Twists of Fate

I have a love/hate relationship with professional sports. See, as a kid, I was very VERY active. I swam competitively for over a freakin’ decade. I loved going to games and I loved watching people play. I was the biggest Denver Broncos fan I could be between the ages of, oh, two to twelve, I think. I knew the players. I knew stats. I could predict what play they’d go with on the field and would scream and holler and squee along with the most seasoned beer drinkin’ bozo who ever went shirtless but for body paint in team colors in the stands.

And then the Broncos lost three Superbowls in four years, and my little pro sports fan heart just crumbled. Crushed. Like dust in the always blowing prairie wind, it blew away and left the abandoned shell of a fan behind with nothing but the mournful lowing of “what could have been” echoing off the walls of the ghostly fannish structures.

So which team do I pick to et back on the pro-sports merry go round?

The Boston Fucking Red Sox, of course! Anyone who knows anything about baseball knows that the Sox hadn’t won anything in about eleventy billion years. Hell, even *I* knew that things were a bit of a joke for eternally optimistic Beantown fen, and I had approximately half of a nothing sort of interest in baseball. (Except for the baseball coach at my high school, but that’s a whole nother story.)

Why oh why would a woman who had sworn off anything remotely related to pro sports come back to the fold as a Boston Red Sox fan? Masochist, thy name is moiraeknittoo?

I blame my friends H and J. I’ve never met these women. In the grand tradition of cross-continental pen pals, these two women who I’ve known for, oh geez. Seven? Eight? years are both Sox fen, and over the years of chat and exchange of gifts at birthday and holidays, they, like all good crack dealers, have lured me into Sox fandom. The metamorphosis was slow. It was steady. It was insidious and possibly not premeditated.

And then 2004 happened. And my friends in Teenystateland (my affectionate term for Rhode Island and the Boston area, where they live) were in raptures! Hysterics! We were all out buying lottery tickets because the unthinkable had happened. The Boston Red Sox were the world champions! Obviously the world was coming to an end.

I think at that point I started paying a bit more attention. They were so incredibly happy, these two. They thrive on baseball season the way I swoon at the idea of plunging my hands into a freshly sheared Skylines Farm fleece. Nonchalantly, I began trying to learn the lingo and began turning the game on when there was absolutely nothing else to watch on television. I could identify why they’d get so excited at certain plays in the context of what that meant for the team, and subsequently the fans.

And then there was 2007 and I had to give up all pretense of not watching. I got sucked into the vortex, and was surprisingly OK with it. H & J sent me baseball books to read during “hot stove” season, and I actually paid attention to the roster when spring training rolled around in 2008.

This year, I paid for the Extra Innings package on my cable, and watched nearly every game that was available in my market, all the way on the other end of I-90 from the team’s hometown. I find myself sporting Sox hats, a silly plastic cup direct from Fenway with the game schedule on it as well as a yearbook that’s still faintly beer scented from an enthusiastic but clumsy fan, I have a World Series 2007 fleece, I know the faces and names of most of the current roster.

And on nights like last night, I celebrated along with the rest of the Red Sox nation when they pulled a fucking MIRACLE out of their asses in the bottom of the seventh inning and ultimately came back from a SEVEN RUN deficit to win over the Rays in game five of the ACLS.

And I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT. Part of me is screaming that this way lies more heartache and agony, but sometimes, you just gotta act on faith.

This year, during hot stove season, I’m taking the time to make all of us our own Red Socks (sic). Because I can. Because it melds my knitting and my newly revived sports fannish heart together in a physical representation of hopes, dreams and excellent friendship that spans years and the width of the country.

Go Red Sox! *cues up that Dirty Water*

For those craptastic days where you wish you could head back to bed with a bottle of scotch and a do-over, but you have neither scotch nor a time machine? And instead soothe the savage cranky with some ice cream?

There TOTALLY needs to be a pint cozy. While some make that that to mean a beer, *I’m* talkin’ about the kind that keeps your hand from freezing to the outside of a pint of premium ice cream.

I’m lookin’ to you, oh my indulgence pint of Ben & Jerry’s “Everything But the…” as the inspiration behind this new and revolutionary pattern.

