I’m still picture-less. I am too cheap/lazy to go to Circuit City or wherever to buy a camera battery. This is bad news for a blog.
But let’s look on the bright side, shall we?
Without pictures to share, my winter holiday/solstice/Xmas gifts will remain secret. As they should.
So.
What have you been up to?
Me. I’ve had a week of vacation. That started out with the annual trek to Rhinebeck for the sheep and wool festival. Following that was a 10 day period of fairly substantial let-down and depression. As much as I love Rhinebeck, I hate when it’s over for another year. Some people love Christmas. I love Rhinebeck. (And abhore Christmas, but that’s another post.)
I bought lots of good stuff, all from my pre-written list. There was little opportunity to see anything outside my list, as I spent the day sprinting through the barns in hot pursuit of the listed items while my mother waited for me outside. I was so glad to have her come, as I like having her around to sniff yarn with, but this year she had a hard time walking, and so spent most of her time watching the crowds. She was rather generous with her time, I thought, so I got to do a few crazy things like wait in the line at The Fold for over an hour for Socks That Rock. (Of which I procured three skeins of medium weight in very lucious colors.)
I’m glad I got the spindles I had wanted when I was at Hemlock, because I couldn’t get near the Bossies, and the Goldings were a pipe dream. Romney roving? Forget it. I grabbed the only silk hankies I saw without regard for color or condition.
You may interpret my tone as I describe this any way you like. And if you decide that perhaps Purl was not so happy with the absolute hordes of people at Rhinebeck this year, you would be correct.
This used to be a cool way to spend a Saturday in October. Sure. It was always crowded. But it wasn’t three and four and sometimes six people deep in the barns, waiting to see a vendor’s wares. There was no pushing and shoving. Or swearing just loud enough so the person with the oversize stroller was sure to hear. (No. I did NOT do that. But I overheard others.)
The folks who run the festival need to make a decision. They are either going to be a festival for fiber lovers, or they’re going to be a county fair. Pick one. But they can’t do both. For instance, they have to let those endless numbers of little kid activities go. If I was the parent of a young one, no way would I bring my kid(s) to Rhinebeck. Hell, I’d be petrified I’d lose them in the crowd. I’d want to spend my time sniffing and petting and buying my way to the poorhouse. I wouldn’t want to spend my time enduring the pleas for more crap to eat and the endless why-can’t-we-go-home-now wails.
As long as I’m on a roll, let me tell you about lunch. My mother and I found a short line for turkey sandwiches and a bench to sit and eat. Next to us was a family, which included two young children who kept trying to lure us into watching them screw around.
Now my mother and I are cut from the same cloth. I grew up hearing, “children should be seen and not heard”, and trust me when I say I wholeheartedly embrace that philosophy. (Ask my kids.) I will never understand the philosophy of parenting that includes the notion that every single thing some child does is precious and worthy of praise.
So I’ll bet no one will be too surprised that I turned my back on these little kids, and hoped that by doing so, their attempts to lure me into noticing them would cease. Leave me alone.
And for godssake’s, stop that whining. And shrieking will get you nothing but a trip to the car. (Oh. Wait. These aren’t my kids. That’s right. Go ahead and shriek. Daddy’ll buy you another ice cream cone to shut you up.)
The older I get, the less tolerant of children I become. Grand motherhood should be a hoot, huh?
So anyway, I do the Rhinebeck thing, and visit with some family, which was pleasant enough.
I went back to work last Monday, but not without calling the Monroe County Jury Hotline first. Indeed, I was the proud recipient of one of those red and white summons a couple of weeks back. With a huge sigh of relief, I noted that my juror number was 36 numbers away from the cutoff.
Monday night, oh…maybe around 7 PM…I suddenly remembered I needed to call again.
They don’t call it a summons for nothing, folks. I was summoned. As in, get your tail down to our hall of justice, and pronto, on Tuesday morning.
So I went, and promptly got myself selected to sit on a jury.
Well, hey. I thought, this isn’t bad. I can take a break from talking about sad things like death and dying and whatnot. It’ll be like a vacation!
Mais non, my little readers. Mais, NON.
Jury duty consisted of a week of testimony regarding child sexual abuse. Yeah. Fun.
I think I’d rather have my chats about death and dying. Anyway, we reached a verdict on 3 of the counts by late Friday afternoon, and were a hung jury on the last two counts. Fortunately, the judge seemed to have recognized the utter mess the DA had made of the case, and was not surprised that we were hung (and utterly confused). He declared a mistrial on those last two counts and let us go.
Hmmmm. 48 hours. That was the title of this post, wasn’t it?
Less than 48 hours until the start of election day. A week from today, even if the Republicans pull out all the stops and screw with another election, we should have a new President.
I want to dig myself a hole (after casting my vote, of course), and only unbury myself when it is over.
I am scared.
We are this close to having someone of unquestionable quality and vision take the office. This close.
Want to know my election day fantasy?
A swiift and sure victory for Mr. Obama, of course. And television coverage of that woman from Alaska being escorted onto a plane. Because enough is enough.
John McCain, I wish you well. I really do. You’ve had an admirable career, and have much to be proud of. But understand I cannot hire you to be my President.
There’s a new man in town. I’ve had my eye on him since his speech at the Democratic convention in 2004. I knew he was special then. He’s the man I want to hire.

Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.