingerly, Did you know you have bald spots?

I had the baby, the hair grew back in, and it was all a weird one-time thing.

Till this year. I knew this time not to scratch at it because it would just pull any hair out with it and after the basal cell surgery took a round inch-plus off the top there awhile ago, let’s hang onto what we’ve got. Gradually it settled down. Last week there was the last of one lump, today I didn’t really feel anything up there. But it was my six-month dermatology check anyway, so I mentioned it.

When did it start?

Around the time of Trump’s inauguration.

She guffawed.

But it was true, and at some point I’d wondered if my angst over the destruction of the rule of law was manifesting itself on top of my head after it spread from one spot to three when the political news was particularly grievous.

Naming a reason for it–or just random chance, or maybe doing better at staying out of the sun–something made it calm down and go away, which is wonderful. May it stay away another 40 years.

Best way to cure something is to make an appointment to get it seen.

Stitches East 2008: I picked up a skein of lace weight, looked closely at the twist, the weight, and the feel of it, and said to the dyer, The base is Jaggerspun Zephyr?

Stunned, she asked me, How did you know!

I knit a lot of lace….

And that is how I met Karida Collins of Neighborhood Fiber Co (currently on hiatus due to health.) Wonderful woman.

Jaggerspun, one of the last old American spinning mills, went out of business a few years ago. The building has been sold and rather than being torn down is going to be turned into new housing.

There’s a young couple who moved to a farm in Maine who had a dream of someday owning a mill–till they priced the possibilities. HAH! No way in the world.

Later, though, a sudden thought and the courage to ask a question…

The new owners not only thought it would be great to preserve the spinning equipment, they GAVE it to them when they could have scrapped the metal. All the couple had to do was take it apart and haul it away.

Can you just picture a determined guy with a screwdriver and 100 feet long of spinner and plyer machinery with his wife taking pictures so they can figure out how to put it back together again? Their barn wouldn’t do after all, so now they’re planning where a new building will need to go that would best serve their future business–when they can pull the funding together.

You look at their pictures (blog link. To see what it looked like before the dismantling, some Instagram photos here) at the size of all of that and, holy cannoli, wow. Yeah. No wonder it’s been taking awhile.

Their crowdfunding link is here but it seems to be down tonight.

It felt so strange as I picked up all those balls and all those colors, counting as I went.Thirty-one. Won’t be needing them again this project.

Three are left on the afghan; a few stitches and rows and tomorrow it will be just be the Matisse Blue at the upper edge.

I worked all day to get it to where I could say that. I was on the last two fish–and then decided it needed a third one above them, right there, to balance the picture out, had to, would never have been happy with it if I didn’t so I did.

Three months’ work and I’m actually going to get this finished before the calendar flips to April.

The front page of the San Jose Mercury News yesterday, and today at the Washington Post–alright, it was time. 23&Me has filed for bankruptcy. Your genetics, the questionnaires you’ve answered, your lineage, your relatives, all your personal data and by some extension theirs through you could be put up for sale to anyone with any agenda.

The Merc buried the lede, which should have come first instead of as a postscript:

—

“On the website, customers can also direct the company to destroy stored saliva samples and DNA, as well as revoke permission for their genetic data to be used for research.”

—

I imagine it probably helps a whole lot to do that before you go in there and delete your account first like I did. For which the instructions from the Merc are:

—

“To delete their 23andMe account and personal information, customers can follow these steps:

— Log in to their 23andMe account on the company’s website.
— Navigate to the “settings” section of their profile.
— Scroll down to the “23andMe data” section at the bottom of the page.
— Click “view” next to “23andMe data.”
— Download their data.
— Scroll to the “delete data” section.
— Click “permanently delete data.”
— Confirm their request — an email from 23andMe will follow, containing a link to finalize the deletion.”

—

That it did.

Would you want the people currently raiding Medicare and Social Security data to get ahold of this? This was the only such company that cared about privacy and data protection and now they’re not going to be able to.

The first talk at church today was by a young man whose American family had lived in Eastern Europe for part of his childhood.

He was talking about the life of Jesus.

How his parents had fled their country under the violence of an edict to kill all baby boys under the age of two. How, when that leader died, they had at last returned home to their own country.

But how much did he ever really feel it was, and how much did the people there ever regard him as theirs, and as the speaker said that I suddenly saw how he could see that question in a way the rest of us would not have. Then he asked: Wouldn’t that have made it easier for him to willingly thwart oppressive leaders himself.

I had never thought of that.

The second speaker, someone I’ve known for years, kind of interrupted herself to make an aside re something that had been weighing heavily on her: how people–good people–people she’d loved and known and respected–had come to show a, a, (she searched for words, not wanting to tear down and knowing that people only truly change when they feel loved, not dissed) a… mean streak… that was so unexpected.

She said it near tears with so much love for them, in pain and wanting better for them, that they could not have denied the gift her words were offering them. There was a way out from that.

She is a lawyer and loves the rule of law and holding all people equal before God and man.

There were a very few in that audience who needed to hear that message and many more who were intensely relieved to hear Love Thy Neighbor given voice and attention. Intention. Towards all.

