Tars Ain't Purty

Somewhere I have lived, a man who owned a tire shop wrote and performed in his own TV advertising, and that's what he said: Tars ain't purty.

No they aren't and mine is really ugly. It blew out and threw shreds of rubber across I 85 in South Carolina yesterday as I was driving back to Atlanta from Clemmons, NC, where I had just spent a lovely weekend visiting my great cook friend, Kathy. We went to art shops in Winston-Salem, Replacements, and to Prissy Polly's Bar-B-Que for lunch on Saturday. We had a great time.

And then there was the drive home. The tire blew out, and with some difficulty, I managed to get to the right-hand shoulder. I know I learned how to change tires in high school driver's ed class, but I was not about to do that on a busy (or any other) road. My insurance company sent out a man to put on the spare (thank goodness for cell phones) and off I went......at 50 miles per hour for TWO HUNDRED %^&*() miles.

You would think that when cars and trucks see a car ahead with flashers on, clearly moving more slowly than the 150 mph everyone else seems to be going, they would know BEFORE they just about hit my bumper that they need to move over. But no.

I'm sorry about all of the people I inconvenienced for a moment or so yesterday on I 85, but to those people who were scared to death as they veered off to the left to avoid hitting me-tough luck. Pay attention next time. And I thought truckers talked to each other as they drive. You'd think they might warn other truckers that there was a green Honda ahead, with an old-ish lady driving really slowly in the right hand lane.

Apparently not. Because each and every one of them scared ME to death as they approached at high speed, and then had to hit the brakes while they waited for a spot to pull into the left lane. I tried driving on the shoulder, but it was paved with those washboard ridges and I was really afraid that would shred the aging tiny, fake tire that is called a spare.

Made it home, slowly, and had a shot of tequila.

The End

SAFF, year two

Three Thursday knit-night friends and I went to beautiful Asheville, North Carolina this past weekend for our second trip to the Southeastern Animal Fiber Fair and had a blast. I have a sore throat today, and I don't think that I can blame it on a cold or H1N1....it's from talking and laughing so much!

On Friday we went to SAFF itself, held in a cattle auction arena at the agricultural center. We saw yarn; we bought yarn:

Laceweight yarn-

Natural mohair/wool boucle-

And I bought a gift for older daughter, the knitter-

On Day 2 we decided that because we had met sheep, goats, alpaca, llamas, and rabbits last year, we would go into Biltmore Village instead. There was a yarn shop there-who'd a thunk?

We saw yarn; we bought yarn:

Beautiful Koigu yarn for a very complicated scarf.

On Day 3 we decided that because we had been to SAFF already, and because we had been into Asheville already, we would go check out the gorgeous Grove Park Inn -----but first we stopped at the yarn shop in Biltmore Village again, because we wanted needed more yarn.

We saw more Koigu; we bought more Koigu, for another, easier scarf.

I also bought, for a friend's cat, this cute felted mouse, stuffed with catnip. I forgot about it, and filled the bag with yarns and other things for the trip home.

My cat has NEVER played with catnip, but last night I noticed Cat sticking his head in a bag of yarn. That was odd, because he rarely pays any attention to yarn either. I dumped out the bag's contents, and there was the forgotten mouse. Cat played and played and played with it. It may not end up as a gift for Miss Emily...

Anna, one of our favorite knitters, is from the Ukraine, and she brought some traditional Ukrainian food for us to try. It was all delicious and we really enjoyed it; however, she did say that it was meant to be eaten accompanied by shots of frozen vodka. Only one of us joined her in drinking the vodka, and it wasn't knittergran, but these ARE my glasses. Alcohol consumption played no part in the destruction of these glasses; we don't know what did. I looked down at the coffee table, and there they were, snapped in half. It's a mystery, but until I replace them, I have a curfew: sunset. I only have prescription sunglasses left in one piece.

It was a wonderful four days, with nothing to do but relax, enjoy great company, delicious food, beautiful fall scenery, and knit. What more could we ask for? [view of Asheville from the Grove Park Inn]

Five days??? Six days????

Not My Fault

My enabler was with me.

I went this past weekend to North Carolina for the Piedmont Craftsmen's Fair, a juried show of all sorts of crafts, held in Winston-Salem. I walked by a booth where a man was selling purses he makes himself, and this purse just plain old jumped out in front of me. It did!

I resisted for awhile, because it was, as my husband's grandmother used to say, "dear." But my friend K was with me, and she talked me into buying it. "It's a lifetime purse," she said.

Really, this picture doesn't do it justice. It's gorgeous. And handmade. Turquoise is my favorite color, and I had already decided that I wanted cowboy boots for Christmas. Not working boots, just beautiful leather boots with turquoise on them somewhere. But then I saw this purse. Did I mention that it's gorgeous?

So K was the enabler on this, but then at a different place, we came across a woven afghan, made by a woman who is famous in the textile/weaving world, AND it was on sale. I told my friend, who was petting and fondling the afghan, that she just had to buy it. And she did.

So we're even.

Why I Should Live at the PO

Not by Eudora Welty
Because I've been to the freaking PO twice today!

If I had a brain, I'd be more organized and only go once.

OR, if I had the appropriate drugs, I wouldn't be so OCD that I am compelled to take things to the PO the moment they are ready to be mailed.

I was supposed to leave today for SAFF in Asheville, North Carolina, but I returned from Austin with a crummy bug and it's lingered and lingered. I'm enough better today to try and catch up with the week's errands, and---go to the PO twice. If I can get myself together, I can drive up tomorrow and join my friends there. A big if at this point, thanks to my lack of brains or drugs or both.

Chat Bizarre

My summer has gotten way off track. I quit my teaching job (YAY) and planned on doing lots of gardening and other DIY projects. I also planned to join my friend Kathy and go to Art in the Park in Blowing Rock, North Carolina. It's held one weekend a month during the spring and summer and many great artists and craftsmen participate. Also, Blowing Rock is a great little town in the mountains, and there are lots of interesting shops there. My favorite is de Provence et d'ailleurs, a French shop run by a very patient French woman who is quite nice about allowing me to practice my French with her.

Because of other trips and my knee surgery, I haven't been able to get there yet this year. Two of my friends did, however, and they sent me a sign that reads: ATTENTION! CHAT BIZARRE
I put the sign on the door to the laundry room (my cat's "office"), where we keep his food and bowls.

This is Lewis, THE cat:

And he must be able to read French because he is turning crazy. Last night he opened the Rubbermaid bin we keep his dry food in. Maybe we hadn't left any food for him to eat during the night; I don't know. He has never done this before and without opposable thumbs, how he managed it is a mystery. But he apparently ate himself into a stupor and didn't wake us earlier than we'd like this morning.

Just now (noonish) I heard a racket in the laundry room and went in to see what was going on. He was trying, again, to open the food bin, even though he has plenty of food in his bowl. So it's just for fun, I guess. He is crazy...