Sock Summit Part II, In Which Knitters are Located
Published On: July 29, 2011

As we wandered around the city on Wednesday, we had detected the faintest hints that there just might be knitters in the area.  I saw the occasional shawl (shawls being worn in public in July often mean knitters are about), someone was working on something at the restaurant where we had dinner, and of course Powells had a bit of a display.  But none of that is adequate preparation for the spike in knitter density as you approach the Convention Center.

The Boy drove me over Thursday morning.  As we approached, it quickly became clear that I was among my people.  Now I, of course, responded by sinking down in my seat, declaring I was too freaked out to go in, and asking if we could please go back to the hotel.  Now.  I do that.  Every time.  The last ten minutes before I go anywhere new or meet anyone new are always a living hell (mostly for those around me as they have to listen to me flail).  The best course of action is to ignore me and just shove me out of the moving car.  Once I get inside I’m fine.  More than fine really.  But you’d never know it to listen to me whinge immediately beforehand.

I did make it inside though (and The Boy was far too gentlemanly to actually shove me out of a moving car, we came to a complete stop first).  I registered (smooth and painless…the folks running this thing are on their game) and wandered off to find my class.  I spent the day in Cat’s Knitting Sleuth class, happily poking, prodding, and swearing at a variety of swatches.  The market opened shortly after class (somehow, no one was trampled to death in the stampede).  I displayed impressive restraint and made only one purchase.  The remainder of the evening was spent at the Opening Reception. Tina and Steph were funny and charming.  The amount of work and care they put into organizing this thing is astonishing.  Then, in what may be one of the more surreal moments of my young life, there was a little practice session for the upcoming flash mob.  Words fail me.  Alas, so did my photography skills.  This gives but the faintest idea of the spectacle I beheld.

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