A Few Questions

The sweater I mentioned is finished. I wove in the last few ends on Friday, as promised, but I didn't end up blocking it until last night. The blocking scared me a little-- in fact, anticipatory fear of the blocking was what held me back from finishing the darn thing in the first place. After touching water, will it still fit in an attractively slouchy way... or will it become lounge wear? Or better yet, a cat bed?

It's still sopping-- it will be days, weeks, maybe, before it's dry enough to try on-- but I think it's going to be okay. I don't dare verify this with anything so scientific as a tape measure. Which seems like the right thing to do, given that I didn't check my gauge with anything so scientific as a swatch before I cast on.

Delusional knitting is what that is called. But doesn't it look wonderful?

And I think the universe was satisfied by my efforts, because another happy accident of fate brought me together with a dear friend on Saturday. Though we live in the same region of the country, within driving distance even, and generally smile and laugh our faces off every time we get together, this doesn't happen often enough. It was so nice to see her.

I wonder what will happen if I go off now and swatch for a new project? Using my own hand-dyed yarn? It has been sitting unused for almost a year-- if I take it up now what rewards lie in store? Should I buy a lottery ticket?

Serendipity

I came home from work last night at 11:30, which is unusual because I normally come home at 7:30 in the morning. I occasionally get these little gifts of extra free time, and since I have been lately thinking about writing here again, the moment seemed ripe for starting.

It has been almost a year since my last post, but I prefer to say that it has been less than a year since my last post. The devil is in the details. As with many other time periods of less than a year, many things happened-- and not much happened-- but I have let it all go by without comment. Which I don't regret, entirely.

I wasn't sure I wanted to write about anything, least of all knitting. I haven't been trying to come up with things to say, but I also haven't been deliberately avoiding it either. I guess I have just been waiting for something to push me in one direction or another-- either to definitively stop or definitively start.

What I have noticed is the desire to write slowly returning to me. I want to organize thoughts into words, words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and so on. I remember handing in my last paper senior year of college, and thinking, with great pleasure, "Ha! I never have to do THAT again!" Strange to find myself here, ten years later, wanting to write about everything.

And by everything, I mean a lot of things that are not knitting. When I think about knitting, more often than not, I think IN knitting, if that makes sense. And I dream in knitting quite a bit too. But someone once said that writing about art is like dancing about architecture -- the translation is complicated. I'm also beginning to think that I started a knitting blog (or two) to disguise any notions of being a "serious" writer-- which isn't really fair to knitting as a craft or as a topic worthy of  consideration. A blog with few readers flies under the radar no matter the subject, so I suppose I'm free to choose whatever subject I like.

I have a feeling knitting will come up at some point.

Now that is started, and with some of my remaining unscheduled free time I think I will try to finish something else-- a sweater, a nearly done sweater with a mere handful of ends to be woven in. It has been sitting there for almost three weeks. Or as I prefer to say, less than a month. The moment is ripe-- the universe demands it.