The Things We Do For Yarn

Friday, 15, October, I headed through torrential rain with my nearly-empty suitcase. It had been a disappointing day. Then, of course, the subway was backed up. The bus was late. Based on my previous trips, I'd be getting to New York at about 11:30 PM (we didn't actually arrive till after 2:00AM). But every now and then I'd get a reassuring text from my friends, promising they were already going to be up late, that they were happy to have me.

How could I not be upbeat? I was going to be with some of my favorite people in the world.

And I was going to Rhinebeck.

After I arrived at Shane and KJ's, we caught up, covered the weekend agenda, and they went off to bed while I went to wash off the chill that had dampened through three layers of my clothing. I note this, first, because KJ's shower is an obligatory destination I look forward to every trip to Manhattan; in both apartments they've had, they manage to get perfect shower pressure, whilst stocking the bathroom full of the wares of her employment (she works for a certain lovely soap+ shop famous for "fresh, handmade cosmetics" wink wink). Second, it meant that I didn't get into bed until 15 minutes to 5AM.

I completely slept through my first two alarms, waking to the third at precisely 5:30AM.  Yet, miraculously, I managed to dress, make a fruitless phone call, get downstairs, hail a cab that got lost and turned around in construction, and be at the Park Slopes bus on 6th Ave at about 6:02AM- I don't know if I've ever been so on-time in my life. Then we waited for half an hour because someone who was late called ahead. Oh, the irony.

I managed to get some sleep on the bus, but didn't miss out on the lovely scenery or getting acquainted with the awesome people around me.

We were one of the first groups to arrive. There was no rush, no busyness. I was able to take it all in at my own pace.

I saw scads of fun, diverse animals.

And was giddy to pet the only Angora bunny I was able to find.

I met lots of wonderful people,

a few of my heroes,

Some South End Knitters

and some old friends.

I stood in line for over an hour (others waited longer) for a legendary yarn I had yet to try, and missed the Ravelry meet-up for it, but I got the coveted yarn. It's beautiful. I'm told that by Sunday there was practically nothing left.

Seeing is believing

This had better be good yarn.

I actually got everything I set out to get, and a few things I couldn't live without, but everything was a "find." I knew what vendor I wanted to visit, but not what yarn/color; I knew I wanted a new drop spindle, but no specific one, etc. (And I have yet to photograph any of my treasure.) I had so much fun that I'm still feeling the glow, over a week later!

We called it a day just in time for my satisfaction to be at its peak, and I got back to Shane and KJ's just in time for dinner. We had a fantastic evening, and didn't turn in till after 2AM again. It was beyond worth it.

Needless to say, I slept in the next morning.

Burned, and a Close Shave

Playing in the New Apartment

I had a beautiful post last night. OK, maybe it wasn't the best stuff, but it was good, and I had worked on it for hours and hours during whatever time I had over the course of several days. It was all about how after weeks of couch surfing we finally were settling into a new apartment and all these little serendipitous events (like my landlord and her room mate having combined expertise in what I want to study when I go back to school next year)  that were were making me optimistic. Then I wrote a bunch about my knitting group and how much it's meant to me to have some sort of anchor in a free-floating situation and that it had taught me a few things about how to keep my sanity in the future, as I have no memory or future plans that don't involve travel.

I should have seen it as an omen when none of my photos would load.

I must have hit "Publish" six times before I navigated away from the page, certain it would be posted and pretty on my front page. It wasn't. I went back to the drafting page, and everything was gone.

Thankfully, my word processor has an auto-save function that I discovered this morning, when I thought I'd lost the final draft of my pattern for the Berklee hat. That was close.

Knit Night is tonight, my anniversary and Cal's first day of school (on account of our late move-in-date) are tomorrow, and my first Rhinebeck is in 9 days- and that's just the first half of the month...

