Forget About Knitting A Ferrari, I Need a New Door For My Volvo

My week is going from bad to worse and it's only Wednesday. I got so stressed out this morning trying to take care of stupid details (like making lunches, getting dressed and finding my car keys) that after dropping the ST, IGT and the B & C off at their respective summer camps and office, I managed to smash the passenger side door of my Volvo into one of those evil posts that the University of Toronto puts up to control traffic flow. (Did I mention I was on my cellphone at the time?) Bad. Bad. Bad. I feel so stupid. I know that there is this great art student Lana Porter from somewhere in in England--I think it was Bath--who has knitted a Ferrari but will someone knit me a new door for my Volvo 850?

I don't want a Ferrari , just myVolvo fixed.

Should I knit for my new boyfriend?

Unlike most of my peers, I didn't spend many of my teen years participating in popular culture. In fact my inherent angst and need for clarity during that tumultulous time turned me into a raving neo-Con. While my friends were busy trying to buy (scalped) tickets for the Boomtown Rats and going gah gah over the Police. I was musing over Margaret Thatcher's position on the Coal Miners Strike and ruminating over the state of Brian Mulroney's Gucci loafers. Fortunately or unfortunately my politics took a decided turn towards the latte left in my late-20s and there they remain to this day. This may explain my love of knitting, daily yoga practice and aborration of anything smacking of "consumer culture" (a.k.a Big Box Stores). This past Wednesday in the midst of only what can be described as the week where I truly feared for my karmic well-being (I had to unravel eight rows of my Lace Wings shawl among all the work and home crises) I finally ROCKED OUT to alternative culture with Michael Franti and Spearhead and I think I've finally found my true love. He's vegan, practices yoga, has fabulous tattoos, goes barefoot as a means of making a statement about those who have the privilege of wearing shoes and he's an ACTIVIST with a capital A who went to Iraq and Israel/Palestine to make a film about war and peace. Oh and did I mention he and Spearhead are probably some of the greatest musicians in the world? (The way that Carl Young caresses that bass...ah) This guy is so great that I actually spent three hours dancing, jumping and spinning (and NOT knitting) at his concert. Nicorette (who came with me) decided that I should just make him my new boyfriend. Unfortunately he doesn't know I exist but maybe if I knit him a "Power to the Peaceful" hat out of bamboo silk he'll notice me. The B & C however, doesn't hold out much hope that this will happen and then reminded me to pick up his dry cleaning.

A Post for Pagie Pie

I'm absolutely wrecked. I've had a couple of hellish weeks at work. My training partner Bat-Man and I broke up--it wasn't our choice--it was a "corporate decision." Everyone at work hates me because I can't seem to get any of my projects finished and I can't seem to get any of my projects finished because everyone hates me. A vicious circle.

On the home front, I've been dealing with hormones of every colour shape and size from the kind they put in milk, eggs and KFC (a good reason to go vegan) to the Ball & Chain's ("Can we have sex even if there's yarn in the bed?") to the Surly Teen's, ("It's all your fault you didn' knit me socks when I asked.") to the Imperious Goth Tween's ("I don't want to knit, I want to go to H & M, NOW!") and yes mine ("Will you all leave me alone so I can knit!") now that I am officially perimenopausal. BTW: Teen/tween angst and middle aged mummy ennui, are an explosive combination.

In the midst of all this craziness was a single spot of sanity (no, not my daily dose of Prozac.) My good friend Pagie Pie graduated from her expressive arts therapy program and curated a private showing of her knit and crochet thesis for the IGT and I which the B & C shot with the his new digital camera. Here are some highlights. For some unknown reason the MG Monster, so named for Pagie Pie's love, did not turn out. (Mercury Retrograde maybe?)

Pinky was hopeful!

Cirque de Poulet

"Whaddya mean I'm not a chicken?!"

Maniacal Sleepy Time Bears. (You don't wake up from napping with them!)

Lizardos

Flying Fish

"I'm not disemboweled, just misunderstood!"