One of my work colleagues lives in another part of the country and travels here for part of the week. When here, we often “do lunch.” She’s been watch in fascination while I knit on a project or two, so I offered to teach her how to knit.

Last weekend she went to a LYS in her home town and picked up some lovely blue worsted-weight yarn and a pair of plastic needles.

Plastic needles that, she tells me, were so flexible that they could easily bend and then spring right back.

I never got to actually see these needles because they were confiscated by airport security. Despite the listing of knitting needles TSA list of permitted items as OK in both carry on and checked luggage. Despite her helpful demonstration of the flexibility of the needles that rendered them almost completely unsuitable as stabbing weapons.

Knitting lessons have been postponed until replacements can be obtained. I’m thinking bamboo and plastic circs, which won’t show up on xray.

I feel so safe now, knowing that some over-zealous TSA employee has kept the skies safe from attack by a needle-wielding knitting neophyte.

I think the TSA should encourage knitters to travel often with large pointy sharp needles in hand. We’d make a terrific backup security team, donchathink? Even though most knitters are actually quite peaceful people. Heck… they should pay us to fly with needles!

It was a nice weekend. Beautiful weather, although a little hot for my taste. Had fun with friends, did a little yard work, and #1 Son dropped by for a visit (most of which he spent sleeping in my rocking chair).

On the knitting front, I’ve dropped 8 stitches now on Clapotis, so I’m past the 1/2-way mark and on the home stretch. I’m very pleased with how it looks and its progress.

I’ve knit about 1/2 of a new tote bag. I know I said I’d wait until other projects were complete, but I just couldn’t resist. I wanted to start at the bottom and work up, and I wanted it to be in a basket-weave pattern (k 1 rnd, k3,p5 for 4 rnds, k 1 rnd, p5,k3 for 4 rnds, more or less). The interesting problem, of course, was how to do the increases for the bottom while keeping the basket-weave look going. I ended up doing the bottom rather like a pinwheel, and doing the increases so they worked into the pattern. I think it came out pretty cool looking. I’ve gone a little way up the side of the tote, and I’m pleased with the look. It will need to be lined, but I have some of the Lycra left that I used to line the Red Tote Bag and it will do nicely.

To assuage my guilt, I worked about 2″ on E’s lace socks. I’m almost ready to start the gusset increases. They’re going to be really pretty socks, and #1 Son says that they are “her” and she will love them. I just need to get them finished. Yeah… I know.

Do you have projects going that you just can’t seem to push yourself to complete? How do you get over the reluctance hump and get those puppies done?

Wednesday Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, the self-proclaimed Yarn Harlot and author of the hysterically funny At Knit’s End: Meditations For Women Who Knit Too Much visited Powell’s in Portland for a book signing.

The gracious Ms. Pearl-McPhee has some nice things to say about our fair city. I’m glad she enjoyed her visit. I wish I’d been able to make it to Powell’s, but, alas, other semi-emergencies intervened.

At Knit’s End contains around 300 short “meditations” on knitting that consist of advice, anecdotes and humorous musings on knitting. It belongs on the bookshelf of everyone who knits, knows someone who knits, wears knitted items, or… has ever seen a couple of sticks and some string. One needn’t know anything about knitting in order to enjoy it. One morning I came out to the kitchen and found #1 Son, coffee cup in one hand, At Knit’s End in the other hand, big grin on face. “This is really funny!” He said.

Mom’s take on At Knit’s End:

Today an elevator bit me. And not just any elevator — this is a high-speed, high-tech, state-of-the-art snazzy elevator.

I had to wait forever for the elevator to show up. By the time it did, there were quite a few people waiting. Finally the car arrived and the doors opened.

As I stepped toward the door, it began to shut. But rather than the usual slow-paced, cautious closing that most elevators affect, this puppy slammed the damn doors shut. Fast. First slamming on my thumb and them attempting to wedge my shoulders between them. Only quick moves from my fellow elevator-riders saved me from certain doom.

My thumb is now liberally dotted with black, blue and purple areas. Fortunately it’s my left thumb, so I can still hit the space bar with my right thumb.

And, most importantly, I can still knit!

I tell you, though… some days I’m tempted to become a Luddite.

Today I talked to someone on the phone who had a nice voice, and it brought back memories of Bob.

Long ago when I was still married and #1 Son was just a wee tot, Bob became our insurance agent. Because Bob’s office was in Vancouver and we lived in the Portland metro area, all of our insurance business was handled via fax, email and phone.

Bob had the most amazing, deep sexy voice I’ve ever heard in my life. Ever. Think Marvin Gaye a la Let’s Get It On. I would think up insurance questions just so I could call and listen to Bob talk: Let’s discuss your insurance needs… oh yeah, let’s do that!

I pictured Bob as being in his late 30’s/early 40’s. Of course he was tall and rugged, with crisp dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His style would be just the right mix of GQ and Northwest Woods. He figured prominently in several fantasies.

But for several years, we didn’t actually meet. Then my former husband and I built a house. The house had to be insured. I called Bob [talk to me about insurance, Bob] and said we needed a policy on the new house. Since it was a brand new house, Bob needed to actually see it with his own eyes before he could insure it. We made arrangements for all of us to meet at the house and then have dinner together afterward.

Ex, #1 Son and I waited at the new house. A car drove up. A man emerged.

He was in his late 60’s, short, heavyset and bald. He was wearing a green leisure suit.

Who was this? It couldn’t be Bob!

Hello said the voice of my dreams. I’m Bob. It’s great to finally meet you. Let’s get this insurance business taken care of!

Over dinner I tried closing my eyes and just listening, but to no avail. The fantasies were well and truly squelched.

Later on the way home my ex turned to me and said, “Did you think that Bob would be… taller?”