For those who bopped over from Babble, welcome! And for those who came here first, go read my essay at Babble about having baby number two after such memorable PPD after kid number one. I can wait.
Usually, I don't talk so much about the yarn and the knitting. No, really, I don't. But if the New York Times noticed the little festival this weekend, it gives me permission. Because the NYT is my leader in what's hip and cool.
And so Rhinebeck.
You know your day has taken a surreal turn when you are greeted by this:
It was also in the mid-70s, which meant that the sheep suit had to be a real pleasure to wear.
There were real sheep, mind.
Is it just me or do freshly shorn sheep look vaguely obscene? I just want to chuck a bathrobe on them.
I have found the solution for the Boy's extreme hatred of having his haircut.
This may be illegal in New York State. My lawyer's looking into it.
There were also bunnies. That's not why I took this picture, tho. Check out bunny lady's sweater. First time I've seen a Bohus in the wild.
Speaking of - ran into the Yarn Harlot and Ms Juno and Katy. Which was big fun even though there was no time to talk. The Harlot was in a hurry to fondle fleece and not snot on anyone. Her crud did give her a husky and sexy voice, especially when she does that weird Canadian thing with her vowels. I flat out missed Ann and Kay, which is a bummer. I'll just have to make a trip to Nashville to compensate.
Rhinebeck is a crappy time to try to catch up with people -- especially when big crowds make me twitchy pretty quickly. I'm crap at cocktail parties, too. The Pie Goddess and I got there early and bugged out before the biker gangs showed up.*
I swum through the very polite rugby scrum that was knitting bloggers long enough to get a button.
Let us not even speak of the line to get Socks that Rock.
Purchases were made. Not many, since I'm not a stasher at heart and am poor.
Maple Creek Farm 50/50 (Merino and silk) in Sapphire. The picture fails to convey how delightfully soft and squoozy this is. I'm keeping it on my desk so that I can pet it every now and again. It's going to be a scarf, maybe this one.
Thistle buttons for my Nantucket from Ram's Horn Studio.**
Art Scarf from Morehouse Merino - pattern not online, near as I can tell. And the PG and I split a Got Soap sampler bag.
The drive back was stunning, frankly. I have to agree with Snarkapus's Mike that towns in the Catskills are both cool and lame. Still, we stopped at Bread Alone in Boiceville and had dinner at the Andes Hotel. The hotel was overflowing extras from The Sopranos who were celebrating something AT TOP VOLUME. Given my ethnic make-up, I know how loud a roomful of drunk Italians can be but this was extraordinary, even for drunk Italians. Didn't put either of us off of our feed***, of course.
* I kid. It was ninjas.
** Turn the volume down on your computer before you click on this link.
*** I had pork belly for the first time, just because it was a special that night and the Top Chef finale made me wonder what the big deal about belly is. I'd like to taste it made by someone else before I come down firmly about pork belly -- but is it always like eating a big hunk of fat? Or did I just get some bad belly? The flavor was nice if nothing to write home about. The texture, however, was like barely warmed slab bacon.