"...that knits up the raveled sleeve of care..."

Hamlet was talking about sleep, of course, but I couldn't help but notice that his analogy applies quite literally to this sweater:

Poor thing just spilled its guts.  "The vomiting Sleeve!  Film at eleven."

I promised myself that if I could knit to the end of the skein I was using on the sweater middle that I could take a "break" by working on a sleeve for a while.  No lie, people, I am drowning in the Stockinette Ocean.  I think I'm getting arthritis.  So I made it to the end of the skein, and without even attaching a new one, I gleefully flung the whole works aside in favor of the sleeve.  Nothing like a change of scenery for motivation.  Okay, the scenery is pretty much the same, but the rows are shorter, and some of them have increases.

Increases is right!  The thing was growing at an alarming rate, but not in length - in circumference.   Note to self:  perhaps the sleeve increases need to be farther apart?  Nah,  I'll just block it firmly.  It'll all come out in the wash.  Now it looks like a jam funnel - totally weird.  What in the name of all things linty is going on here?  Note to self:  You have obviously stretched the thing somehow, you are going to have to block this sleeve aggressively.  Another half inch goes down and it's even worse.  Note to self:  sleeve blocking will have to be brutal.  Now it's starting to feel like a horror movie: something is wrong, and I can tell by the theremin music in the background.  Just to reassure myself, I check the needle size.  Yeah, I know this is the size three.  I can tell because the number "3" is rubbed all the way off.  See, I'll even pull out the size guage and prove it...CRAP.  It's a size 4.  That's when the sleeve threw up.  Projectile yarn.  Spewed like a frat boy on a Friday night.  

There, there little sleeve.  You'll feel better in the morning.  Want a cool washcloth?  Yeah, me too.

Staycation

I have a case of the "o-woe-is-me's" because my fam went to the lake and I stayed home.  It's really only a superficial case because while I miss their guts, I know that my decision to stay home was an unusual combination of hedonism and self-discipline.  How can this be?  Because I am knitting my butt off, not to put too fine a point on it (even managed to button up a whole pattern, sample and all - yeah, it was two weeks later than I planned, but still...).  And also because I am luxuriating in the uncommon stillness of the house.  An eerie quietude that gave me the willies pretty quick, and caused me to tune in to the Nightly Business Report on PBS, just to break up the roar in my head.  So while Jim Lehrer is a real Dreamboat, he's only white noise to me tonight, because I discovered a way cool trick.  Okay, I didn't discover it, so much as attempt it for the first time, but I am still pretty jazzed that it worked just like all the books said it would:

So the trick is this:  If you change needle sizes, you can get really useful gauge changes that cause things to have shapes that totally look like they were on purpose.  Yeah, I know:  That's only like rule number 3 of knitting (the first 2 are: 1. Get some String-Like Substance, and 2. Throw the cat/laundry/spouse off the Comfortable Chair) but sometimes I go back and make friends with the basics after missing the point, say, a kajillion times.  This is one of those junctures, and I am totally blissed out.  See the curviness on that neckline?  Wicked!  And I didn't even have to throttle block it into submission!

In case you are like me and called in sick/bored/hungover on that day at Knitting School, I will outline the technique in a technical but impressive fashion; to wit:

The top edge of this neckband was worked on a size 1, the middle three rows on a 2, and the last three rows on a 4.

Then, just to be a total sassy-pants, I did the bind off with a 5, in case the excitement over my impending success caused me to tighten up my tension and wreck the whole thing.

Okay, here's a sneak peek at the right side, just so I don't forget how to take pictures of the fronts of things.

I held the completed project up to the TV to show Jim Lehrer, but he didn't seem too impressed.  One great thing about my family is that they can't knit as well as me, so they always act super-impressed when I finish things.  Evidently the esteemed Mr. Lehrer is totally bored by my needle-size-changing-gauge feats, because he just went droning on about the Middle East when I showed him.  I am totally unappreciated in my living room.  So much for hedonism.  
 

One Sleeve, Two Sleeve, Watch Me Knit a New Sleeve

Here is the elder of two sibling sleeves.  Actually, it's the wrong side of the elder of two sibling sleeves.  I am showing it this way for two compelling reasons:

1.    I think the "wrong" sides of things are really interesting:  Who's to say my wrong side isn't somebody else's right side?  It's like the difference between Flowers and Weeds.  Ask a child which is which and they will surprise you...

2.    This is supposed to be a titillating sneak preview, not a full-frontal sleeve expose', otherwise you would just read my blog and not buy my book.  Or so the theory goes.

I suffer from clinical bouts of Second Sleeve Syndrome.  It's the same malady that keeps me becoming a respectable sock knitter.  The crushing realization that I have to start all over again tends to suck a lot of the joy out of the completion of the first unit for me.

Here's a closeup of some groovy floats.  They don't call it "Stranded Color Work" for nothin - once you have the first sleeve done, you are marooned on the Island of the Second Sleeve until you gain the fortitude to either wait for your rescue or swim to safety.

Swimming to Safety:  Here's the hem facing of the second sleeve.  Yeah, sure I started, but it's a long way to the armhole.  The thing in the foreground is my stitch marker that fell off.

The body of this little gem is all done, so I have no excuse not to wail all the way up the sleeve and have it all over with.  This is also a benchmark project:  The last of 5 cardigans in my book.  Lots of people have stopped to talk to me as I worked on it in public, which I take to be a good sign.  Of course, it could be just the screaming green wool that I'm using for the main color (of the outside, that is).  It's a perfect example of my trademark subtlety and restraint.  Kinda like a freight train at a prayer meeting.