Tuesday, April 11, 2017
And so on
Warriston is lounging beside the fireplace, drying after a bath. I might have had this pullover done already, but midway through the second sleeve, the last of the wound yarn ran out, so rather than spending four minutes getting out the swift for more winding, I exerted a minimum effort, leaned over, grabbed the nearest ball of whatever that was already wound, and started something else. Scarfy Thing, by Beata Jezek. This thing totally captivated me for about forty-eight hours, but has hid the skids already, because after merrily clipping along in a sock yarn leftovers trance all weekend I suddenly reached a point at which it seems like the best way to proceed with this will be [theme from Jaws] intarsia. Urgh. I don't like to do intarsia. Which is not the same as saying I don't know how to do intarsia, because how else would I know I don't like it? Intarsia, with it's multiple-balls-at-once-twisting-into-a-spiderweb action is one of my personal knitting nightmares. I hate sitting trapped in the epicenter of a complicated mess of tangling yarn ends. Part of the appeal of knitting for me is the tidiness--two sticks, one ball of string. I like an easily learned pattern, and I can stuff it in my purse as I run out the door. Waiting in line at the DMV is nothing to dread when you have your knitting with you... unless your current project involves INTARSIA. I think the next section calls for it, though, and I am going to yank up my knee socks and intarsia that thing--eventually--but that little snag did motivate me to get off the couch, wind the rest of the brown yarn, and finish the Warriston. Yesterday was [dare I say this?] pretty much a summer's day, hold my hand, because I may cry...so gorgeous. Warm, warm air. What? What is that? My sun-starved, frost-eaten, snow-blinded reluctantly Northern self can't even handle. Catdog and I sprawled all day long on the porch, hungrily soaking up the vitamin D, and counting convertibles, and even when a cloud covered the sun, the gorgeous April air, the wind was still warm. We kept looking at each other in wonderment, Catdog and I, and she telegraphed her joy by lying in one sunny spot and not moving a muscle. You guys, two days ago, there was snow on the roof. Which means there could be snow again before we're done here--it is still just April after all, and nobody around here is packing away their parkas yet--and I might still need the Warriston. I hope not. But it'll be ready when I do need it. Meanwhile, I'm tackling some intarsia. Urgh.