Sista-knitta

You can't pick your parents, your siblings, or your ancestors. You get to pick a mate, but the fine print on that contract is sometimes illegible until way too late in the game. Your children are little, genetic time-bombs that magnify your faults to the world... sometimes they announce said faults loudly, in chime-y little voices that even the deaf crone ahead of you in the check-out line can plainly hear. But choosing a friend is the blame you get to own. Friends are the fruit of a life well lived, the chocolate chips studding the cookie of your existence. They are gifts of time, of coffee, of a shoulder to cry on. They offer to paint, to build, to rescue. They are there for laughs, for dinner, for bail money. We live through our friends, and their experiences often shape how we see and experience the world. A good friend will throw caution to the wind to get you out of a scrape, and a great friend will be right beside you as you barrel towards the unknown.

I've had the Ya-Yas on my mind for days now, because my circle of friends keeps growing. The knitters and stitchers who come in to play, to rant, to grieve a gone-awry project, are all becoming like family, only better. What a blessing to have so many creative people coming in to share ideas, to support each other, even to collectively cringe when one of the group has a project derailment. I think of our blogging community as a extension of this family... a group of people who are all here by choice, not because we're trapped in the same gene pool, but because we value the imaginations of our fellow bloggers. To all of you who frequent this blog, and to those who have had the misfortune to witness my brand of crazy first hand, a toast (oops, I forgot to mention this post was byob) to you... long may we all create, and long live patience, understanding, hope, and laughter, because we're going to need it, and we'll be called upon to give it. To my sisters in misdemeanors, tantrums, and good, old-fashioned pissing contests, I salute you. You make me stronger, and I adore every one of you. The Ya-Yas were a good idea, but what on earth shall we call ourselves?

p.s. Josetta is dangling cake at me... I might pee myself! Come on down, girlie, you are missed!