Seeking Patience, and Something Unusual

I'm slogging away at the Frog Prince.  Still.  Again.  Would you believe that I still don't love it and I gutted it again?  Broke my heart, but there it is.  I just want it how I want it, and the wise words of one of the Faery Ring knitters came back to me:  "I have never regretted tearing something out to make it right, but I have often been disappointed when I didn't".  Hard to argue with that.  And the thought of knitters at my door with torches and pitchforks is always added incentive. 

My frustration is nearly complete, but I'm trying to keep in mind the old adage: "Be patient, God isn't finished with me yet".  Applies so well to knitters and knitting.

Your kind words and enthusiasm, Gentle Readers, have been such inspiration for me to attack the Knot Garden again:

Here is the second sleeve, begun with a nice bit of the knot garden cable business for a cuff.  I'll turn it sideways and knit up for the rest of the sleeve.  Wonder how come I always like cables better turned sideways?  Same disorder that causes me to color outside the lines, no doubt.  Working on this is a welcome distraction when I get a gut full of the Frog.

And now for Something Unusual:  

Friends of the blog Interweave Press  have invited me to take part in a virtual Tour of Studios.  This event will be held this Saturday, October 3.  Click the magazine cover above to follow the link this weekend, and you can take in the sights, which include the work digs of many different designers.  I don't know about you, but the physical spaces in which creativity happens fascinate me.  My little corner of the design world will be on the tour, so you can see where all the magic (and sniveling) happens.  I can't wait to see where other designers work.  I'm particularly interested to learn if many others have tiny little areas, like me.  My office is actually in the hallway which joins my foyer to my dining room - barely even qualifies as a hallway - and occupies less than 70 square feet.  I long for a real room with a door, but for the time being, this little space suits me well.  Once I carved it out, I was really surprised how popular it became with the rest of my family:  I usually have to shoo one or more smallies out of the way to do my thing.

In the meantime, if anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner, muttering curses on a frog.
 

My Esteemed Associates

I am trudging through a particularly dull patch of black stockinette.  This would be the third incarnation of the Frog Prince sleeve, whose glamour is well and truly off, at the moment.  It's one of those stretches whose progress is both slow and invisible; measurable only by the intensity of the cramp forming in my brain. 

Slow doesn't begin to describe it. 

Glacial. 

Snailworthy.

I looked across my desk for validation, if not inspiration, from Clementine.  She reminded me that the new pet I got her, Gary, could probably feel my pain.

Gary, as you can see, is an actual snail.  I got him as a present for Clementine, to keep her company, and to clean up around the place (not much of a housekeeper, my fish).  So far Gary does a bang-up job in both respects.  But he does neither job quickly, nor would Clementine expect him to.

And then, clever beast that I am, I made the connection:  The issue is not that my sleeve is slow to progress; it's that my perception of how long a sleeve should take is wrong.  It's wrong because I have started the sleeve three times, which cumulatively should add up to at least one finished sleeve, even though it hasn't.  Ever sit in traffic for a really long time and think "I could have driven to Fargo North Dakota by now"?  That's this sleeve.  I could have been to Fargo, but I haven't even gotten across town.

None of this would bother Gary.  His pace is exactly as it should be, which is Snailworthy.  No amount of fretting or flagellation is going to increase the acreage he covers.

Humans should be so patient.  That's what we get for coming out of our shells.

I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

We spent the weekend at the beach, as is our custom at this time of year.  Right before school starts, all our best friends, their children and their dogs converge at Devil's Lake.  The lake is just inland from the mighty Pacific Ocean, where big fun was had by all:

Smallies in their native habitat: Wet and Sandy.

Phillip got a Karate lesson.  He should be out of traction by spring.

Paisley made a new friend.

And I knitted this

This is the way the Frog Prince begins.  I made three panels (two side fronts and a back) with steeks in between them, knitted in a tube.  Here you can see the two fronts, with their steek between.  Tonight I will cut them apart and block them, and then the real mischief begins.  The cunning plan is to join them at the shoulders, then pick up and knit the sides of the body and the sleeves sideways.  It's gonna be wicked cool.  I know because I'm still at the point in the project where nothing has been jacked up yet (that I have noticed), and the plan is self-concocting flawlessly in my head.  This is in many ways the best part of designing - I only have to think stuff up and make it be knitted.  It's communicating coherently to others how they can do it too that gives me trouble. 

Which brings me to a question I have for you, dear blog:  Would you rather not hear/see any of the Frog Prince process until it's all finished and available for you to make your own?  Or would it be useful/amusing to see the process step by step as I create the pattern? Kindly weigh in, dear readers, via comments.

I really wailed on the knitting this weekend, and I even managed to relax with my friends and family.  I brought along the copy of my book and tortured my poor indulgent friends into looking at it.  These are the very same suspects who were forced to watch me knit at every social event for a year so that the book could be written in the first place.  It was nice to be able to hold and point to the physical manifestation of all that.  None of these people are knitters, so a willingness to flip through the pages is more than I had a right to expect.  Lucky for me they are loving and supportive, so it doesn't matter to them whether I write about knitting, or Kung Fu, or cellular mitosis.

And I may also have made a sock, but I plan to deny it.