Because if we don’t have that what is left to us? But we do have it, we do, and we must.

(Photos coming.) We decided to make it one last day of yarn-shop hopping for the official Crawl. We might actually pull off a Bingo on our cards that they stamped each time we walked into a new one–and we did.

I packed the snacks. Nina drove. Again. Patterns and all that.

Having wished again and again during the afghan that I hadn’t used up all of this shade or that previously, I had my eye out for the ones I’d wanted to replace.

When we called it a day after Royal Bee, our husbands met up with us on the coast for dinner. They asked us, So: did you buy any yarn? with both of them cracking up, like, oh, no, they would never do such a thing in such a place.

My answer was, it averaged out to a skein per shop. It was fun to find colors I loved in the yarn I wanted–but the point was to spend time with Nina.

She laughed as she was nodding yes to that.

We were at Barbara’s Fishtrap. Nina and I had compared memories of Ivar’s in Seattle so I had to try a small bowl of the clam chowder to see if it was as good as theirs. The answer is, I’d have to try them side by side to tell because Barbara’s was very very very good, too, enough to make it all that I’d want to order the next time. It’s a tie. Best I’ve ever had, both of them.

There were surfers in the famous Mavericks surf whom we passed coming and going, there was the point of land stretching around the cove behind us (if you click on their link and scroll down, we were by that window in the center of the building), and at the top of that hill was a bulbous–

–I said, “Looks like a baby rattle.”

They did a double take at the water tower off in the distance and cracked up.

Edited to add: the note on the sign says, “If you are Grouchy, Sullen, Ornery, Moody, or Just Plain Mean, There is a $20 surcharge for having to put up with you.”

That first one: it came up not in the Root Riot plug but tucked down the side of it.

The next came up today from where it was supposed to.

I searched for images of the cotyledons of both: turns out some varieties of sunflowers do closely resemble some varieties of zucchini at that stage.

So whether those big first leaves are of the squash I planted or if that seed was plucked out and a wandering one from last year helpfully tucked back in by a jay, I’ll have to wait for the true leaves to tell.

I suddenly wondered if my nose would know and took a deep breath. It was very familiar. I’ve planted both before. Yup. It’s definitely one or the other.

I had only planted two zucchinis, then did a third Wednesday after that first one came up so oddly placed–because who needs more than one zucchini plant in their garden? Two was pushing it, but I really ought to have a backup.

Said the woman who had one long ago that vanished bit by bit and then in its entirety down a gopher hole. It was like a Bugs Bunny cartoon come to life.

That reminds me. I need to go buy gopher cages to put them to ground in. Locally invented.

I can just see that bunny out under the mandarin tree rubbing its paws in gleeful anticipation.

Bay Area Yarn Crawl shenanigans, round two.

So we have now been to eight yarn stores. Most of them had sock yarns and chunky yarns but the first four had no or nearly no worsted weight yarn, much less a superwash merino like Rios. It was so strange. Today’s gallivanting found more, but only Imagiknit San Francisco had it in more than a half-handful of colors. Most of what I did find was non-superwash, which is fine, but if you’re going to do the kind of massive intarsia afghan project like I like to do you want to know it will survive what non-knitters will do to it in the laundry.

Granted, there have been a lot of knitters missing their Stitches West fix swooping down on these guys. But I mean, you plan for that, right?

We’ll see what the sister store Imagiknit East will be like on Saturday because we’re both curious, but meantime I bought more at the original one than I’d intended just because by store #6 I wanted to make a statement on behalf of my favorite wool that I use so much of. Plus it was–this is the point of getting your customers into your store–so soft and so perfect in the colors I was hoping for that I wanted it in my yarn library. I threw in the one skein of Mecha at the top for Zoom hat knitting.

Plus that shimmery skein of Ecola Worsted merino/silk at Firebird Yarns, and yeah, that will have to get knitted up for someone who’s willing to hand wash it but it’ll just be one small thing, not three months of my time on the line.

Cottage Yarns really has had me spoiled because if it’s Malabrigo, they have it. (They are not on the BAYarn Crawl list.)

How does a yarn store not have worsted weight superwash wool?

(I have no idea why it’s cropping this, click to see the whole thing. It’ll go sideways, though. Go figure.)

I wound up the last hank of Matisse Blue of that dye lot and then I’m out and we’re done. The seed stitch border will take a chunk of it.

I started a fish over here, some seaweed over there, and (where’s the purple. Found the purple) that should also start about there, and then those will probably be the last of the fish, unless (let’s see how much blue there is left at that point) I start one over there….

Three rows in, suddenly I felt like, nope. Put it all away. Picked up a hat and added a few more inches to it, wanting something where I didn’t have to plan and I didn’t have to envision and I didn’t have to make any decisions, just sit there and knit and think how someone was really going to like a gray hat after this was done and it will be fun to find out who and wouldn’t it be great to actually *finish* something.

I did not finish it.

And I baked snacks. Because tomorrow Nina and I are off doing the Bay Area Yarn Crawl thing again.