Disclaimer: the Hipstamatically presented images below are from 2 weekends ago--not from the weekend under scrutiny in the text. Me running around working non-stop for two days looks nothing like this. Have you not heard of artistic license?
This summer I'm shooting for an institute in Vermont. It's not crafts or knitting related, in case you were about to ask. I'm back from the first of four trips up there there in the Green Mountains, getting it underway. It is a fabulous client to work with. Wanna know how it went?
# of knitting projects I brought along: 1 (I am serious about finishing this shawl)
# of degrees hot , in F, or more, almost the whole time: 90 (hello? Vermont? wtf? )
# of % humidity: 99.9999
# of times I thought maybe fine mohair wasn't that attractive to handle : 0 (Can you tell I really really want to finish the shawl)
# of people attending this institute: 1100
# of languages being spoken: 8
# of conversations or interactions I am allowed to have in English: 0
(by the end of the summer I will be able to say "No worries! I am the photographer! Please make believe I am not here and continue what you were doing!" in all eight languages.)
# of these languages I can sort of communicate in: 2
# of times I stood looking at people dumbly, waving my hands saying um, uh, ummmm , AGGHHHHH : how high can you count?
# of stitches I knit: zero
# of pages I read before falling asleep, exhausted from trying to think in many languages while also concentrating on the photo shoot: : 1.5 (Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. Highly recommend! *)
# of days before I head back up there: 4
* Curiously this is the second book I've read in a row in which a flooded southern city is the major force in the action. This one is non-fiction, and in New Orleans but in some ways feels less real than Ann Shayne's engaging novel Bowling Avenue. Go figure! But read them both.