Last week, summer arrived in Boston with a vengeance. The warm Sunday of the Mass Sheep & Wool Festival kicked off a string of hot, sunny days that kicked people's gardens into high gear, finally dried up the last of the mud puddles from the Great Flood of 2006, and sent yours truly outdoors. A lot. Fortunately, now that I am a bona fide sock knitter, I always had a sock in my pocketbook, ready to go at the drop of a hat (or sock, as it were). Also fortunately, the sock I'm currently knitting is made of, quite possibly, the most forgiving, resilient sock yarn I've seen. Good thing, too, considering all the mishaps that were to befall it this week.
On Tuesday afternoon, P. and I headed to a local playground, where they had, unbeknownst to me, turned on the sprinkler system over the holiday weekend. P. charged into the sprinkler without any of his usual hesitation, and proceeded to get soaked to the skin. As I was adjudicating a dispute involving a plastic rake, a tricycle, and two stubborn three-year-olds (note to self: add conflict resolution to resume), I left said sock sitting on a park bench near the sprinkler. By the time peace was achieved, the sock had been claimed by a curious toddler, who had decided to give it a nice dunk in a puddle followed by a rinse in the sprinkler spray. Amazingly enough, not only had the tike not dropped any stitches (a born knitter, that one), the sock itself had also exhibited an amazing ability to repel the mud, dirt, weedy glop, and earthworms that inhabited the puddle of its immersion. This stuff is amazing!
Fast forward to Wednesday morning, as P. and I board the Voyager III, about to set sail on a whale watch sponsored by the New England Aquarium
P. loves sharks, whales, fish--basically anything that lives underwater--so he thought this was the greatest thing ever (Quotes of the day: 1. "I had no idea real live whales lived in the ocean!" [this despite the fact that he peruses a book with photos of whales on a daily basis]; 2. "Can you just imagine how big whale's poop must be?" [said in a tone of combined awe and admiration]).
I thought it was pretty cool, too--however, I had no idea just how fast that boat would go. There I was, calmly sitting on deck as the boat churned through Boston Harbor, knitting away on the sock, discussing the scale of whale excrement, when the captain saw fit to put the pedal to the metal (or whatever the nautical equivalent would be), and we were all doused in an onslaught of sea spray. Again, the sock appears no worse for the wear (although it probably tastes slightly salty--I haven't sampled it).
Why no pictures of this amazing wonder sock, you ask? Well, it's a gift for someone who reads my blog, so I'd like it to remain a mystery for a little while longer. I promise not to keep y'all in suspense for too long, though. Tomorrow P., the sock, and I will be winging our way to Minnesota to visit family. What new mishaps will await it en route? An accident involving my favorite on-board beverage (a mixture of cranberry juice and ginger ale)? A tangle in the wheels of the beverage cart? An unfortunate encounter with an airsick seatmate? Stay tuned.
A final note: last night I added on to my list of bizarre places I've knit
by knitting during the opening act of Radiohead's U.S. tour. I'll spare you my review of the show--all I'll say is that if they're headed to your town