The Princess Who Frogged

Once Upon A Time, a Princess was knitting on a project-that-shall-not-be-named, when she suddenly realized it was ugly.  Not the whole project, just its beginning.  The Princess had totally overestimated how many rows of alternating vertical stripes were called for.  Which here means that she knit nine rows of them, when a better number would have been approximately zero.  The heinous vertical stripes had no place in the design, and worse, they made the whole size and proportion of the item sort of toad-like.  Which may actually be an insult to toads, now that I see the photo again. Ghastly.

Now the Princess, being no stranger to the Frog Pond, could easily see that the stripes had to go, and in a hurry.  Those stripes were like an amphibian eating off your golden plate: Unwelcome.  But the stripes were way back at the beginning of the now-completely-finished knitted thingy. 

Nothing for it:  She would have to Go Surgical.  Rather than gut the entire, otherwise non-offensive finished item, the Princess elected to remove the lower part of the knitting, and re-finish the lower edge.  Somehow.  Not that she had a clue what would happen, or how to do it.  She just thought anything would be better than the full Rip-It, Rip-It of the entire project, for something that had gone wrong way back at the beginning. 

Now, why the Princess failed to comprehend the repulsive nature of the lower part of the project untill after finishing the ENTIRE DAMN THING is a mystery for the Royal Psychiatrist.  Poor Suffering Bastard.

The Princess bravely snipped out the knitted-in picot hem with embroidery scissors, and resolutely set about unraveling the knitting from the bottom up.  But things went badly when the Princess reached the picot edge.  Turns out that you really can't reverse-frog a p2tog, YO folded picot edge from the bottom up.  The p2togs actually make little overhand knots when you try to pull them from the opposite direction of their making.  Bother.  So the Princess cut that row off the piece, too, figuring she'd be able to frog the stripes out, just as soon as those p2togs were out of the way.

Not, as it happens, so much.  It seems that even Princesses cannot reverse-frog stranded colorwork.  Who Knew?  A Princess who thought she wrote the book (well, A book, anyhow) on stranded colorwork should probably have known that you can't unknit stranded colorwork from the bottom up.  But she didn't, until today. 

Fortunately, the Princess has friends in low places, who can be called upon under such circumstances.  Allow me to introduce His Royal Highness, Ferdinand:

Ferdinand joined the Royal household under the guise of becoming a companion for a two-year-old Wee Lindsay.  But all the Royal Family and servants were aware that it was the Princess who really required Ferdinand's services.  Recognizing that a velvet frog must clearly be an enchanted Prince, she made him a crown of PolarFleece, and one Halloween, dressed up in full Princess finery, carried him around with her all day, kissing him loudly and shrieking "NOW CHANGE!" at him, for the amusement of her co-workers.  The days of the cube-farm are behind the Princess now, and even Wee Lindsay has less need of his stuffed bad self than once she did. 

But the Princess still keeps him around, just in case the need for a charm arises.  And who knows if all that kissing and shrieking might one day effect a delayed change on his slippery visage, anyway?  A girl can never be too sure.  Once the Princess had cut the bottom off her knitting for the third time in one day, it was clear that a need for a little pond-spawn magic had arisen.

Ferdinand croaked a melody which sounded pretty much like what you would expect from a frog who had been in storage in the garage.  But it did the trick, because the Princess was able to miraculously pick up the upside-down row of live stitches adjacent to her last cut, rescuing the un-ugly remainder of the item.  Ferdinand's Magic saved the project, and all its non-ugly bits were saved from the relentlessly unpleasant company of the horrid vertical stripes.

Here is the final carnage pile (WARNING: this image may be too graphic for new initiates to colorwork knitting.  Kindly have them clear the room for their own safety).  The re-knitted lower edge is visible to the left, sans nasty stripeage.

So what did the Princess learn?  Frogs are our Friends.  And even if you can't yank it out, then baby, you can always cut it off. 

Amen, Ferdinand; Preach on.

Say Hello to my Little Friend

I'm almost well enough to sit up and knit.  While I recouperate, have a gander at this:

The publisher kindly sent me this photo of Sweet Pea, my project from 60 Quick Baby Knits.  Ahh, the promise of Spring!
 

Potential

As Bailey acclimates to his new home, and we fall ever more deeply in love with our new pet, I'm thinking a lot this week about the beginnings of things. 

Whatever I'm working on, at whatever the stage of the process, I'm always looking ahead to the next thing.  It's not proactivity, or project management, or anything else so noble:  It's good old fashioned Start-Itis.  String Lust.  Wanton neglect of the old in pursuit of the new.  I'm meant to be working a button band for the last thing, but all I can think about is the new blue hat, still in skein form.

We knitters all suffer from this need to move on, to some degree.  It's part of the whole Knitter Mystique.  I'm wondering if there isn't some way to harness the crazy energy of the infatuation stage of a project.  Then I could lay it aside for later, when the Doldrums hit.  Imagine going to the cupboard for a wee dram of New Project Excitement, just when the sea of stockinette, or the nasty heel turn from hell rob us of our knitting momentum...

There must be a way.  I'm sure it would involve some sort of suction, and probably a distillation process.  Then, of course the patenting would be a nightmare, but well worth the trouble...I'll leave those details to my people. 

When I get some people, that is.

For now, my only assistant is a sassy blonde, who would like his ears scratched, please, as soon as possible.

The excitement of the beginning is all about the clean slate, for me.  As long as the yarn is still in skeins, I've yet to make a single mistake.  The project is still completely perfect, as long as it's only in my head.  I can see how someone with this mindset would eventually find themselves with a house full of yarn, and not a single finished object to show for it.  Not that I would know personally, you understand - this is entirely speculation.  Perfectionist Much?

Fortunately for me (so far), my unbridled lust desire to play with the string always overcomes my need to preserve its unspoilt beauty.  Sooner or later I always cast on.  Binding off, of course, is another matter entirely.  And what goes on in between may or may not be made of magic.  I suppose that's the really driving force for me:  What makes one song a hit and another one elevator music?  We'll never know why some designs are loved and others tank.  And dreaming up the next one is where all the charm lay for me.

One thing is for certain:  My production schedule is really going to take off once these Scottish Terriers learn to knit.