I’m not quite sure what’s going on with my body, but it has decided it’s exhausted. I mean, sure part of it is the fact that I’m traveling again — and that I wasn’t really excited about this destination. And part of it has to do with poor sleeping cycles — up too late and then again too early.

But last night I arrived back at the hotel at 10 — and crashed hard.

I didn’t wake up when Rudi called. I could hardly pull myself out of bed at 8:30 this morning. And now I’m hearing my bed call to me…

Hopefully, I’ll manage to get out with a friend tonight, because I’d like to see him while I’m in town.

A pre-St. Louis, post-birthday Three Beautiful Things:

1. Last Sunday when I went to the farmers’ market, many of the usual vendors I buy from hadn’t made it in from their farms because of the previous night’s storm. But the flower vendor was there, and I came home with a huge bouquet of flowers — stock, tulips, paperwhites, anemones, rununculus, and snapdragon. They’re now in vases and empty glass bottles on top of the fridge and make the kitchen fragrant and colorful.

2. As I was walking home from Georgetown on Tuesday, I passed a house where the flowers had been confused by the recent warm weather — forcythia was in full bloom. The yellow sprays just look so cheery, even if out-of-place in February.

3. I was looking at the folk section of the iTunes Music Store on Tuesday and was surprised that three of the artists in the top ten downloads section were unfamiliar to me. I downloaded two of the songs before Rudi told me he’d recently bought the third artist’s cd on a whim after listening to it in the store.

So far, the 32nd birthday has been a fine one. In between fielding phone calls and emails from my nearest and dearest (all of whom were sweet enough to wait to phone until I rolled out of bed several hours late), I’ve managed to break out the blueberry scone stash, learn of a friend’s impending nuptuals (inconveniently double-booked with another wedding on a different coast), get myself a new driver’s license, and see The Pink Panther, complete with large popcorn and soda. Oh, and I wore the newly completed socks to wander around in (they do not make an appearance in my license photo, however).

I’m running out to the store now to buy some confectioner’s sugar to make some Buttercream frosting (Cakelove, eat your heart out; Mum’s recipe is just as good as yours) to put on the heart-shaped mini cakes I’m going to bake in the pans Karen gave me a few years back.

Tonight will probably involve pizza — what is a birthday without pizza, really? — as well as some Olympic watching (it is Valentine’s Day after all, and Rudi does enjoy the snow-based sports), present and card opening, and knitting.

It’s not a big, fancy birthday, but it is a relaxing one. And since I head to St. Louis Friday morning to work a holiday weekend, it’s probably exactly what I need.

PS: I’d like to wish Jason, my birthday twin, a very happy birthday out in the Bay area. He had to go to work today (!!), but I hope his day involves a late arrival, a long lunch, and an early dismissal. Plus cake. Happy birthday, Jas!

The first stage of any Olympics is to make the team. The second is to qualify for your event.

I’d made the Knitting Olympics team. My name was on the roster. But I’d yet to make sure I’d have a chance to fly down the hill to victory.

You see, I didn’t have a pattern or yarn.

Thursday night, I plowed through piles of patterns in books I owned, books borrowed from willing friends, and web sites galore.

Friday, I took off from my event in order to march with the team and enjoy the festivities.

Saturday, I took inventory of my stock of yarns and needles and wrote out what the patterns I was considering would need.

Yesterday, I laced up my boots and hiked out, slipping, sliding, and slogging through slushy snow en route to the local yarn store, which was having a sale (and Cakelove cupcakes).

How many people can say that they’ve hiked through the snow for a mile for the love of their craft? Well, probably tons. But probably not as many when you narrow down the craft to knitting.

Fifteen minutes after the store opened, it was not yet crowded. But as I wandered around, looking for some of the things I needed, the crowds began to grow. Shoppers began to outnumber store employees. The room began to grow warm.

The first item on my list was yarn for a sock yarn exchange I joined. That was easily grabbed, two shelves in from the door — some nice handpainted sock yarn in yellows, oranges, and reds. Yarn for a hat for a friend was a little harder. Here I was looking for yarn that would be soft enough to wear, masculine enough for a boy, and, preferably, colored in red and black. I found a red angora blend first and then found some black alpaca/merino wool.

And then it was back to my main event: the booties. My local yarn shop has two locations. The other location has a baby yarn section; this one does not. So I wandered around, increasingly feeling desperate. Not finding angora, I jettisoned the first pattern idea. Plus, I reasoned to myself, the twins are going to be summer babies. Who wants to wear angora in a swamp in the middle of the summer? Even rabbits object.

