Perhaps it's the heat, but I can't seem to knit a simple so-called "instant gratification" sweater without bunging it up.
It was weeks ago that I sat down with the Kochoran yarn (on sale, remember? yip yip yipee, I say) and the Earnshaw pattern (grease stained from the months of caresses -- sheep lanolin you know) and made note of the cast on number. That was the last time I looked at the pattern, really, because ::sarcastic eye-rolling:: I know enough about sweaters and what I want them to be that I don't really need to be checking the decreases under the pitts or counting the rows until I can bind off for the neck and the shoulders, okay?
Wait, don't hate me -- here's my come-uppance: The thing I love about this sweater? The whole reason I wanted it in the first place?
The garter stitch yoke. D'uh.
I had knit the whole thing in stockinette, come to the smug self-satisfied end of the week of knitting the back and the sleeves and the front . . . and was drawn up short like a dog at the end of a very long leash chasing the neighborhood cat . Whoops. As in ass-whupping Whoops.
Needless to say, I ripped. You know I did, because I do that when I make a mistake, even if it's more than 75% of a sweater later after the stupid shitty bitch shitty bitch shitty bitch moment I bunged it up. I knit it back up again (and this time I checked the pattern obsessively), or at least I did that with the front. I can't quite face down the back or the sleeves just yet. Anyway, who needs a frickin' angora sweater in freakin' July? It's lace season for cryin' out loud. And serves me right for thinking I could jump the sweater queue with a project even if the yarn was on righteous sale and I thought it should only take me a week to knit it. Hubris, my friends. It ain't just for Shakespeare.
So I'm putting the thing away until the weather is hospitible to the bunny.
Instead, I think I've been bit by the Mystery Stole. Cyndy and the gang over at The Yarn and Fiber Company (who keep a shop giddy and promiscuous about the fiber arts, you should know) dropped the last straw on this very weak camel's back when they showed me the first clue all knit up, and the pile of Helen's Lace they keep for such
That's the Cedar colour. Nice, eh? I know I know, not an orthodox colour. As if the laceweight by itself weren't enough of a push, they have the beads too, right there next to the cash register like the candy-coated impulse buy that it is. These are lilac-lined peridot, size 6. You know how much I like the beads.
I think I may have freaked them out a little, since they'd never seen me before and don't what all the excitement was about. I also bought a penguin needle felting kit for The Boy (who was there with me) in the heat of the moment. My enthusiasm for a new shop I.just.like goes to my head. It wasn't until I was in the car that I remembered that I own about six fleeces at the moment, and a handful of carded wool is a silly thing to drop three fivers on, so I'll just think about having bought it as a kind of apology for all the heavy breathing. But it is fucking cute.