The Farmette Report

See you in court, baby

Traffic court, that is.

Keith, whose more pessimistic nature complements my sometimes over-optimistic self, likes to say "No good deed goes unpunished." I usually wave off those kinds of remarks, but this time he was right, as I realized last month when I received the subpoena from the county district court. That auto accident I saw on my way to work the day before Thanksgiving? Well, the state of Maryland decided to charge the driver of the pick-up truck with "failure to control veh. speed on hwy. to avoid collision" - and, instead of paying her fine and taking her lumps like the very crummy and very guilty driver that she is, the young woman decided to contest the ticket. Which meant that I, as the official witness of record (aka "hapless sap"), had to take half a day off work and pay $9 for parking so that I could tell the judge, after waiting two hours in traffic court for the case to come up, what any mo-ron could tell by looking at the front-end of the pick-up and the rear-end of the sedan: that the driver of the pick-up was guilty, guilty, guilty.

She was looking at a $120 fine and points on her driving record. Reducing or avoiding "points" is the reason most people even bother with traffic court instead of just paying their ticket. I don't know how many points she was facing, but she had told me she was in an accident the week before the one I saw, so maybe it would have been enough to totally wreck her insurance premiums for a long time to come.

Maybe she thought that it would go easier on her if she pleaded not guilty, but the instructions I received stated that "Under Maryland law, the defendant may admit guilt prior to trial by paying the established fine. The defendant may also admit guilt and request a hearing for the sole purpose of seeking leniency. In either instance, your appearance would not be required." Maybe she thought the ticketing officer would fail to make an appearance, which would produce an automatic "not guilty," but - helloooo - there was a witness, namely me, who was compelled by subpoena to make an appearance.

Just to make it truly weird, I was already sitting in the courtroom when she and her father showed up and sat immediately in front of me. I don't think she realized that they had done this until she sort of turned sideways and saw me - then she whispered to her dad. Lots of whispering. In fact, she was doing so much whispering that they both failed to hear when the judged called her name. He called her name twice, and when she failed to speak up, he noted her as a "no show." I tried to get her attention, but she ignored me. As soon as she was marked for not showing, I could have left, but I was afraid that I might be called back for a second court date and that would just be too much. I was already pissed about the half day and paying for parking, so I decided to stick it out and see what she and her father were up to. Court proceedings were too brisk and too formal for me to do anything while other cases were being heard, so I waited. And there was the teensiest bit of worry that perhaps she wasn't who I thought she was, so I resisted the temptation to point her out to the judge while exclaiming, "There she is, there's your 'no show.' Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!'"

Near the close of the session, she went up to the bailiff and whispered something like "Oh, was my name ever called?" - at which point he got her case put back on the docket. When asked, she told the judge that she was not guilty, irking me no end because I then had to get sworn in, state my full name and address to the whole courtroom, and tell the judge what happened. Then she had to get sworn in and tell him that what I had said was correct, but that she was hoping for leniency because "traffic was really bad that morning."

The judge found her guilty, but took pity by giving her "PBJ" which does not mean what one might at first think when one has skipped lunch in order to make it to court in time to sit for a couple of hours listening to a line-up of people trying to beat the rap on their speeding tickets and fender benders. PBJ means "Probation Before Judgment" which means, in this case: no points. He also reduced the fine to $35 plus $25.50 in court costs and ordered her to take a remedial driver's course offered by the state MVA. As it was, the only reason she was found guilty was because of my testimony - the ticketing officer had left when she was pronounced a no-show.

We had already learned that insurance was taking care of the wrecked sedan. But what about my parking? What about screwing up my afternoon? There was no point in my asking. (Grumble, grumble. Whine, whine.) I resisted the urge to reward myself with a detour to the yarn shop, but instead came home and spent some time with the sweet little donkeys. They never get called into traffic court.

Knit night

Friday the 13th. A full moon. Knit night!

The week started out with our Internet connection crapping out on us repeatedly, requiring a visit from the "cable guy." And work was entirely too intense and political and headachey. But there's nothing like the prospect of an evening of knitting with some cool folks to get one through all that.

