Okay, so I meant to have finished Jaywalkers to show today. But I didn’t kitchener the toe yet, and now the light has gone. And the Jaywalkers deserve better than a crappy nighttime photo shoot in my apartment. To distract you until tomorrow, I offer this:

Mr. Garter’s mother, Alice, clad in the Butterfly socks I made her for Christmas, and also Mr. Garter’s Dalmatian, Atticus. Apparently the Butterflies have been making quite a splash in Portland, OR. Alice wore them to a party at the home of someone who likes shoes removed indoors, and the handknit socks were much admired and exclaimed over. I’m preening, naturally. But mostly I’m just happy to know they’ve found a loving wearer who will put them to good use.

It’s been an interesting couple of days here in New York. The strike is having all kinds of negative impacts, but at least some people have been getting some precious knitting time in the bargain. Sadly, I am not one of them. I won’t go into my tale of woe; suffice it to say that I spent two and a half hours in the cold yesterday morning waiting for a company bus. It was far too cold to knit, and all the while I had longing thoughts of handknit armwarmers and giant felt boots I could put on over my work shoes. What I really wanted, when I finally got to the office, was one of Norma’s rum toddies. Sadly, there wasn’t any rum on hand. But here at Blue Garter, we like to think there’s a solution for every problem. So here’s what I did when I got home:

Hot bath with fizzy sugar cubes (it was a five-cube occasion), sock knitting, and Colin Firth. Heaven, my friends. Mr. Garter was kind enough to set up the tub for me. For some mysterious reason, the little lever that stops up the bath can only be manipulated by him. It’s not about brute strength; he just has the magic touch. Not quite magic enough to overcome the extremely ghetto plumbing in our overpriced apartment, though…we had to get creative with saran wrap and an iron pot lid before we could fill the tub and have it stay that way. But everything ended happily and very prunily. I didn’t climb out until Lizzy and Jane left Netherfield.

Today everything went more smoothly with the bus, and I have to say I love our driver. He’s just hilarious. His English isn’t the finest in the land, but he gets his point across and he’s just so affable. Every time he stops to pick someone up, he’s considerate enough to warn them that the opening door may clonk them in the head. He does this by leaning out of his seat to shout at them through the glass: “WATCH OUT YO’ FACE!” If they can’t understand, he mimes punching himself in the head until they step back, either in comprehension or alarm. No one’s been hit by the door yet. Riding his bus through mid-town traffic is vaguely reminiscent of the mechanical bull you may have been tempted to mount at your local honky tonk bar, but he’ll take you absolutely anywhere and keep you laughing all the way. He practically drops all forty of us off on our respective doorsteps on the way home. And I especially like this part: glued to his dashboard is a medal his mother must have given him. It’s an angel holding a banner that reads “SON, PLEASE DRIVE SAFELY.” So cute.

So we’re T-4. How’s the holiday knitting coming along? Well…um…I did this:

I’ve finished the body of the twisted float cardigan, complete with the picot edge I freestyled. The magenta and brown stripes you can see are where the arms will go. Don’t ask me why I wasted three valuable hours doing this. It’s a child-sized sweater for a child who doesn’t exist. I just couldn’t stop knitting the darn thing! Lorna puts an addictive chemical in her Shepherd Worsted that makes you crave it fortnightly, smart ass! (Gold star if you know what I’m loosely quoting there.) Here’s a close-up of the twisted float action:

Somebody smack me and make me knit that cursed sweater sleeve!

I’m back from my sojourn in Portland, OR with Mr. Garter’s family. The family time was great; the transit less so. I knew nothing good could come of flying from Newark to Portland via Atlanta. And I was right. The first plane was delayed, so I missed my connection despite sprinting half a mile through the airport with my luggage and arriving at the gate five minutes before departure time. I’m convinced the gate agent sold my seat, and those of my four fellow athletes trying to make the same flight, and didn’t have the cojones to admit it.

Him: “Sorry, we closed the door five minutes prior to departure time.”
Me, looking at the clock on the gate information screen: “But it’s 6:20 right now. The plane leaves at 6:25. Can’t you open the door again?”
Him: “Um, that time isn’t really relevant. The next plane leaves at 9:33.”

The official airport time displayed on the information screens at every gate isn’t relevant? I sat around for three hours knitting furiously and composing angry letters of Austenian eloquence to Delta, and I watched four other planes depart late because they waited for passengers on connecting flights. When we finally did board a Portland-bound aircraft, the other woman from the Newark flight was seated across the aisle from me. She watched me poking along on my yellow socks and asked, “Are you knitting all kinds of stories into those?” I looked down at my knitting and laughed:

See that wonky section a few inches down from the cuff? That’s the part I knitted in the Atlanta airport. Stories indeed: Deranged Woman Mauls Unhelpful and Testicularly Challenged Delta Gate Agent with Size 0 Addi Circulars During Peak Holiday Travel.

Couldn’t let the #0s get cold! I decided these new socks would be a good chance to try knitting both at once. I haven’t decided yet whether I think it’s worthwhile. I don’t feel as if I’m making much progress, and the first few rows were awkward as arse. The socks are my own design and the pattern will eventually be available here. The yarn is Claudia Handpainted in “honey”. And hey, it matches the cat: