Facing the facts

Oh.My.God. Have I mentioned that I am oh so, so very well-acquainted with that state called denial? And that, every once in awhile, against my better judgment, I elect to do a little reality check?

Feeling a twinge of guilt over my Scrooge-like mood, I visited my mother's basement this morning to pick up my little holiday ornaments and faux tree/ornament displayer. And while I was there I thought, what harm can come from visiting my little ole yarn stash?

Let me repeat, with emphasis: Oh.My.God. I am kicking, KICKING myself for bringing home a new Rowan knitting project last Saturday. Going mad with all my UFOs on size 3 needles, I decided I needed a simple, fast, beautiful project on larger needles. No harm, no foul, I thought. It'll be done in a flash, and then I'll be able to return to all those guilt-makers refreshed, rejuvenated. All logical, and pragmatic, as long as you were residing deep, deep, deep in that lovely state of denial.

I'm not even going to explain how horrifyingly monumental it was. I'll just give you the gist of it. If I am fortunate enough to live another 30 years, arthritis-free, I'll make serious headway on the stash. As long as I NEVER AGAIN succumb to temptation and bring home another skein, ball or cone of yarn. No matter how luscious the feel or stupendous the color, I must resist. Or have a truly serious yarn sale.

Now, I'm sure many of you are out there saying -- yes, yes, sell it, give it away, get rid of it!! But you inveterate fiber freaks know just what an unbearable test that would be. The yarn I was all set to give away at the shop's Super Bowl yarn exchange suddenly sang to me as I uncovered it. What was I thinking giving away a beautiful silk/alpaca blend when there were sweaters and scarves and hats to be made?

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, yes? Alright, I own it -- you can call me yarn 'ho.

Yarn 'ho, yarn 'ho, yarn 'ho.

But I won't give up that hoard of sock yarn I tucked away a few years ago and unearthed today. Because, from here on out, the only thing I'll be buying are more sock needles. The occasional tape measure. Buttons for completed projects. But no more yarn. Not Rowan yarn that's getting discontinued. Not Jitterbug. Not Socks that Rock yarn. Not the new Noro sock yarn that Bananie showed me over udon Wednesday night... Really. I can beat this thing.

(Pop over to the loop website to check out the new Noro).

A Quiet Day in Berkeley

In November of 1983, Big Game was held at Stanford. As a result, my BFF from college, Becky, and I decided to journey from San Francisco over to Berkeley. And we had a perfect day. It was quiet and peaceful on Telegraph (well, as quiet and peaceful as Telegraph ever is) and we moseyed up the Avenue, browsing languorously in the bookstores. Neither of us made a lot of money at the time, but we were voracious readers who haunted the used section of Browser Books on upper Fillmore. I remember the wealth of temptations on the mezzanine of Moe's, with its discounted art books and extensive used fiction section. I could see where every English graduate student had sold their texts and volumes of literary criticism once a course was completed. We lingered in Cody's, where Becky found translations and treasures in the East Asian studies section; and I lusted after all the imported British editions of fiction, with their yellow, Virago green and Penguin orange spines, marked up to $7 or $8 when they only cost 95p or 1-2 pounds in England. We must have eaten somewhere and most likely poked through the bins at Tower Records. We were back in the City by late afternoon, before the hordes of Cal supporters returned, pleased with ourselves and our simple, yet lovely, day.

Today is another Big Game Saturday, again to be played at Stanford, and as I run my errands around town I can't tell if it's more or less crowded than any other away game Saturday. Probably because I am not near campus, and live here rather than visit; possibly because I'm older and less attuned to the presence of students. Still I remember that Saturday as one of my best days ever. The sense of freedom and adventure, the pleasure of paging through more books than I could ever discover or possess, being with someone who knew me better, perhaps, than anyone else.

I don't remember who won Big Game that year, but this year's result was a notable and welcome surprise. Stanford 20, Cal 13, and the Axe returns to the Farm after a lengthy absence. A team with a lackluster win-loss record, but with wins over USC and Cal -- that's a redeeming season without a doubt. I may even wander about town in my Stanford sweatshirt...