Tons of people showed up. At least it felt that way because the room filled up so quickly and the conversation was so lively. There were - get this - thirteen of us there! All female. The ages ranged from 6 years (she was serving more in the capacity of knitting coach, but her 9 year old sister was knitting like a champ) to... let's just say that there was more than one grandmother in attendance. We should have all gone outside and danced under the moon - just because - not that the moon is showing itself as much tonight as it did last night or even this morning when it was so wonderfully glowy and beautiful outside.

This was only my second knit night. My second time ever knitting in front of other people and seeing other people knitting and talking technique and showing off projects without requiring an Internet connection. I got to show off a finished project and another in progress. I will post about those tonight, but first we must deal with Jerry's burning question about yarn: why does the stuff come in skeins instead of balls ready for use?!

I'd love to hear what more experienced fiber-folk have to say about this, but I'm willing to take a guess or two. For starters, I think it has to do with knowing what you're getting. Example: some months back, I purchased a quantity of red cotton yarn off eBay. At first glance, the box filled with skeins looked fine (as it had in the photograph), but as I unpacked it, it became clear that the yarn had been stored and neglected for quite some time. It is flecked with dust and crud. It is possible that something nested in it for a while. With it in skeins, I can inspect it very closely. I can wash it and let it dry. You can't wash yarn in balls and you don't know what's in the center of a ball unless you unwind it.

In Yarn Harlot: The Secret Life of a Knitter, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee writes about a moth infestation of her beloved stash. She details every step she took to rid her stash of the minuscule menace - and let's just say that was a lot of inspecting of skeins and unwinding and rewinding of balls of yarn. Freezing and microwaving, and drop cloths were involved, too, as was lots of cursing. All completely understandable, especially the cursing.

I'm also wondering if skeins are traditional because wool is often sold by weight, and with skeins it is easier to see you are getting yarn and nothing but yarn.

I think I also read that some people use yarn for something other than knitting, but that could just be an ugly rumor.

Now, on to some actual gosh-darn finished objects from last year. It's the next post, and I'm typing it up right... now.

Busted

I was in the kitchen the other night, cozily knitting or cooking or something, and listening to the radio and feeling pretty good, when Keith came down the stairs with this funny look on his face. "Hey," he said. "I was poking around upstairs and... you know what? You have a lot of yarn. A lot. Did you know you have two trunks of yarn up there?"

My first thought was: Huh? He's poking around in my stash?! Then I realized that if he thinks I only have two trunks of yarn, then he didn't find it all. But the sad truth was: I was busted.

Then I had to laugh - here I am in my forties worried about being busted by the discovery of my stash!*

Now whenever he sees me on the computer he ribs me: "Whatcha doing? Buying more yarn? That's the yarn that's going to put you over the top, right?"

Coming soon: what's off the needles, what's on the needles, and the yarn that put me over the top.

* And I can't have been the first knitter to make this bad joke, yet I still couldn't resist.

Fetishists

Here's something I bet you didn't know about mini donkeys: they have a foot fetish! Well, at least that is true for our Molly and Ambrose. Whenever they get the chance, they give us a foot-sniffing greeting. As with dogs, I imagine this is their way of finding out where we've been and what we've been up to. The photo above shows Molly sniffing Keith's shoes one day last month. She must have liked what she smelled, because the sniffing was followed by licking, and was about to be followed by some nibbling, except for Keith's protestations putting a quick end to that particular activity.

It was a very cute thing to see the mini donks sniffing, with much interest, the stockinged feet of my little 9 month-old twin nieces - and it's only too bad that I have no photos of that!

Rachel, I realize that a photo of feet sniffing donkeys is perhaps not what you are looking for (and I have been so remiss in posting!), so here are a few more recent photos for good measure:

We love seeing the donks poke their heads out of the barn or manger when they are checking to see what all the "fuss" is about when they hear us outside.

And what could be more gratifying than a donkey single-tracking behind you as you take a late-afternoon walk through the snowy woods?