You should've seen what happened at the county fair the other day. They had a knitting contest at the Hobby County County Fair in Hobby Town fairgrounds. The Knitters & Needlers club was represented by contestants Paisley, Ethyl, and Rake.
Rake Shriver was the only man in the contest. He used to be an Army drill sergeant, and he did not look comfortable at all, surrounded by blue-haired grandmothers constantly jabbering about recipes, their hairdressers, and their gender-specific aches and pains.
Ethyl Philips looked kind of tired, to tell you the truth. I don't know much about her background. But I've heard she was a cheerleader in high school back when she went to high school. It's hard to say when that was exactly. Now she is a mother to four children, grandmother to a lot of grandchildren, and has a growing list of great grandchildren. People who wish to remain anonymous have told me that Ethyl is usually peppy and fun to be around when she is not tired.
Paisley Colada used to be a Home Economics teacher, so you figure she knows what she's doing. She often takes the lead in the club, telling others how this, that, and the other thing are done. The other Knitters and Needlers appreciate Paisley's expertise. But most often they prefer to work on their own. They make fewer mistakes when they avoid Paisley's help.
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Anyway, in the contest, everyone was supposed to knit as much of a blanket as they could in one hour. It started off as a beautiful thing, everybody with pails and pails of yarn at their feet, and needles in their hands. About thirty ladies from around the county had their chairs arranged around a circle in such angles as they could see what everyone else was doing and what they talked about could be heard by everyone.
Rake looked like the odd man out, his back stiff, a head taller than the ladies, and his eyes peeled straight before him, as though he was waiting for the next command.
Nobody had a proper starting pistol. So Judge Carson grabbed his shotgun, raised it above his head, and shot it straight up in the air. The knitters - all sitting on folding chairs -went to work, their tongues wagging while they scooped up yarn from the pales, racing to see who would be first to put their needles to work. They were interrupted only momentarily by a dead crow dropping out of the sky.
"Sorry about that, folks," said Judge Jasper Carson, his shotgun still in his hand, "I didn't mean for that to happen."
Paisley, Ethyl, and Rake got to knitting with a fury, needles clacking, threads flying, and Ethyl humming Souza's "Stars and Stripes Forever" march. People who wish to remain anonymous have told me that Ethyl's humming is seasonal. She hummed "Stars and Stripes Forever" in contest season. Between Halloween and Thanksgiving, when the Hobbytown Gardeneers harvested gourds and multi-colored corn for local displays, Ethyl would hum, "Moon River."
After about 20 minutes, Ethyl stopped humming. Every contestant suddenly stopped knitting and looked up to see what had happened. Fearing the worst, all they saw was Ethyl frantically trying to undo a knot - so they all went back to knitting their own blankets.
When five more minutes passed, and still no humming was heard, Paisley looked up from her work and saw Ethyl fussing with not only the same knot, but also with two or three more knots that she must've created while trying to undo the first one.
Paisley stood up and went over to Ethyl. Now Paisley was still carrying her own knitting needles and yarn and partial blanket, so the only way she could help Ethyl was by talking, at least, at first.
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Remember Rake, sitting nearby? This is what he heard:
Paisley: "Look, if you bring that needle over there . . ."
Ethyl: "Which needle? Over where?"
Paisley:" Just listen, Ethyl. Take your blue needle and ..."
Ethyl: "They're both blue."
Paisley: "The one in your left hand."
Ethyl: "Okay, so this one."
Paisley: "Yes, bring that needle under the grey thread, and over the next grey thread . . ."
Ethyl: "I'm not using grey, it's olive green."
Paisley: "Are you sure about that? It looks grey to me. "
Ethyl: "Well, that's because I'm in the shade. You see, if I bring it over here . . ."
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Ethyl stood up and stepped closer to Paisley.
Paisley: "Well, what do you know? It's olive green, just like you said."
Paisley then leaped into a discussion about getting mixed up about colors. Ethyl stood there listening, while also trying to undo a knot in her yarn. Every few moments Ethyl would squeal with delight when she got a needle through to another side and she would start to unravel a knot.
