Thursday, December 13, 2007

Wonderful life

Note: This post contains some politically incorrect opinions. Politically correct minds, self-approved mind police, Ministry of Love and similar institutions should not read any further and if they do, they've been warned.

The sweater didn't want to be knitted, apparently. After starting it too wide, too small, on wrong needles and badly in a few other ways of which some demonstrated only after knitting up three balls, I cast on for the umpteenth time. I screwed the provisional cast on again so I had to cut out the extra thread but I survived. Two and half balls later I discovered that I knitted a Moebius. I checked before turning in the picot edge. I checked after. I swear it wasn't there.
I asked for expert advice on Ravelry and I was told that the yarn doesn't want to be knitted and that it deserves some spa time in My Stash and maybe some treat. I bought chocolates. Maybe the yarn would rather like eggnog latte or roast duck sandwich but I don't have these.
I went to the post office, I should have had a parcel there and an oversize letter. The letters from today weren't there yet (no I do not understand how come that the postwoman tosses the card that I have bulky mail at the post office even before it's at the post office. Time loop?). I waited in a queue, apparently a ton of people is getting Christmas gifts from mail order catalogues. Guessing from the envelopes and boxes, from bad ones.
The postmistress told me that I have another parcel for which some custom fees have to be paid (Noro, yea). I didn't have money enough because I had done some shopping on the way there and.... there should be a card from the parcel service that they were at my place, banged the door and nobody answered. I always get only the second card that the postwoman brings some two or three days before the parcel is sent back. Some of my mail was returned because some lazyass is lazy to do the deliveries, they write Wasn't at home to the ledger and go for a beer. I couldn't get the parcel (the Post doesn't accept cards), I gave in another 50min queue at the letter till and went home. Tomorrow I'm going to do some serious complaining - the bad thing is that the parcel service is operated separately, the local post just gets what wasn't delivered by the parcel department so that people can pick it. I'll have to call some idiots somewhere but I'll do it and I'll enjoy. Luckily the returned mail was local, imagining that I'd have my parcel returned to Japan or U. S. or Mars is really freaking me out. It was tough enough to explain that I do can pick my mail, that I'm not the idiot, to the natives who know the local ways.
Yes, it was yarn. French designer yarns (Lovely Dorothee Bis tweed, for example), some Yamato and a skein without tag that looked extremely Noro-ish but it wasn't Yamato as the seller thought and there's simply no tag. I'll have to dig in my collection and check - there's lots of silk in it but that's all clues.

When I'm shopping on eBay, I sometimes wonder what the Americans think of a buyer from somewhere out there. I guess Czech Republic is much less known than, say, Iraq. Sometimes the sellers are worried about the postal services here. The local post office is a bit anally retentive and it gives mail out in chunks, not as it is arriving and sometimes the mail gets stuck at the customs clearance but the postmen do not get eaten by wolves, there are no evil postal thieves in the local deserts who would steal my yarns and sell them to slavery.... but, for most of the world we are some small country across half of the world and since the people in the faraway lands always have only civil wars, floods and famines, awful dictators and such - our TV news show that too, just the list of faraway countries is different - people worry about mail.
This lady took precautions. She nicely wrapped the box in brown paper which she secured with several miles of duct tape - good quality tape. Under the brown paper, there was a Smirnoff vodka carton, possibly to dissuade wolves who are known for not liking booze. Or maybe to dissuade the feral Iraquis or wherever beyond known universe the parcel goes. Again, secured by a few more miles of duct tape. It took me half an hour to dig my way in the parcel. Well done.... but not necessary. But, I'll make the box into a kitty house, it's the right size. It's reinforced by the tape, it'll last.