Join Mary on her adventures in playing with string.
Number of stitches found out of place, way back in the first repeat of the motif: 1
Number of rows it took me to notice the error: 83
Number of minutes I spent rationalizing NOT fixing it ("I could embroider over it!" "No one else will ever see that!" "What if I just make it worse?") 95
Number of minutes required to actually FIX the problem: 23
Number of stitches NOT frogged and rekint: 24,900
Number of sleepless nights wasted: 0
Here is a delightful Sunday afternoon which I almost saw some parts of, when I was looking up. This is my life while I make a book: I am physically present, emotionally and intellectually engaged, and totally not looking up. The sweater came to the show with me, listened to good music with me, enjoyed being with some people I love, and grew by an inch or so.
Some people I love
The Worst Hat In The World, however, deserved my full attention, if only for long enough to model it. As you can see, opportunities of this magnitude don't present themselves every day. There are things one wants to tell ones children about, after all.
Something interesting I have noticed about my friends: Back when I used to pretend that I don't need to be knitting every waking second, my friends would act surprised to see me pull out my project du jour and knit on it. I even used to think it would be rude to work on a sweater at an informal gathering. I was afraid of sending the message that my esteemed associates didn't deserve my full attention. Now that I am living with a Compressed Schedule (euphemism for deeply challenged time management skills), I take the knitting everywhere. If I am to have any life at all while I author a book, I am learning I better shoehorn some life in around the knitting. So the sweaters come with me to the pool party, to the barbecue, or like this, to the concert with my pals. This is the interesting thing, though: my friends have gotten used to it. They even are interested in what I'm working on (at least the projects are changing from one visit to another!), and totally roll with the fact that I am listening and talking, but not really making full eye contact at all times. They love me anyway. I get to keep working on my all-consuming passion, and still take part in good times with good people. Blessed, Blessed, Blessed.
Stick a fork in the spotted sweater: It's done. Won't say I'm sorry to see it bound off, either. Enough's enough with that yarn and that design (2 just alike in a row is a substantially less-good idea than it seems).
And so another honeymoon begins: This is from Harrisville, whose mill has been producing wool yarn since 1794. How cool is that? I love that I can take part in a little history by supporting them. And the yarn is dreamy too - sticky, evenly spun 2-ply in the kind of super-saturated colors that call to mind your first box of pointy new crayons. True Love.
A little birdy told me...(okay, it was 20 repeats of a little birdy) Did I mention this thing is BIG? It's been a while since I made anything Man-Sized, and I'm beginning to remember why: More sweater = slower progress = DUH. More's the woe for DH. Fortunately, he doesn't complain. He must not realize that he is underprivileged, owning only one (1) handknit made by his wife. And that one isn't even my own design - it's someone else's pattern that I wish I had come up with.
Expanded View: Expansive Sweater.
I am digging this motif, and the dream yarn? Well some yarn just knows what it wants to be, and seems to get there with or without me, which is a welcome relief from what I now realize was kind of a battle to the finish line on that last project. Guess I just had to push through the wall. Now that I'm on the other side, I am really enjoying knitting. I especially love this part of every project: I have already figured out how many stitches there are in the body, and I don't have to do any more math until waaaaaay up at the shoulders. I can just relax and work on it without thinking (for now) about how someone else will be able to reproduce it. That part is fun, too, but I can wait.
Here's to the peace of closure, the smugness of completion, and the romance of the new.