While Paisley told her story and Ethyl fumbled with knots, Rake noticed he was the only team member sitting down. He turned his chair so that Ethyl and Paisley were directly in front of him. He motioned with his head for Paisley to step aside so he could see what they were doing.
Paisley scooted a bit to the side. Rake immediately noticed Ethyl's needle headed to make a new knot under a grey thread - no, actually that thread was olive-green when it caught the sunlight. Whatever the heck colors they were using, Rake had to do what he really did not want to do. He had to speak up. It was his team, after all, wasn't it?
[Side note: Before we hear what Rake had to say, I want to make a note of Rake's power of restraint. A former army drill sergeant, in present company Rake softened his language, using words like "heck," "gee," and "dog" instead of the words he was more accostumed to using.]
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Rake interrupted Paisley with a sharp, "Ladies! Hold up on your jabbering, and focus on the mission! That f-f-f-fine needle needs to go over that g-g doggone thread, not under it."
Paisley looked up, "Aw, honey, that needle is going the wrong way."
"What needle?" Ethyl was confused.
"The blue one," Paisley tried to point with a nod of her forehead, and a feint jab of her own needle."
"They're both blue!" Ethyl exclaimed.
Rake started to stand up, "J-J-J Gee Whiz! Can't you keep your f-f ever-loving needles straight?"
Paisley lifted her partial blanket when she lifted both hands just so she could raise the tail of her right needle to point directly at the problem Ethyl was so frantic about. "You have to move this needle back," she said.
When Rake stood up he completed the triangle with Paisley and Ethyl on either side of him. Ethyl, following Paisley's instructions, gradually pulled her right-hand needle back - - - and under Paisley's right-hand needle.
Rake almost barked out orders, but again he managed to show restraint. "Now look at what you bird-b--, uh, you bird lovers have done. Take this thread and move it here!" Rake said loudly, but not shouting. Pointing his right-hand needle at the problem, then moving it to point at the solution, Rakes right-hand needle went under Ethyl's right-hand needle, which was already under Paisley's right-hand needle.
Where Paisley was sitting before she stood up to help her teammate, a neighborhood stray cat slinked in and jumped up on Paisley's folding chair, curled up, and pretended to go to sleep. Actually the cat just lay there with its chin on its paw, watching what the human beings were doing. What the cat saw resembled the evolution of a funnel cloud. Only this one was multi-colored and had human voices instead of the roar of an actual storm.
I will not beleaguer the reader with intricate details of what the cat witnessed. However, amidst the clinking and clacking of knitting needles hitting each other, this is what the cat heard:
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Ethyl: "What if I move this over here?"
Paisley: "That's right. . .No! Now you've got me knotted up."
Ethyl: "Sorry, what do I do now?"
Paisley: "Back it out . . ."
Rake: "Keep that needle steady, soldier. Aw, for cryin' out loud, now you've got me in the knot."
Ethyl: "Sorry."
Rake: "Focus, ladies, focus!"
Paisley: "Let me move this out of your way . . ."
Ethyl: "Sorry."
"This one has got to go over here."
"Watch what you're doing."
"No! Over here!"
"Tilt the tail the other way!"
"Rake, would you move that needle away?"
"What do I do with . . ."
"No! Dad gummit!"
The cat did not stir one inch. It just watched as a frenzy of needles, threads, and voices swirled and swirled until it formed a multicolored mushroom with six legs. When it stopped, the voices stopped for a moment.
Rake took a couple breaths and then exclaimed, "What a pile of sh-sh-shiboozle this turned out to be!"
Ethyl sounded confused, "What is shiboozle?"
"I think he means we're in the toilet," Paisley explained.
"Oh," said Ethyl. She paused a couple seconds, then she began to laugh.
Then Paisley started laughing with her. . . Rake, on the other hand . . . Nope, I'm wrong. Rake started laughing, too.
Ethyl - the cheerleader - gets the last words.
"Hey, what a great day! Right, guys? I mean, if you're going to lose a knitting contest, nobody makes shiboozle like we do!"