What Happened Part 2

So when Jason called and told me that he had two takers- one in Cambridge and one in Southie, I leaped on it. The Southie apartment was cheap and beautiful,  convenient, but a longer commute. We'd be close to connections we'd made over the past year and we wouldn't have to change any official city stuff. The Cambridge place was alright, a little more expensive, but surrounded by parks and preschools, and a 10 minute walk to his office. Plus, we'd already seen it; it was the place that had gone to another tenant, which had apparently opened up again. He didn't see why we shouldn't take the Cambridge place right way- after all, I'd seen it and liked it before! But something about it didn't jive with me this time. Something was shady. We decided to sleep on it and hadn't made any progress by the next morning, so I told him "Jason, I don't like this. But I'm on the other side of the country and I have to rely on you in the end. Make a decision so I can come home."
     So he signed on the Cambridge place and booked me a ticket out of Salt Lake for Tuesday. We spent Friday evening at my bother's house eating pizza and telling stories while the kids played and I jammed on my ukulele. For all the dry heat and bleakness I get out of the West, I'll go back again and again for those kinds of nights.
     Saturday Nana (my mother), the kiddoes, and I drove through Coeur D'Alene, ID and Missoula, MT down to Salmon, ID pop. 3,300 to stay the night with my grandmother. Sunday we had lunch with my grandfather and his wife at the blue-green ranch where my mother grew up. By blue-green ranch, I mean that in ever sense you can imagine. The house is painted sea foam blue-green. It's in the center of green hay fields, Weeping Willows, and Russian Olive Trees. The blue Beaverhead Mountains are everywhere you look. For 5 years we made plans to come visit, but every time we'd run out of money by the weekend. This was the first time I'd seen Grampa Dee and Gramma Violet since Jason and I got married. It was the first time they'd met Cal and Lala. It's things like this that fuel my conviction that sometimes geographical distance is the best thing for family relationships.
      Anyway, we got in to Jason's parent's in time for dinner on Sunday night. Having spent two days with "Grandparents" they hardly new, Cal ran up to the door and cheered "This is my real Grandpa and Grandma's house!" After dinner we made plans for the kiddoes' stay and Jason's mother to fly back with them and visit when we got settled in our new place. I talked it over with the kids, who, between the cousins and the sandbox, had a much easier time saying goodbye than I did, and drove to You've-Never-Heard-of-It, pop. 3,000.
      We meant to spend Monday working on the house my parents have been "working on" for about 35 years, but I think we ended up spending more of it napping off road-lag. But the wakeful parts are for another post.
     My mother dropped me off at the shuttle to Salt Lake at 2AM Tuesday, I started reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks in Phoenix, AZ around 2PM, and I got into Logan Airport at about 11:57PM. We burned 3 nights in a hotel in Dorchester, where we got one night rebated because there was a used condom behind the nightstand of our first room. We couldn't spend another night in a hotel, so Friday we went to a late viewing of Harry Potter, then hung out the rest of the night in a hotel lobby in the Back Bay.  Saturday afternoon we finally got into the Cambridge apartment, which is when the fun really began.
     It started with the landlord giving me a hard time about wanting to move furniture- it was "partially furnished" which really meant making money off my storage unit,- even though he'd made a big deal about how we could move anything and everything when we first viewed the place. Now anything we wanted to move he'd suddenly "...have to throw good stuff away!" He'd complain about things that didn't jive with what he'd told us when we'd first viewed the place. He'd go on and on about what a horrible tenant the past tenant was, then a couple days later the tenant showed up, saying he still had the place till August! He said he was a traveling nurse moonlighting at the nearby hospital, and though his family had moved out because the place was unlivable two months ago (his company had rented it on his behalf) and the landlord was a lunatic, he couldn't get his money back so he'd crash there between shifts. Then he started telling horror stories that creepily fit Landlord's odd behaviors. The next morning Landlord showed up two hours earlier than expected with "An Inspector," and left him there. I proceeded to follow him around and learned from him that the apartment wasn't de-leaded as expressed to us, but going through the process of de-leading (he'd have to pass the lab tests from this session to even get certified), pointing our things that had been worked on, things that hadn't, things Landlord had strait up lied to us about, how "It's not Anthrax, this is how you'll need to keep the window sills clean," while I'm mentally freaking out about how I have a hard enough time keeping up with the dishes and referencing how one of the kids' favorite games is playing cars on the window sill- their stirring up dust, getting it on their toys, their fingers, itching their noses, eating snacks-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH!!!!  I called Jason and told him everything, who called the inspection office, then the landlord, and by the end of the day we got the last month's rent back, were promised the first month's pro-rated upon re-renting, and were in contact with the complex in Southie.
     I went down to the Southie place the next day and spent the whole trip wondering what had messed so badly with Jason's head that he would even think twice about living in such a beautiful complex! The agent showed me the available apartment, with a view of the skyline out one room and a view of the ocean out the other. I told him the story of our credit and how it got so dismal and he assured me that it wouldn't be a problem. We got things squared for the background check and he waved me off with ever reassurance. Saturday morning at 9AM he called us to tell us that our credit hadn't passed after all. He was sorry. Our income was great and there was a little hope left, but he'd have to wait till Monday to talk to his manager about it. What compelled him to call us at 9AM on Saturday, however, is still beyond me.
     So that's what happened. That's why we have a stroller and two suitcases in the snack room at Jason's office and Jason is at a good steady job, and on paper we're not doing too bad, but in actuality we are homeless and pretty much broke.
      

What Happened

Here's what happen in the smallest nutshell I can offer. It might turn out to be a coconut.
With the generous help of some contacts from our church, we were able to get all of our belongings packed up and in a storage unit by July 1, despite not owning a car. When people started showing up to help, I had our suitcases 90% packed, but before I could get them zipped up, the patterns that I'd intended to go with my selected yarns/projects were swooped up into a truck and long gone. At least I still had my needles and my ukulele!
Getting into the cab to take us to the bus station, I managed to drop a suitcase 2 floors onto one of our beta fish tanks- which I couldn't see at the bottom- in order to prevent dropping my daughter or spilling my jewelry box. We tossed him in with the other beta, filled his tank back up in the neighbors' sink, and got him back in it- all with lightning speed. According to our fish-sitters, he survived a couple more days.
We took the bus to New York where we saw friends we hadn't seen in over a year, two new babies, and had a ton of fun together. Jason's work informed him that all needed to work together remotely to meet a deadline dropped on them Friday and due 7:30AM Tuesday. Jason and I had a fight, which stalled our decision making skills, I had a freak out about being bad guests and having no where to go ( that place I mentioned on here had gone to another prospective tenant), and my little girl- who is terrified by anything she can't predict- got bitten by our friends' terrified pet ferret. I think we're both scared for life. Anyway, since Jason had to work, we had to leave before any festivities could start Monday afternoon. Everyone fell asleep on the bus except me, who spotted the occasional fireworks display from the freeway.
After carrying around our luggage and Priceline-ing a new hotel for 3 days and two nights, we assessed that there was no way our funds would last unless we found a new apartment in a day or two. We didn't have any contacts who could take all of us in, so rather than risk it we booked a flight across the country to my mother's.
We were broke and exhausted, but we'd have a roof over our heads. It was a great chance to see family and friends we hadn't see in a long time, and my parents are unfailingly generous. That being said, staying at their house, (which would take a bunch of coconuts to explain, but it is impossible for me to relax there) with no money, no car, while my husband was on the other side of the country sleeping at the YMCA one week and some friends' couch the next, being told over and over that our credit sucks too bad to rent to, and there's nothing I can do but wait, brood, and be bored...

Just Shoot The Hat

     Oh! how ridiculous- it occurred to me the other day 'I have a blog called the Perpetual Vagabond. I've been traveling almost nonstop for weeks, and not even because I wanted or planned to- but I haven't written or taken a picture the whole time!'  I would probably less forgiving of myself  if circumstances had been more pleasant.
     When Jason came home from work on June 28th I was in a scramble to throw on a decent top and some make-up. We had two days to be ready and out of the apartment, we didn't have a new place lined up, and I didn't know when we'd get another chance to take photos of the finished Berklee hat. We'd been packing all day, so the kids and I hadn't even really gotten dressed- shorts and flip-flops were flying, I was shouting "We're losing light!" and we barreled down the stares in a comic cloud of dust and limbs.
     The conversation that followed went something like this:
"OK, just get some good shots of the hat."
"Right. Go over there. Now look up. K put your hand over there."
"Shoot the hat. You don't need to see below my shoulders."