Also, RED SOX OMGWTFBBQ!?!

It hasn’t even started but I’m already blue. Sad about missing something I probably will never attend. Seriously, that many people at a baseball game? OK. At a fair? Not so much with the love.

Sometimes it’s hard to watch what seems to be all of blogland squeeing about going and meeting up with friends scattered hither and yon. Know what I mean? So everytime I hear Rhinebeck I think of the color blue, even if it happens in the gorgeousness of upstate NY.

Today is a very “meh” kind of day. :P

I missed the Harlot’s most recent visit to the wet green Northwest here thanks to the Sox/Angels series.

Tonight I’ll miss Mason-Dixon’s signing at University Bookstore thanks to the suckage that is game four of the Sox/Rays series.

Note to authors - can we time your tours to avoid the baseball post season please? Just kidding! Mostly.

I like going to the signings, mostly because I can be among My People but there’s so many that I don’t stand out much. I see a few folks I know, get a nice new book with some signatures, and go home to drool over the pages and plot what to make.

Unfortunately, given that the Sox are desperately fucking up trying to come back from a 2-1 series total here in the ACLS, my mojo is needed to cheer on my adopted team. I even have the hat on! Foo.

Ah well. I’ll be with them in spirit tonight, as I work on a sock while watching the Sox.

OK, not really a condo so much as a studio apartment.

I have this sweet abandoned kitty who has made me her human for now. I can’t bring her inside due to some severe cat allergies (I like being able to breathe, thanks), and I’ve been worried about the dropping temps.

Enter feral mew shelters, made from plastic totes and some simple materials.

The 35 gallon totes wouldn’t fit in my car, so I had to make due with just the 18 gallon ones for now. I did cut the 1″ insulation to the inside of the tote, but am now wondering if maybe doing it on the outside would be better for the short term. I did manage to find some “mini bales” of straw at a feed supply store in Woodinville, which was a relief.

So far, attempts to show Ms. Mittens her prospective new home haven’t gone well. She made like *starfish!kitty* when I tried to put her in the top just to show her what the idea was, and she hasn’t yet managed to find the Pounces I laid on top of the straw. But I hope she’ll smell the residual scent from me putting it together and will go in when the temps drop tonight.

She’s curled in the ivy under the porch right now, where she’s taken to watching the insect world go by during the day. I really hope she’ll take to her new home tonight or in the nights to come.

If you have some stray kitties and/or know of a feral colony nearby, please think about providing a shelter for them during the long cold winter. This was a really cheap way to make a snug and safe spot for her to curl up in. There are also some really awesome pre-made ones to be found by googling “feral cat shelter” and checking out the results.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled baseball championship games. GO RED SOX!

Four course meal for the kitties!!! Sometimes, in all our charitable acts, sometimes I think we forget the needy with four paws. Or legs. Tails. Fins?

If you know of anyone who might be interested, please pass that along. I’m trying to find a no-kill shelter to take my sweet stray mew to, but they’re all functioning at about 400% capacity right now and there’s no resources available. For those in the Portland area, this is a great way to help a shelter in need!

I’ve been thinking about this a lot in recent months. The bruhaha over the alleged lack of cashmere in Debbie Bliss products, another suit against Noro, and the fact that the skyrocketing demand for cashmere fibers & clothing is having a HUGE, GIGANTIC impact on northern China and Mongolia’s environment brings me to a conclusion that I’m reluctant to state aloud. B?ut I think I kind of have to.

I think I can’t ethically buy cashmere anymore.

There may be one caveat to this, though, and that’s if it’s grown here in the states and/or sourced from areas that are perhaps more ethically responsible about how it’s obtained. And given that restriction, the price is likely to be out of my price range much of the time anyway. As I think about the fiber blends I’d like to do, cashmere is of course in the “zomg gimme” category, but I am not sure I can, in good conscience, be a part of a growing problem by participating in the supply/demand cycle for this particular fiber.

Never say never, and all that, and I do have some cashmere in my stash. I lost my head not too long ago in a late online doot through eBay, and found some cone ends that weren’t too expensive and I could overdye. But that may be the last purchase I’ll make for some time.

What do you think about cashmere, the current supply levels and production methods, and continued support of the industry?