All this talk about Rhinebeck. What a good day. What a lovely, wonderful day I had there. It was eighty degrees, and there were very few sweaters to see, which disappointed me a little, because I was hoping to use the sweaters as a way to start conversations with people, and there wasn't much of that in the end anyway, because as it turns out, I really didn't even notice people until they talked to me first. I was focused like a laser beam on all the beautiful things and apparently I hardly looked up at all. I did not see a single Famous Knitter--not a single one. And I know they were there, I've seen a million pictures! Well. Anyway, if you were there and I missed seeing you because I was facedown in the Cormo, I am so sorry. And if you weren't there, and you wish you could've been, I'm so sorry about that, too. I think too much talk about Rhinebeck amongst the yarny people can get to be a little irritating for those who can't go, or who don't care to go. I did have a terrific day, full of friends and doughnuts and beautiful things. That is my haul, up there.
Doc, my true love and constant companion, got up with me at 4:00 am, drove us, through the fog, across the state to the fairgrounds, and once there carried the water and snacks on his back, stood patiently while I felt up all the fleeces, carried the first load of yarn back to the car and then came back for more, waited in the long lines for apple cider doughnuts and falafel so I wouldn't have to, bought me an iced coffee, posed for selfies with me. He never once raised an eyebrow about any of it. And he wore a kilt:
I know! He always gets so many wonderful comments and questions, and is so happy to talk to people about it. Men always want to know why he wears the kilt; what kind of kilt it is, where the sporran came from [he made it himself, yowza!] and women always tell him how handsome he looks, and to tell me how lucky I am. [I do feel lucky!]. Everyone wants to know what's on underneath it [answer: tradition and etiquette requires that to be a mystery] and to tell him about their recent trips to Scotland, which we love to hear about. Guys, wear a kilt. It's the very best.
There is so much to see there. The beautiful wool, in all its forms, is abundant. The lambs are smiling. The people all around are kindred souls. A couple of our tribe spotted me and said hello:
I really loved meeting them in person. See you again next year!
Our hotel for the night was beautiful and spooky. We had the third floor attic (still undergoing renovations)--with four mostly-empty rooms, including a bedroom, two sitting rooms and a workspace, a brick and iron furnace, black-specked gilt mirrors and transoms and wood-paneled everything, and oil paintings and glossy Victorian furniture and an actual suit of armor and creaky closet doors and other doors marked DO NOT OPEN!--all to ourselves. It was delicious. I slept with one eye open. And that view, the next morning, from the one of the windows in the second of our four turrets. I can hardly wait until next year.