I did it again.

I held off, this year, worried about overbooking myself and bringing on another bout of exhaustion/depression, but yesterday, finally,  I couldn't resist. I closed my eyes and clicked, and just like that, I'm signed up for NaNoWriMo again. And just like last year, I find myself ever so slightly obsessed already. I was glancing through the forum list last night, and I found a group of knitting NaNovelists. I took it as a sign. I don't need to do less; I just need to concentrate on doing the things I love, and let everything else slide. Or so I hope.

While I'm hanging around with the NaNovelists, I think I'll show them how to knit a sock that doesn't look as if somebody's been nibbling at it.  (I'm sure there's a story behind that image, but I haven't found it yet.)

Last year, I started with a title (Fly Away Home) and some characters. This year, I'm taking a different approach. Among the features I've discovered is an adoption agency. People drop off their surplus ideas (for plots, characters, etc.) and leave them in the hope that they will find good homes. I found a plot that looked interesting, and I made a note of it at My Writing Nook. That's my starting point. Now I'll set about thinking up some characters. I think I'd prefer to create my own characters, rather than adopting them, but plotting is my weakest point, so I'm grateful for the help with that.

Off to work I go. 

Before I was so rudely interrupted,

I was telling you about the Manor Ball. I know it's been over for days, now, but I'm still glowing a bit -- I mean, who wouldn't be?


As I was saying, we arrived at the door, where Willow greeted us warmly. A quick look around revealed a party in full swing. I saw George Sanders twirling Zsa Zsa Gabor around the floor, dancing dangerously close to the bar - oh, maybe that's where that stain on Zsa Zsa's dress came from. I must say, she didn't seem fazed by the stain. She was dancing and laughing, then leaning in close to George's ear.  George, meanwhile, was looking across the dance floor, seemingly entranced by the lush figure of Marilyn Monroe. My, my.

Denzel, on the other hand, had eyes only for me. We danced and danced, until I simply had to take a break. I had long since lost my near-naked shoes (under a potted plant somewhere, if I remember correctly) and was dancing barefoot. We went out to the terrace. I collapsed into the nearest chair. Denzel gallantly took my left ankle in his hands and massaged my aching foot while I did my best not to moan.

Oh, dear. This is bordering on TMI, isn't it?

Fast forward, then, to the end of the party, the delicious brunch, the much-needed coffee, the startling sight of Marilyn holding court in the altogether -- this was indeed a night to remember.

Willow, you are indeed the hostess with the mostest. Thank you again for your gracious hospitality.

I should have stayed at the Manor.

My last post  ended "to be continued..."  I wrote that in good faith, thinking I would be able to continue my story at my next port of call. Unfortunately, the wi-fi there turned out to be less than --let's see -- less than extant?  The rv park manager said there was wi-fi, and I did manage to connect to it, but that was as far as I could go. There I was, connected to the network, but since the network had no connectivity,  my being connected to  it wasn't very useful to me. I decided that the "wi" in wi-fi stood for "wishful". Other than that, it was a great place to stay, and I'm sure we'll stay there again, but next time, we'll be sure to get a site closer to the hot spot.

Now I'm back at home, and the Turtle has gone to its winter home to hibernate. When I woke up this morning, it was still dark. I looked over the edge of my bed, expecting to see a five-foot or so drop to the floor, but something was wrong. I could tell that, even in the gloom.  So I turned on a light and saw that my bed was really, really close to the floor. It's odd. I seem to adjust immediately to being in my over-cab Turtle bed, scrambling up and down via the "dining room" bench. But when I get back home, I don't adjust nearly as quickly. Maybe I should build myself a lofty bed. I had one of those once, a bed that was six feet off the floor. I had to get in and out of bed via a ladder. I liked that.

Anyway, our journey of 9,980 kilometres is over. We had a lovely time. For the last two days, we were in Port Townsend.

On the first day in PT, Angel May and I made our traditional raid on the William James bookstore. I found three wonderful books. Her husband waited patiently while we sorted through dozens of books to find the ones we wanted -- AM's on quilting, mine on knitting. Then the three of us went to the Thai restaurant for lunch -- also a tradition on my visits. Robin opted out of this trip. He was busy cycling all over Port Townsend, trying to make up for several weeks of insufficient exercise.

As it happened, we were in Port Townsend for the last festival weekend of the season -- the Kinetic Sculpture Weekend -- so we went to the parade. I heard that I was expected to dress as oddly as I could manage, so I wore pajama bottoms, a muu-muu, a bright pink and turquoise rain jacket, hot pink Crocs, and my bicycle helmet, which I fitted out with some silk roses and ferns. Basically, I went as a potted plant. I fit right in. Unfortunately (or not), I have no photos of me, because I was carrying the camera. There were Kinetic Kops all over the place. I heard that they might throw me into jail if I failed to dress oddly, and I was taking no chances.
For those of you who have never visited Port Townsend, I should explain that it is a special sort of place. The architecture is Victorian, the populace is generally somewhat left-of-centre, politically, and I suspect that even if there hadn't been a parade, I could have walked down the street in my potted plant outfit without raising very many eyebrows.

Oh, yes. Have I mentioned the official Port Townsend bumper sticker? It reads "We're all here because we're not all there."