The second day of Sock Summit was marked by less flailing and more shopping. I started the morning with the always-charming Mr. Habit’s class on tessellations. Then I hit the market to pick up one or two things I hadn’t grabbed the day before. Then maybe one or two more. Along the way I ran into lots of lovely friends I don’t get to see often enough and made a few new ones too. The afternoon was spent with the talented Ann Budd in her marvelously informative class on cast-ons and bind-offs. Then I may just possibly have swung back by the marketplace once more. Just to be safe you understand.
Oh, and as requested, one (very bad…the lighting in the market is just dreadful) picture of that little project I mentioned once or twice earlier in the year. There it is, right out in the open at the Cooperative Press booth like a real book. And I’m pretty sure a few folks even bought them, as Shannon kept handing me copies to sign. Deeply surreal I assure you. If you’re there you can swing by and see the socks in person, as well as a bunch of socks from some of the other upcoming books.
The Boy spent the day happily engaged at the Oregon Brewers Festival. He also happened to spend the previous day there. He assures me he was quite content and somehow managed not to spend the entire time lamenting my absence. He’s stoic that way.
That evening we were far too tired to be good responsible visitors to this fair city, so we ordered in pizza to our hotel room. It’s actually become something of a tradition on longer trips for us to occasionally summon food to us (as opposed to actually going out and finding it). Every now and then, you simply need to eat dinner in your pajamas, and the finer class of restaurant tends to frown on that.
Up next, our little argument with the sea (hint, the sea wins but we live to fight another day) and the end of our Sock Summit adventures.
As we wandered around the city on Wednesday, we had detected the faintest hints that there just might be knitters in the area. I saw the occasional shawl (shawls being worn in public in July often mean knitters are about), someone was working on something at the restaurant where we had dinner, and of course Powells had a bit of a display. But none of that is adequate preparation for the spike in knitter density as you approach the Convention Center.
The Boy drove me over Thursday morning. As we approached, it quickly became clear that I was among my people. Now I, of course, responded by sinking down in my seat, declaring I was too freaked out to go in, and asking if we could please go back to the hotel. Now. I do that. Every time. The last ten minutes before I go anywhere new or meet anyone new are always a living hell (mostly for those around me as they have to listen to me flail). The best course of action is to ignore me and just shove me out of the moving car. Once I get inside I’m fine. More than fine really. But you’d never know it to listen to me whinge immediately beforehand.
I did make it inside though (and The Boy was far too gentlemanly to actually shove me out of a moving car, we came to a complete stop first). I registered (smooth and painless…the folks running this thing are on their game) and wandered off to find my class. I spent the day in Cat’s Knitting Sleuth class, happily poking, prodding, and swearing at a variety of swatches. The market opened shortly after class (somehow, no one was trampled to death in the stampede). I displayed impressive restraint and made only one purchase. The remainder of the evening was spent at the Opening Reception. Tina and Steph were funny and charming. The amount of work and care they put into organizing this thing is astonishing. Then, in what may be one of the more surreal moments of my young life, there was a little practice session for the upcoming flash mob. Words fail me. Alas, so did my photography skills. This gives but the faintest idea of the spectacle I beheld.
In an attempt to prove my love, I’m going to try and keep up with the blog while we’re at Sock Summit. I may instead fall into a yarn-based stupor and disappear completely. If that happens, know that I died happy.
We arrived on Tuesday after a trip that was all you could ask for. The plane got where we expected, when we expected, and with our suitcases in tow. We did not have a personal encounter with any member of the TSA. No one said anything about taking knitting on the plane. We made our way down to Portland (flying into Seattle is quicker — non-stop flight — and cheaper than flying into Portland) and found our hotel without an undue level of navigational angst.
Wednesday we headed over to Clear Creek Distillery to sample some of the local good cheer. Then we went to Powells. Just to make it clear…if I have any say in the matter, this is where I’ll go when I die. They had a Sock Summit end cap and had put little shelf tags up to highlight teachers’ books. Then we swung by Cascade Brewing Barrel House for lunch (and what may be the single best beer I’ve ever had, a honey ginger rye…tastes like grown up ginger ale. If you’re anywhere near the area go have some. Now. I’ll wait.) We finished the evening by meeting some friends for dinner at Deschutes Brewery.
Then I turned in for the evening, as I had a rather important engagement the next morning. I’ll tell you all about the first day of Sock Summit the next time I manage to sneak away from the yarn long enough to type.
So, anybody else going to this Sock Summit thing? I’ve heard rumors I might not be the only one there. If you are going, it would totally be cool to meet you. I’ll be in classes on Thursday and Friday, plus the opening reception and Stephanie’s lecture Saturday night. I’ll be in the market Thursday evening and Friday at lunch and likely Saturday afternoon too. I’ll be the shy one standing in the corner trying to hide. You can lure me out with yarn.
Cooperative Press has a booth (#206), and yes the book will be there as will many of the socks. I’ll totally be circling around the booth and trying not to go ‘hey, look what I did!’ That would be tacky. I promise to try hard. I do not promise to succeed. They also have some serious goodie bags (100, first come first serve, I may well have to buy myself one just to find out what’s in them)!
I leave for Sock Summit tomorrow. Let us all pause for a moment to make the appropriate ‘squeeee’ noises in celebration. Of course leaving for a trip means packing. I’m good at packing. It’s not that hard. The plan goes something like this:
1) do not get arrested for public indecency (pants, check: shirts, check: foundation garments, check)
2) do not offend anyone with your lack of personal hygiene (toothbrush, check: soap, check: deodorant, check)
3) strive for a basic level of presentably (hairbrush, check: face stuff, check: possibly some sort of jewelry, check)
4) be prepared to entertain yourself (computer, check: camera, check: books, check)
It takes an hour tops.
Then there’s the knitting. I seriously put more thought and time into that than into the rest of it combined. But, I do (finally) have it streamlined and sorted for this trip.
In the zig zag bag is the first Lithic sock, the appropriate needles and yarn for the second sock, and the tiny scrawl of a postit that is serving as my ‘pattern notes’ for that sock. In the plaid bag is the green mental health sock, the appropriate needles for its mate (these start on big needles and go down to little ones so I need both). In the pink and yellow bag is ‘class stuff.’
This one was the hardest. I have four tiny snippets of homework knitting, plus a pile of yarn bits and needles and other tools. I just want to keep it all contained to one small project bag to make it easier to lug it to and from class every day (along with the camera…and the ipad…and the purse…and water…it all gets heavy by the end of the day).
The green socks are going in the carry on, the class stuff and gray socks are going in checked baggage. Everyone keep happy thoughts that the TSA follows their own rules and has no problem with knitting stuff on the plane.