The Queen, Meryl Streep, and a Major Tinkastrophe
The last few days have been completely out of whack. I mean, how bizarre is this: a tornado grows in Brooklyn! Yes, a tornado. A twister dropped down one block to the left of my pal Kali, lifted up, then dropped down again one block to the right of her house, leaving damage everywhere it touched.
I grew up in Queens. Queens and Brooklyn are conjoined twins. We didn't have tornadoes in Queens. We had subway flashers, garbage strikes, and hot summers but we didn't have tornadoes.
What the hell--??
The storm that produced the twister raised some havoc here in central NJ as well. The show started around 2 a.m. and continued until almost 6, a hellish combination of endless, freakish rolling thunder and the kind of lightning that illuminates the sky and doesn't go away. The first hour was interesting (albeit in a weird kind of way) but by hour two I was starting to freak out. What's with the rolling thunder this year? I'm accustomed to the big loud bursts of noise, the jagged spears of lightning that come and go, not these end-of-the-world displays that just don't stop.
Is it any wonder I dreamed that Goldisox expressed untoward interest in The Queen and Meryl Streep? I woke up in an absolute fury with him. Poked him in the side and told him my heart was broken, that I couldn't believe he betrayed me that way, and my God, the Queen wasn't even wearing the ermine robe and the good jewelry, but one of her Balmoral walking outfits. You know the one I mean: sensible shoes, heavy woolen skirt, rain jacket, and the ever-present babushka around her head. To make it stranger, that cozy little menage a trois went walking together in our old Queens neighborhood (hmm . . . Queens . . . the Queen . . . ) by the railroad tracks.
Yeah. That could happen.
Kind of explains why I found a major mistake in my top-down sweater this morning and had to tink 5 long, LONG rows (took over three hours) and redo it. If I'd been knitting the sweater for me I would have made a mistake on the other side and considered it part of the design, but this was for the (unfaithful wretch) Goldisox so I bit the bullet and redid. I suppose I could have ripped back and picked up the stitches but there was something weird about the yarn. I ripped back about five stitches and they all somersaulted into the stitches below them like they'd been planning a jail break. Tinking was a major p-i-t-a but for me it was the way to go.
What a long strange week it's been.
I grew up in Queens. Queens and Brooklyn are conjoined twins. We didn't have tornadoes in Queens. We had subway flashers, garbage strikes, and hot summers but we didn't have tornadoes.
What the hell--??
The storm that produced the twister raised some havoc here in central NJ as well. The show started around 2 a.m. and continued until almost 6, a hellish combination of endless, freakish rolling thunder and the kind of lightning that illuminates the sky and doesn't go away. The first hour was interesting (albeit in a weird kind of way) but by hour two I was starting to freak out. What's with the rolling thunder this year? I'm accustomed to the big loud bursts of noise, the jagged spears of lightning that come and go, not these end-of-the-world displays that just don't stop.
Is it any wonder I dreamed that Goldisox expressed untoward interest in The Queen and Meryl Streep? I woke up in an absolute fury with him. Poked him in the side and told him my heart was broken, that I couldn't believe he betrayed me that way, and my God, the Queen wasn't even wearing the ermine robe and the good jewelry, but one of her Balmoral walking outfits. You know the one I mean: sensible shoes, heavy woolen skirt, rain jacket, and the ever-present babushka around her head. To make it stranger, that cozy little menage a trois went walking together in our old Queens neighborhood (hmm . . . Queens . . . the Queen . . . ) by the railroad tracks.
Yeah. That could happen.
Kind of explains why I found a major mistake in my top-down sweater this morning and had to tink 5 long, LONG rows (took over three hours) and redo it. If I'd been knitting the sweater for me I would have made a mistake on the other side and considered it part of the design, but this was for the (unfaithful wretch) Goldisox so I bit the bullet and redid. I suppose I could have ripped back and picked up the stitches but there was something weird about the yarn. I ripped back about five stitches and they all somersaulted into the stitches below them like they'd been planning a jail break. Tinking was a major p-i-t-a but for me it was the way to go.
What a long strange week it's been.
posted by Barbara Bretton at 9:33 PM
4 Comments:
Barbara, that dream was beyond Freudian! Poor blameless Goldisox! I too was alittle shocked to hear of tornados in the city--next we'll have a volcano on 34th Street. (Did you ever see the Tommy Lee Jones movie where that happens in L.A.?)
I spent two hours last night lying in bed listening to the rolling thunder and the pounding rain. It was as though Mother Nature simply upended a giant bucket over my town.
Major condolences on the tinking! That thing where the stitches seems to retract into previous rows ALWAYS happens to me. As a result, I'm the biggest chicken about ripping out.
Men can be so strange can't they? Good to hear you were spared along with your friend. Scary! I, too, tink my heart out at times and mutter words I shouldn't.
I had to look up tinking to see what that was! I've got it figured out now , Barbara. My sympathies to you. I, too, hate ripping out or redoing in any fashion. Very tedious.
My aunt used to live in NJ, she hated to travel to our fair state of IN during tornado season(which I think is all year now). She didn't much like coming in winter either with out unpredictable blizzard.
Poor Goldisox, getting poked in the ribs for crimes he is unaware of. My DH occasionally gets that treatment too. He hates for me to watch any movies with abussive situations, he fears suffering bodily injury during the dream state of my sleep.
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