Only An Ocean Away

It has been said that the body of a sweater can be an endless ocean of stockinette.

I tend to agree.  Today's meditation focuses on the middles of sweaters. 

Between the interesting and exciting Beginning of the sweater, and the triumphant exhilaration of the End of the sweater, lies the no-man's land of the body knitting.  It's a desert, an unbroken field, an airport parking lot.  Immense, gargantuan, and freakin' huge.  The sweater I am working on has entered this stage prematurely, on day 2 of its existence.  It's my own fault.  I thought I would mix things up a bit, and eschew my typical extravagant lower border in favor of something more restrained.  I'm supposed to challenge myself, no?  Well that was fine, except I forgot that a simple little border does not offer the bonus of distraction.  When the first thing I do on a garment is six or eight inches of challenging color work, the difficulty usually distracts me from thinking about how many inches are completed.  Not so with this number.  The wimpy little nancy-border was over in like two seconds, leaving me on stranded on the beach.  Nothing to see but the miles of flat water ahead.  No cables or shaping or interest of any kind.  Nothing but the hypnotic sameness of knit, knit, knit. 

I have heard this kind of knitting referred to as "TV knitting".  I think it refers to the kind of knitting you can do at the same time as something else, because it doesn't require much of you.  Since ALL of my knitting is done at the same time as something else, I can't really categorize it that way.  This is neither talent nor gift; only strategy.  If I didn't co-knit (knitting while also in line at the DMV, knitting while also quizzing a child on spelling words, knitting while also water skiing - you know the drill), I would never knit at all.

This piece is also big.  I mean BIG, as in 288 stitches in a round, on size 3 needles.  That's a 48" circumference, to you and me (provided the Gods of Gauge are feeling benevolent - never a guarantee).  I made the mistake of estimating how many stitches are going to be in the thing:  80,640.  This does not encourage me.  I have decided instead to measure my progress, not by the stitch, or even the inch, but by the skein.  That's right; even yardage is too weak a measurement;  I need the big guns.  I have estimated that 5 inches of sweater body length equal about one skein of yarn, so that is going to be my progress milepost.  I predict that I will have to knit one whole skein every day this week to stay on schedule.  Even for a knitting maniac, that is a fat-ass goal.

I will now retreat to what relative privacy I can , and execute the following emergency measures:

1.    A sincere entreaty to the patron saint(s) of Repetitive Motion Injury - anybody know who that is?
2.    Blood sacrifice to Garterina and Stockinetta, the Pagan Gods of dull knitting.
3.    Serene reflection on the nature and consequence of overcommitment.
4.    Location of the backup emergency corkscrew.

Can't See the Forest for the Trees

Today the view from my lap looks like this:

And it's pretty appropriate, because I seem to have lost perspective on a few things.  Today's gentle reminders to myself include:

1.  I will not die if I miss my publication deadline.  I hereby declare that instead of going fetal every time I look at a calendar, I will calm the hell down and enjoy the PROCESS of sample knitting.  The sun will still shine, the rain will still fall, and the front doorknob will still come off in my hand every third Wednesday, weather or not I achieve my literary goals. 

2.  While I acknowlede that there is more in the universe than my narrow little existience, I must also resist the pull of Project Lust; the force of nature that compells me to pick this, of all times, to take up, say, papermaking or sashiko quilting, or Renaissance dance.  However focused I am on the project at hand, the instinct to begin something new gains power in direct proportion.  I will stomp on this impulse, remembering that diluting my attention is the opposite of getting done.

3.  I will be nice to my loved ones.  Phillip has filled my car's cupholders with golf balls (your guess is as good as mine).  The children insist that they exist solely to eat sugar and watch television.  Even the kittens are climbing the walls (literally, using the draperies to belay one another).  None of these things is intended as a personal assault on my well-being.  They are just life.  My life.  However bizarre it may be.  So the people/creatures I share time and space with deserve my love and patience, regardless of any other demands placed on me.

4.  If these reminders fail to work today, I will remember that tomorrow is another gift I will be given, in which to try again.
 

My Entourage

With the weekend all to myself, I am surprised at how quickly I have gone completely feral.  I have studiously ignored ALL forms of housework.  I have eaten nothing that required the use of dishes.  I only left the house to buy ribbon for a sweater, and the latest issue of Interweave Knits.  I had grand visions of lots of self-indulgent me-time activities, like bubble baths and recreational reading, and shaving my legs and drinking wine.  Turns out all I wanted to do was work, snack, and sleep.  Having made no attempt to maintain even minimum sanitation standards in my house, I find it much easier to fight the guilt if I just don't look up from my work.

I'm not completely alone, though.  The Pets are keeping a diligent watch over me (as long as diligence includes napping)  Here's my cast of supporting characters:

Paisley peeks around a corner to see if I have noticed yet that the CHILDREN ARE NOT HERE, and what am I, DUMB or something?  She is highly agitated due to the irregularity of their absence, and as a result her nap schedule is in a complete state of disruption.

Not suffering from this problem are Hex and Jinx:

They barely opened their eyes for their photo opportunity, and are only dimly aware that they have me all to themselves.    I realize that posting pictures of my cats on my blog is a totally Uber-Dweeb thing to do, but I hope to be forgiven this once, because they are only kittens and they are so CUUUUUUTE...  Yeah, I know:  I seriously need to knit less/leave the house more.  Have mercy on my pitiful soul though;  I lack a certain perspective, due to extended periods of sweater construction.  We who are about to write a book salute you.

I completed the sibling sleeves, and presented them to my assistant for inspection:

She is not as enthusiastic a supporter of my work as I had hoped.  Maybe if I wrapped the sleeves around a pork chop or something...

As much as I crave and relish time by myself, I realize that I may not be the type of person who should be left to my own devices too often.  Lucky for me, Phillip and the smallies will be home this evening to regale me with tales of everything I missed at the lake.  And I will tell them that however much I just want to be left alone sometimes, they are the only thing I have worth being awake for.  Except, of course, for the Entourage.