Radical Blues

Go ahead and dye your hair blue. I'm OK with that. You're 15 and I respect your need to be creative, edgy, special, quirky, whatever. But, no, I'm not going to make an appointment with my hairdresser and spend $100 so you can look like a radical. I will not bank roll your revolution. It's too Paris Hilton for me. Besides, Roberto, bless his Quebecois heart, does not stock freaky colours. Other kids do it in the basement. I think Auntie Leanne will even do it for you. She cares about hair.
That's how I figured out how I have enough time to knit. On our trip, shopping at Wallmarts and Outlets, she washed, blowdried, curling ironed and straightening ironed every day. I only use hairspray for a wedding. She does wedding hair every day. Then she did her daughter's hair (also 15). This must be because she likes creating somehthing beautiful. Maybe if I had any adeptness at hair I would enjoy it too. I still think I would spend the time reading.
My sisters don't knock themselves out on hair and makeup and made sure to tease me, the baby, whenever I forayed into that sphere. But they do knit. Pat gave these to me yesterday when I saw her at the fair (more posts to come). She came over on an overpriced and price-rising ferry from Saltspring to share the day. I must admit I sent her a copy of the White Witch mittens from Knitting Daily. But not to beg. It was because they suit her so well. But they fit me. I was not embarrassed to grasp them back from my neice and nephew muttering, "mine, mine, mine, mine." This is our diamonds, designer shoes, etc.
Olympic knitting got out of the gate yesterday as we watched another episode of Lost. Six rows, actually 3 repeated with a jog. I should be able to do the 24 inces wide as there are probably 8 already. But it's a lot of mohair. And tying off ends. This was bought to be the 50th birthday present for same sister Pat because I couldn't find what I wanted. But I ended up continuing the search and knitting her Print o the Waves for last October. This poor sad cousin shawl has cowered inthe basement of rejection ever since. I'm wondering if, when it's finished, I will love it or have a flash of someone who will love it. Or maybe it will go back into the basement until that time coalesces.
It is ripply, pretty, though and a break from the two big projects I'm trudging through.