shameless self promotion, part 253 in a series
my compulsive wheelhouse

memphis, knitting and Moon Pies


It is hard not to love a Festival that tosses both a bottle of Tennessee's finest whiskey and a Moon Pie in your goody bag. A recent post by my partner in Memphis mischief has inspired me to get my act together. She is pictured below and the picture was snapped just before she caught the mass of knitterly folk assembled behind her with the Ann cam.


While I don't want to make the whole adventure sound like a big ol' love-in, I did realize that Ann is one of those people who I felt like I'd known my entire life despite the fact that we'd just met. When that happens, it's like the universe is just giving you a sign that all is well.

The same can be said of Dr. Karen Purdy, who could not have been a better host/partner in handknits, and her sister Kris, who has a sharp sense of humor and sharper taste in shoes. Dr. P is the source of the Folk Shawls book, which didn't suit her knitting tastes but suits mine remarkably well. While I appreciate the gift, my yarn budget is going to be stretched mighty thin.

The assembled whack of knitters at Sleep-out Louie's:


I indulged in deep fried dill pickles (spears, not the chips). I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed them. I'd forgotten how addictive the silly things are.

And then there is the must discussed Glow-in-the-yarn, which a bunch of us snuck off to the bathroom with to see how bright the glow is. I couldn't find the ballband nor could I call up Dorothy in my local knitting group to find out where she'd gotten it. It's called Nightlights and can be ordered online from Woolstock Knit Shop.

My Hallowig is almost done, FYI. Pictures will follow.

Anyway, after stuffing myself with queso and more fried foods at a great Mexican place, I fell into a small coma.

Once I pulled out of it, on to the Arcade, where I rediscovered the joy that is a Southern biscuit.


On my way back to the trolley stop -- Memphis' trolley system has grown in wonderful ways since I was there last -- I paid my respects.


The Lorraine Motel.


The National Civil Rights Museum was closed at that hour on a Sunday morning but just standing in front of the motel and in the greenspace that fronts it is more than enough.

Speaking of more ... there is some TK. Now, tho, to sleep.


Dr. Martin Luther King has a day named after him, and he didn't even work here.

I'm going to game 1 of the WS.

The comments to this entry are closed.