There is no way of saying it other than just saying it: The Yarn Rascal had a Gold Paw weekend. Yes, the Cape Ann Afghan is done, thanks to The Skipper who kept the Yarn Rascal in another room while I completed it. No, it is not blocked. I fear it may never be blocked, but that may be just my hysteria rising. I looked in the garage, where I planned to block the afghan in safety. Truly, it’s the only place in the house that is Yarn Rascal proof. He has no way of gaining access to it. As I said, I looked in the garage ready to move the saw horses into position and realized there’s a ton of heavy stuff all over the space.
Every heavy object The Skipper owns is in the garage but the car, and the car definitely wouldn’t fit even if for some apocalyptic, super-storm reason we needed to get the car in there the task of making space is so monumental that the apocalyptic, super-storm would hit long before we could make a dent in the “stuff”. I can’t move any of it by myself. The standing band saw weighs upwards of a 1000 pounds and would need to be moved with the tractor which is also in the garage. The industrial band saw isn’t the only heavy piece of wood working equipment calling the garage home. In short, there is no way to eek out a space of 60 x 60 inches (152 x 152 cm) without engaging tractor and straps and strategic planning on the level of a major construction job.
So I thought I’d try Plan B. I knew it was risky. I knew in the pit of my stomach that it might just send Yarn Rascal over the edge. Block the afghan in the living room in the space I have already set up for blocking, but which hasn’t been used since Yarn Rascal arrived. Not wanting to wantonly subject the afghan to the wild and unknown, I thought I would do a trial run with a shawl I made during Super Storm Sandy. I’ve written up the directions and plan to offer it as a free pattern this Autumn.
The one thing the Yarn Rascal hates is water. He can’t stand it when his feet get even minimally wet. A full bath is traumatic for him. I reasoned (lied to myself) that once the shawl was wet and laying out to dry that it would be safe. To ensure its safety, I employed the equivalent of a medieval moat around a castle: I wet a few towels and placed them that if
when he got up on the table where the shawl was blocking he would have to step on the wet towels before he could get to the prize.
I’ll omit the lurid details. Let me just say at dinner time on Sunday evening the Yarn Rascal reached the pinnacle of his version of Mt. Everest. Dinner went up in flames (literally), the shawl recaptured. To my amazement, it weathered the onslaught quite well.
In the meanwhile, we have a brand new older buck in the area. The Skipper took these pictures. The buck’s antlers are still in the velvet. His coat has already turned to the gray brown Autumn coloring.