Begging the Yarn Harlot for a visit

Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, better known as the Yarn Harlot, has a new book coming out the spring and has just released the beginning of her tour schedule.  Generally, this would be cause for rejoicing, except that nothing in the Philadelphia area is listed.  So I have taken to begging.  I've offered up the new shop in Narberth for a book signing and event with Stephanie.  I'm not sure how far to go with the coordinated campaign of begging, but I'm thinking long and hard about it.

Too much construction going on for much knitting to be going on.  The HVAC guys are almost done at the new location.  I've chosen the carpeting and paint.  Drywall should go in next week.  Electrical is this weekend.  The phone guys come on Feb. 26.  Please continue to pray that everything is finished by March 1 when we open the doors to the public.  

No pictures lately.  I did knit a 4-skein Sinsations felted scarf for my Mom and promptly forgot it at home when I went to see her earlier this week.  I'll get a photo up this weekend.  

Cheers.

Knitter vs. knitter

Years ago, I read a story in the New York Times about the impostor syndrome.  Theory was that professional women were living with high levels of anxiety in fear that someone would figure out that they didn't know what they were doing.  The women who suffered from this the most were usually the best at what they did.  As a young attorney, I sometimes suffered from this syndrome, even though I was quite good at what I did.  The subject persists -- see this recent article in the New York Times.  

Similarly in knitting, there is the Knitter vs. knitter theory.  As explained by the Yarn Harlot has a theory.  We all start as knitters with a lower case "k".  At some point in time, some of us become Knitters with a capital K.  For some Knitters, the transition is steeking.  (See Vene, Vidi, Steeki in The Yarn Harlot.)  For some, it is colorwork, Fair Isle, or something else.  

I have wondered for some time know if I am a Knitter or a knitter.  Here I am buying a knitting, yarn and fiber store, and I don't know which category I fall into.  Kind of scary, eh?  

Well, today, while working at the shop, I realized that I'm a Knitter.  I helped a variety of people with what they considered to be huge problems (big enough to get into the car and come to the store for help with problems) and I was able to explain a variety of techniques and methods.  Even better,  they all understood what I was talking about.  I taught people about knitting today.  And I didn't even have to think about what I was doing.  It was all second nature to me.  

I had an epiphany.  (Cue the lightbulb over the head).  I am a Knitter.

Free At Last

Well, I guess I need to makes some changes at the blog.  I'm still a lawyer, but only practicing slightly part time because I'm buying a knitting and yarn store.  I'm so psyched.  My last day at the law office was Monday.  I worked the Super Bowl sale at the store on Sunday.  I worked in the store today.  I'm having too much fun.  Really.  I mean it.  :)

He's Gone

I never thought he would die first.  I don't know why.  My father was the rock.  He was strong and silent -- kind of like John Wayne, but in a first generation Italian immigrant kind of way.  He died on Monday with my mother and I at his side.  It was peaceful.  He was not in pain.  I guess that's the most any of us can ask for.  

We come into this world and are put into the arms of someone we love.  What better than to leave this world with the people who love you holding your hands.  

I think I have mentioned before how wonderful the staff at the Major University Medical Center were.  They showed compassion and kindness.  There are not enough words to thank them.  They have earned their angels' wings on earth.

As for dad, he's playing the best courses, probably with some of his favorite senior golfers and having a martini (half gin, half vermouth, please) at the 19th hole.

He turned for the worse so quickly.  Starting on Friday, he had a seizure.  We had another scare on Friday night.  He was holding on for Sunday.  We had a party to celebrate my sister and my daughter's joint birthday.  Many years apart, but same day.  Whole family gathered at the hospital for dad, since the party had to come to him.

Cannolis from Termini's.  Cake and Italian cookies from Termini's.  And a pitcher full of martinis so we could toast dad.  He had a few sips, with the doctor's blessing.  He sat up and while he could not sing out loud, you could see him moving his lips to sing happy birthday to my sister and my baby girl.  (Thank god for the niece to reminded us it would not be a good idea to light the candles on the cake since he was on oxygen.  I can see the headline now, "Family Blows Up Cancer Wing with Birthday Cake" - Film at 11.)

Monday morning, I dropped mom at the hospital, intending to go to the office.  It was supposed to be my last week.  I'm buying a yarn shop in a month.  I'm wrapping up my law practice.  I never got into the office.  From the garage at the office, the phone rang.  I turned around and drove back out across town to the hospital.

The chaplain on call was a rabbi.  I didn't catch his name, but there were too many tears in my eyes to read it.  Dad was Roman Catholic.  The Rabbi said a lovely prayer and read the 23rd Psalm.  My dad had his eyes open until the psalm finished.  He closed his eyes and was gone.  

Now, we have taken the show on the road and in far, northern New Jersey for the traditional Italian wailing fest known as the viewing and the funeral.  Mom was in no state to make the arrangements.  So I've been on the phone almost non-stop.  I think I've gone over my minutes for the month.  Oh well.  

We are going to celebrate his life.  He was a quiet man.  He was a humble man.  He was a source of strength and comfort to me throughout my life.  While he didn't go to church regularly, he was one of the best Christians I ever knew.  He never said an unkind word about anyone, no matter how terribly they had treated him.  He was ready to help anyone.  He was practical and sturdy.  He could fix anything.  He was my McGuyver -- give him some string, peanut butter, two sticks of gum and some paperclips and he'd build you a working car.  Nothing was ever too broken for him to fix -- especially my heart.  He encouraged us to follow our dreams and be true to ourselves.  

If I am half the parent he was, I will be doing one heck of a job.

I love you Daddy.

I'll miss you more than I can say.

Little Knitting Getting Done

Somehow, I can't even concentrate on my simple socks while I'm here at MUC with mom and dad.  The news is not good and we have put everything into God's hands.  While I do not wear my faith on my sleeve, it is times like this that I find comfort.  

It's tough to deal with my mom.  This is all so hard and so foreign to her.  We're having a party on Sunday to celebrate life and have some smiles.  

The Coke still isn't frozen.  

Calorimetry and Coke - Perfect Together

Okay.  Science experiment update.  It has not broken freezing in Philadelphia since we left a 2 liter bottle of coke on the back porch accidentally on Saturday morning.  The 2 liter bottle of SPrite and the quart of tonic were frozen solid as of Sunday.  As of Monday morning, the Coke was showing now signs of freezing.  Monday night -- just the same.  Tuesday morning, not even slush.  

This is really concerning me.  Why is it that regular Coke seems unable to freeze?  Any scientists want to comment.

On another front, I'm in day two at MUC with Mom and Dad.  We're waiting for an anti-clotting drug.  So, yesterday I got bored and after I finished the work I needed to do, I cast on my version of Calorimetry  with some Classic Elite Inca Alpaca I bought when Norma when she had a destashing sale.  When Mom and Dad came up from Florida, she didn't have anything to wear on her head.  She hates hats.  So I cast on the Inca Alpaca and the results are below.

We had a bit of a to-do over the button, but I won.  Completed in one afternoon at the hospital.  At some point, those poor Broad Street Mittens will be done.  

The Real Thing?

Saturday morning we pulled a 2 liter bottle of Coke out of a cooler and inadvertently left it out on the back porch.  It's been cold here.  Also left outside were a bottle of Sprite (2 liter) and a quart of tonic.  By Noon on Sunday, when it was fairly cold here in Philly, the Sprite was frozen half way through, the tonic was frozen solid and the Coke had no signs of freezing.

This morning, still way below freezing here -- the Coke was completely liquid.  I find that both disturbing and interesting.  Why is it that Coke won't freeze?  Anyone know?