Broadripple

While I am waiting for the perfect frame, I worked on the Broadripple sock. I actually started to sing *someDAY my frame will come...* after reading all of these fabulous comments and emails. Y'all are exactly right, of course. Thank you for thinking (and saying out loud) that it does indeed matter. One of my ongoing struggles with the Naysayers is the idea that I'm IMAGINING my art is Real Work. Part of my campaign to deal with this anxiety is based on a strategy I learned in school to help clients deal with Panic Attacks. Four years of study can be boiled down to a single sentence:
Ask OUT LOUD "Is this actually an Emergency?" and enlist the help of someone you TRUST who can help you answer that question.
Begin Knitting.
Seriously, it is SO important to distract the panicky part of the brain and give it something soothing and productive and useful to do. I put the framed paintings in another room and began to work on the broadripple sock. I settled into the cadence of the pattern and felt my breathing slow, my shoulders drop, my knotted neck uncoil. sigh.
I thought about the friendships associated with the Writer of the pattern, the Gifter of the yarn, the eventual goal of the project...to wear these babies to Sheep and Wool next year! Just the THOUGHT of being reunited with my Tribe, once a year, every year made me SMILE.
I got to watch my adorable brother do the pit reporting from the Monterrey Mexico CART race. I was disappointed in the quality of the FEED immediately, until I learned that the pictures were supplied courtesy of Azteca Television. I'm incredibly sensitive to the nuances of auto racing, and after a weekend with the Great Don Ohlmeyer (insert kneeling and genuflection, here) I'll never be the same. I guess I'd better explain that. Sounds a little too racy. It's RACEY, though.
Danger Girl spent many of her formative years at Race Tracks, as her Daddy was a carburetor engineer who invented all kinds of wonderful tweaking devices for racing engines. Our Home Track was Laguna Seca, which I know literally like the back of my hand. The memories from those weekends are some of my fondest, soaking up the sun while holding a stopwatch and a clipboard, and literally LISTENING to the greatest minds in motorsports (Carroll Shelby comes to mind) solve problems out loud. I wandered the pits, knowing that being a little blonde girl in PF Flyers gave me virtual invisibility. I watched engineers adjust suspensions and then climbed the hill to watch the results in practical application. I can spot five degrees of camber from a distance. I can hear when the springs need damping and how much would really make a difference. Our favorite game to play was rich/lean. After the frantic scramble in the pits to Get Ready, the cars would go out for a practice session. I'd stand with my daddy at a particular corner (I'm not giving away ALL my secrets) and close my eyes. As the cars would go by I'd stand perfectly still and LISTEN. Too rich, too lean, oooo, that one is Just Right. No Peeking, just listen. My Daddy would take notes and scurry back down the hill after giving me my wandering instructions. Later, at the food trailer, he'd give me my scores. You were right, he'd say, Nearly Perfect. I'd bristle. He'd laugh. We'd discuss the nuances of the fuel mixtures, the importance of consistency, of picking your entrance and exit markers as a driver. We'd prognosticate about Qualifying. When I went back to CAlifornia for a visit a few years ago, I drove to Laguna Seca and began to weep the moment I saw the entrance gates. Hallowed ground, for me.
Years later, my brother was doing Pit Reporting on TV and the great Don Ohlmeyer was producing the shows. I had the sublime opportunity to be in the production trailer, watching him work. It was Amazing. He could hear (among the hundreds of miles of cables that had taken a crew two days to string along the track) that microphone three on turn seven needed to be adjusted three degrees. I watched him perform, like a virtuoso orchestral conductor, waving his arms, hearing all of the instruments at once, and guiding each one to perfection. It was stunning.
Sometimes, expecting perfection is a job description.
So May it BE.

Comments

[Nathania]

Greta, I've spent a bit of time at Laguna Seca myself. My ex is a big car nut. We'd go down for the Vintage Races in August and perhaps to a CART event. I love standing at the bottom of the corkscrew. The adrenaline rush! And I was only watching.

I love seeing the little Greta standing so still *listening*. Makes me smile and want to hold her hand. Just because.

[Christine]

That sock is gorgeous! Is that Fixation that you're knitting with?
I'm all about the sock knitting lately and I'm going to start some broadripples (on your recommendation!) as soon as I'm done with the ones I have on the needles.

[Jane]

PF Flyers? You had PF Flyers?? My mom, frugal woman that she was, just couldn't bring herself to buy the brand name. I also lusted after Red Ball Jets, and she thought she could trick me by coloring a red ball on the back of cheap white sneakers. I-was-not-fooled! Don't know much about racing, but I think you learned a lot more about life than cars at that track. Good for you. (And I still want some PF Flyers!)

[Carrie]

My godmother lives across the street from Laguna Seca- We would do the horseshows at Pebble Beach and stay with her. You could hear the track- and the pitches of the engines. Every once in a while, we would go watch a race. Now my husband and his friend are into the POC racing- and we are back at our old friend. My dad weaned me on the air races in Reno. I loved (still LOVE) the sound of a P51- such a sweet sound, like music...and they have the mechanic mystics too!

[Ann]

Strip that sentence a little and leave just this: imagining [your] art is real work. Isn't that a nifty trick? 'Cause imagining is real work. Yay.