Eventually, I turned to a store employee. I’d decided on one of my patterns and needed some help figuring out what was fingering weight and what was DK weight. I still have no idea. But she pointed me to some baby-weight wool and then to some pretty cotton-wool blends.

Rudi arrived at that point, and together we chose a pretty deep teal and a dark lavender Rowan wool cotton, named Ship Shape and August, respectively, to make these booties from.

We finished the trip with a few more skeins of sock yarn (enough to make Rudi a pair in black, white, and grey and a pair for me in pinks), some extra needles, and some black alpaca/silk yarn Rudi asked me to make him a scarf from.

I cast on the friend’s hat tonight (I see him on Saturday and thought I ought to get started on it) and am loving feel of the Blue Sky yarn and the bamboo needles. It’s the equivalent of spa knitting.

Tomorrow, I’ll cast on the booties and start working toward my main race.

I stayed in last night and knit, watching the snow fall from my rocking chair.

Around 1:30, I couldn’t take it any more, so I invited Rudi to accompany me on a stroll around the neighborhood.

We paused by the Moroccan embassy to take throwing practice. Rudi managed to hit three street signs. I hit none.

We then moseyed down to P Street, where a drunk (and possibly homeless) man invited us to throw snowballs at a billboard. I passed. Both Rudi and the other guy hit the billboard (it was 4’x6′) but missed the sunglasses on the bikini-clad model they were aiming for.

We wandered over the Buffalo Bridge, snapping photos and dropping snowballs into Rock Creek, and then back up to Sheridan Circle where I took off my cape, flopped on the ground and made a snow angel. In hindsight, a snow angel would probably have worn a cape, so the snow up my shirt was for naught.

Then we made little snow people on one of the benches. Rudi’s was much more professional.

We joyfully strolled home amidst the large snowflakes, now sticking to Rudi’s hat and my cape. My white fluffy scarf was coated, making it look like I was wearing a scarf made of snow.

This morning I headed over to the farmers’ market, where the meat farmers proved hardier than the veggie/dairy farmers. I came home with an armload of flowers, as well as a few other odds and ends.

Then we hiked through Rose Park down to Georgetown where we spent the afternoon shopping.

The sun shone down upon us, offering up a glittering landscape as huge clumps of melting snow dropped on our heads as we passed under the trees and cold water poured off store awnings.

We ended up with about half a foot of snow, nothing compared to my folks’ two feet. But for D.C., it was utterly beautiful.

I’ve been like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for today’s snowstorm to arrive.

It was three years ago this week when D.C. last had a major snowstorm. The dates are lodged in my brain because we were in the process of moving down here from Connecticut. Rudi had come back to pick up me (and our futon) after my final two weeks of work and instead got socked in by a blizzard. Connecticut got snowed in; D.C. got wholly overwhelmed.

The snow had stopped here on Monday, I believe, but by the time we arrived two nights later, the mayor was still promising a single, passable lane on every city road sometime by the end of the week.

It seriously made me wonder what I’d gotten myself into when they eventually had to import snow plows and drivers from New Jersey (who had already finished their plowing there) to come down and dig us out.

An inch or two of snow sends the federal government scrambling to get out of the city. The mere threat of winter precipitation can be enough to preemptively cancel school in the ‘burbs.

But, at heart, I’m a New England girl. I expect (nay, like) snow in winter, and D.C. has lacked that. We haven’t even really had that much cold weather. Don’t get me wrong — I like the occasional 65 degree day in the middle of winter. But if I’d wanted it to be a regular feature, I would have moved further south.

So when the weather forecasters started talking snow for this weekend, I allowed myself to believe they could get it right this time. I imagined that there was a possibility that we might get a few inches. And as the week progressed and the anticipated accumulation started to rise, my delight grew.

Last night the meteorologists said that the storm was moving more slowly than expected (why do they always seem surprised by that down here?) and that the morning would dawn with rain and that the snow would move in during the afternoon and last until midday Sunday.

Well, it’s heading toward evening here and the precipitation has just morphed from rain to sleet (much to Posey’s utter delight, sending her bounding for the window when the ice pellets began to bounce off the air conditioner) and now to snow.

Think snowy thoughts for us. Think snowmen and angels. Think streets deserted by cars and filled with revellers. Think thick wool socks and mittens. Think the crisp smell that promises more white stuff falling soon. Think catching snow flakes on your tongue and your eye lashes. Think hot cocoa and grilled cheese and tomato soup. Think school (and work) cancellations. Think double digit accumulation. Think bright blue sky and dazzling white ground following the storm’s end. Think snow!