locked out

We're not sharing any photos of Wednesday night, when I met Carole & Dale for dinner.
Why so top secret? Are we hatching a plot to overthrow knitblogdom in our Fat Babies and handknit mittens? Nah. Are we embarrassed that we dragged our lace scarves through the olive oil dish by accident? Nope.

Believe it or not, neither of us brought a camera (!). Or any knitting. (double!). Rest easy, between three of us in that booth, we sported ten handknit garments, at least. Or 15 if you count socks and mittens individually. Her sweater btw? Wonderful. I don't think we were overdoing- it was so cold in southeastern Mass I'd have gladly stuffed unspun batts down my pants and under my shirt to warm up. And, no, I wouldn't have shown a photo of that, either.

Carole & I have been just missing each other at wool festivals all over the northeast. When I was hired to shoot a project in her neck of the woods, we finally had our chance. We drank, we ate, we laughed, we gossiped about knitters far and wide, we commiserated on life with teenagers, we talked politics, and movies, y'know, it was dinner out with just the kind of friends you want to have. And all thanks to the internets!

Back at my chilly and anonymous hotel, things went downhill fast. I decided to try on my partially complete Francis . Pulling her on, I broke the join off one end of the circular needles , dropping stitches all over the place as the cable unsnaked. (Fit good though).

The photo shoot was all about teachers and students. The location: unrepentantly old school. And I mean literally.
Doesn't this remind you of that dream where you can't get out of high school until you take one last final but oh crap you realize you never went to class, and the test is in a few minutes...

I have no idea what this is about. They stopped at the same intersection as I did, just for a minute, in Providence. When they saw me looking, they hit the horn. It moooooed.