The state fair is here in Billings right now. Hubbo and I have avoided it for as long as possible and since our oldest son is almost 12, I pat ourselves on the back because this is the first year we just coudn't get out of it.
Normally, by fortunate accident, we have another vacation planned or whatever. Not this year. Everyone was determined to go on the rides. $82 and two heart attacks (one from me, one from Dan) later, I am enjoying my knitting listening to the live music and Dan and the kids are enjoying the all-you-can-stand rides. (Mind you, Dan did puke and couldn't believe he paid to puke, but I digress.)
So I caved and finally bought a lemonade. $5. Seriously. For lemonade that a) didn't even go to the top of the cup and b) is 1/3 the strength you would make at home. But it was fresh and it sounded perfect and it was perfect for that exact moment of live music and knitting. So I innocently walk up to the stand and I exchange pleasantries with a very nice lady I think is my mom's age. A high school-ish boy was actually making the lemonade behind her, very slowly and deliberately. I think this was so we saw those REAL lemons were squeezed. That's all I can figure out there. Moving on.
So, my huge tote-all was on my arm and she asked what I was knitting. I am always surprised by this question. I don't know why. I guess it always sounds like to me, "What size do you wear?" Yet, it is no secret. I knit non stop. All the time. Wherever I am if I am not walking (and sometimes even when I am walking so I can finish a row) or driving, I am knitting. So, with her question, I quick glanced down. Sure enough! My knitting is still there! Complete with one of my needles hanging out of my bag like a delinquent child. I quickly tucked her back in and said, "A blanket." (More on that later! Very exciting! For a small publisher coming in the fall though this may really mean January. I do not know.)
All she responded was an, "Oh," with a bit of an eyebrow raise for redemptive purposes only that it wasn't the stupidest project ever, but close.
Then High School Guy says, "I wonder how they make those ski caps that have the flaps on the sides?" and he demonstrated with his hands to his ears.
She replied (and here is the kicker), "Oh, probably a machine."
I almost flew through the front window and gave them both a completely complimentary lesson in circular knitting, temporarily changing my blanket into the biggest tube-of-a-hat ever created.
Instead, I smiled gently as to not seem overly agitated, "You can knit those in the round, you know, make the hat first and then pick up stitches..." Then I realized I was speaking a foreign language. Their eyes glazed over. It did not go in. IT DID NOT GO IN. I was shocked. I've spoken this language for 6 years and have been known to forget that not every living person on this planet does not speak it. All my close family members politely nod because, even though they do not know the meaning, they know there is meaning in there somewhere when she says these crazy words with no concrete picture for them to associate with.
And that's what happened. But because they don't love me, they didn't even try to appease me. They did not believe there was truly a concrete picture in "picking up stitches" and so we just stared at each other for that eternal milli-second when there is nothing else to say because there are no other words to bridge the gap.
But I tried. "Well, you see, you start making a fabric that goes past the ears from the hat."
"So you sew it on?"
Yikes! I am still losing the battle. "No! That's the great part. You can just pick up stitches (I truly had no other words because that was the definition. Period.) and it is all in one piece."
More glazed eyes.
I nodded triumphantly and smiled, mostly to myself, at my brilliant two sentence answer. They smiled in a way that said, "that crazy woman, whatever" as nicely as they could because they truly were pleasant, friendly people. I took my lemonade to my new favorite table that I didn't even had to tackle anyone over to reclaim.
And I started to knit.
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