Lime Street Knits

It seems that my reckless bragging about my do-nothing vacation compelled the vacation gods to smite me. Two completely unanticipated events derailed me this week. First, after months of searching, my boyfriend and I finally found a new apartment. It's large for Boston, in our price range and actually in the same building that I already live in. Which means that, in theory, the move should be remarkable easy. The bad news? We move in three weeks. Three weeks! So there was more packing than knitting this week. Also, completely unexpectedly, I was approached by a local college and asked to interview for a Performing Arts position... the next day. Which sent in me into a "did I already pack my suits?" tailspin. The interview was fine. A little rah-rah for my taste, but some schools are like that. I suppose the only thing to do now is wait. And remember not to pack my suits for another week or so, just in case I get called back for a second interview.

On the knitting front, Grace is still growing, but the bloom is officially off the rose. I'm trying to figure out how to put the zing back in our relationship. It seems like there ought to be a book that deals with this; some sort of Knitters are from Mars, Afghans are from Venus type self-help manual.

Also, and I feel that this is more of an accomplishment, I taught my mother how to do YOs, K2togs and PSSOs. She's now enthusiastically at work on a lacy baby hat. Three cheers for Mom!

And there was swimming! For all of my woe-is-me vacation complaining, I was able to squeeze in a remarkable amount of swimming. Lake swimming, ocean swimming, pool swimming... You name it, I swam in it. My hair has started getting a little funny from all of the chlorine, so I took the plunge (sorry) and bought a fabulously ridiculous bathing cap. In truth, it's not nearly so goofy as I would have hoped. When I first strolled into City Sports, visions of my Nana's crazy Esther Williams-style bathing caps danced in my head. She had at least half a dozen caps in an assortment of Easter egg pastels, each with a different gigantic plastic flower affixed to it. I'm sorry to report that these caps cannot be had for love or money and I had to settle on a little black number by Speedo. It's a a little too sporty, a little too shiny and gives the impression I can do more than doggy paddle. Which is to say, this cap is a dirty fibber.