"I know, I know- it's cool. Go over there I want to get the light post."
"Jason, shoot the hat!"
"It's cool! I want it to tell a story,"
"What are you talking about? I just need a couple good shots of the hat!"
"Like a clothing catalog."
"That's not going to work! Just shoot the hat!"
"It looks great- just trust me."
     We had some fun taking the photos, I felt like a total doofus, but we enjoyed the beautiful street we were on and playing around with the kids.
     Later that night, when Jason uploaded the shots to his computer he said to me "I think we're going to have to do this again. I should've just shot the hat." I had a good laugh over that.

    

The Migration of the Atlantic Hermit Crab

It's been over a week since I touched a knitting needle or yarn, except to clean them up or put them away. I know- I've tried to schedule a psych appointment, but the clinic is pretty backed up right now.

 In all actuality, the bulk of my time has been devoted to stressing, freaking, and hunting the web till my eyes go bloodshot, that goes with trying to find a new apartment as soon as possible. This has been especially difficult, given that the Boston Housing Market has a peculiar seasonal behavior unlike anywhere else in the country- maybe the world, by my knowledge- which is heavily influenced by the concentration of universities and the like. The rule of thumb is that all leases in Eastern Massachusetts start and end on September 1st, but it's a little more curious than that. Ten months of the year, apartments are scarce to the point of legendary. Then, at the end of April, a coveted handful of apartments crops up. The graduating class, transfers, and newly-christened "Young Professionals," (and let's face it- drop-outs that can't get Mom and Dad to pay for their partying any more) have flown the coup, leaving their landlords scrambling to fill their vacancies. But as the days get hotter, these early bloomers get fewer and fewer. That is, of course, until August. By the last week of August, a prospective tenant may very well have their pick of residence. I've literally seen processions, of real estate agents and clients taking turns for viewings. Of course, one problem arising from scheduling and entire metropolitan area for moving simultaneously is the outlandish traffic. My theory is that August 30-September 2 is what sets up the entire reputation of Massachusetts drivers.

Anyway, despite everything, we seem to have found a place for us from the Spring Flee. It's not a done deal, but I feel like I can finally chill with my charts and yarn.

As per my hat pattern, I'm practically done. It's lovely, it's exactly what I wanted, and I've stalled. Jason finally started his full time position, and we couldn't be happier or more grateful about it, but my once on-call-jack-of-all-trades partner is now technically only available for photo shoot assistance in the evenings and on weekends. I haven't even had time to knit, much less time to get gussied up for picture worth publishing. Hopefully, I'll have something before the week is out.

Dear Neighbor...

Dear Neighbor From The Floor Below,
You may not recall, but you stumbled into my apartment at about 3:30AM the other night, piss drunk, wearing nothing but your boxers. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for your visit:

• First, thank you for wearing the boxers with the button. Not that they leave much to the imagination- it just goes to show that being 6' 3'' and built, doesn't necessarily imply endowment. I trust that "Sherry," (or whomever) doesn't mind. 
• Thank you for giving some legitimacy to my little girl's freak-outs. Lately she's been acting strangely agoraphobic in the stairwell. Instead of going down the stairs ahead of me, as I'd like, she jumps up clamps onto me like a starfish, fussing at the slightest noise about Strangers. I try to assure her that we know everyone in the building, and no strangers can get in the front door. But it all must sound like the adults on Charlie Brown for the good it does. After your behavior the other night, I'll definitely be more patient with her from here on out. 

• And finally, thank you for teaching me the valuable lesson, that even if our building is security-card access, we are acquainted with or neighbors, or even awake, there still may be a good reason to lock our door.  

Now, if I may offer a word of advice: Life can actually be fun, entertaining, and meaningful without getting plastered every single weekend (or in this case, the middle of the week)! Being sober doesn't mean being an Old Fogy (I'm only a year older than you- judging by your assurances to my husband that "Dude, I've lived in this apartment for 6 years,") nor does it imply having a stick up your butt. Ironically, it's the other way around, and your head- it's no accident they call it getting "Sh**faced."


Sincerely,
The Apartment Above Yours