Do you want to be known? Do you want to be recognized? Or do you want to just live your life? Do you want to sit and eat, not thinking of how you look while you enjoy your cheap wine and fries and watch the crazy guys pass you a hundred times doing wheelies, there, while everyone watches them go by and secretly wonders if those motorcycle riders will crash and roll and if we'll see their body parts bend and tuck and twist on the asphalt? And if it did happen, would you blame the guys for forever altering your psyche? For forever altering your being because you saw someone do a wheelie and crash there on the Pacific Coast Highway blacktop while you sipped cheap wine and munched on fries and now you can't wipe it out of your mind?
What would you do? What would you do if you had a of couple choices, or maybe just one, or maybe three? Would you want to be known as a student of the Stitch? How about an artist-type, you know, a visionary, but one that could be fleeting? What about a crafty girl who can stick to it? Or would you be happy with Mom and Happy Husband, one Child, a dog named Chuck, a cat named The Bunny and a (new) Fish named Myrtle?
But I do love to knit. And I do know that what I just wrote doesn't make much sense. This weekend was one of those Odyssey weekends with a wild Girlfriend on the Verge of Potty and no naps. I've also been battling a neckline for a sweater I'm designing that can only be described as Ripped Out a Few Times Too Many to be Perfect...so there you go.
But in our real life, we found ourselves on the beach in Malibu today after a dirty, greasy lunch among the "biker types" and a cheap-ish bottle of wine (which equals heaven, I tell you--well, at least if you have some fried calamari or some steamed crab to accompany), and decided to hit the sand on the way home with my bamboo yarn and the still undecided "Is it a Scarf or a Headband Thing."
Her: "Mhhm.. nhmm?" (Her hands making motions. I couldn't hear her.)
Me: "Huh? What did you say?"...and walking over.
Her: "Mhjmmm.?" (Hands making more motions.)
Me: (Thinking: Oh! She's deaf! She's asking me if I know sign-language! I do! I do!)...So I sign to her: *Hi! How are you? Is everything okay?*
Her: "Heh? I was just asking you: Do you knit?"
Me: (Pulling the needles and the Bamboo out of my pocket and feeling like an idiot about the signing thing) "Yeah!"
Her: "I just knit a table cloth and the woman, she pay me $300.00 for it!"
Me: Wow! That's great; that's more than I could make, knitting a table cloth. I mean, no one would pay me to knit a table cloth first of all, because, well, there's too much thinking involved and I'd make these terrible mistakes and it would probably take forever, because I don't really do lace all that much. You must have the patience of...well, you know, a Saint who has patience! Can't think of one off the top of my head. But I'm impressed. Three hundy? Woah, baby!. You must be quite the talent!"
Her: "...Eh. I knit to relax."