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Archive for June 15th, 2015

It’s Monday. Yarn Rascal had a blow out of a weekend. I don’t think he slept 15 minutes in the last 48 hours. The big finale came at 4 am when the heavy thunder storm moved through along with buckets of rain. He was totally out of his little mind.

I can forget about photographing the sweater. The light is as grey as grey can get without becoming night. Instead, I will write-up the pattern and wait for better light.

The sock I am knitting is coming along. At the risk of alerting the knitting gods, I must say it has been an uneventful knit. But never worry, there’s always the second sock that needs to be done, so the knitting gods haven’t yet lost an opportunity to torment me.

The edging for the Rock Island Shawl hit a horrendous small snag when I discovered that the lifeline I was inserting every eighth row wasn’t really inserted every eighth row. I somehow miscounted rows and a good 3″ (8) cm of lace work was no longer following the nice lace pattern. Lifelines are great as long as they are inserted on the right rows and correct row count is maintained.

I made the announcement to the house and all in it that nobody breath, move, or talk until I gave the all clear. I was removing the lifeline (gasp!). Of course Yarn Rascal was the first to bounce joyously into my lap the minute the last bit of lifeline left the naked, quivering stitches unprotected and open to chaos. Then The Skippers small grandchildren decided to surprise us and stop by, during which all becomes mayhem because everyone wants to play with Yarn Rascal, who is only too obliging. Everybody is running from room to room squealing and nothing stands a chance of not being run over or torn apart.

The edging took a hit when Yarn Rascal, in his over enthusiastic glee, tackled the youngest child who in turn grabbed onto the edging in my hand as he fell to the ground. (How terrible is it that my first thought was to save the edging and not the child?) I lost a number of rows, but it wasn’t too bad. I feared never finding out where I was in the knitting, but it forced me to get a slim handle on reading the lace. With lots of effort and the bright beginnings of a migraine I can identify row four of the eight lace rows. The other seven are still a mystery to me. Recognition must be done in a silent room where there is only me, the knitting, and a bright light. The dark royal purple yarn that looks so beautiful when knitted up is hell on the old eyes at night.

So all my quiet but fruitful plans for the weekend went unrealized. Why am I not surprised?

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