If you can handle yet another knitting post ...
I assure you, I do more than knit. Much more. I've been having really deep thoughts out the wazoo. But knitting seems to be what I'm most articulate about at the moment. So without further ado:
Meet the Tribble.
The Tribble is actually a ball? hank? whatchamacallit of Artful Yarns "Portrait" yarn, from which I am trying to extract a lace scarf.
I've finished one pattern repeat, and in a good light -- in this case, my flashbulb -- the scarf looks like this.
The pattern is a little more obscured otherwise, both by the fuzz and perhaps by the darkish color. Nonetheless, it still looks pretty, so I'm going to soldier on.
I made one previous attempt at knitting the Tribble, and it ended badly a few rows into the pattern. Lace is lovely, but it's also a complex balance of decreasing and increasing. In some places, you join two or more stitches from the previous row with one new stitch. In other places, you wrap the yarn around the working needle without inserting the needle into a stitch, thus making a new loop out of nothing. The combination of the two produces the holes and shapes of lace; it also produces a headache if you can't keep them all straight.
In my previous attempt, I achieved such a headache, tried to unravel what little I'd done, and ended up breaking the yarn because the stitches just wouldn't come apart. (It's all that damn fuzz.) I probably could have salvaged the scrap, but as I was ready to curse Artful Yarns and its employees' offspring unto the ninth generation, the scarf bit wound up in the trash.
Last night, I plunged into the fray again, this time properly armed.
A glass of plum wine, a Tribble of yarn, and thou ...
I made up for lost work, and then some. I have renewed faith that I will conquer this pattern, oh yes, I will.
I will face this project. I will permit any problems to pass over me and through me. And when it is done, I will turn the inner eye to appreciate its beauty. Where the Tribble has been, there will be nothing. Only lace will remain.
stelic, bless his dastardly little heart, enjoys imitating me as I knit in front of the TV. An approximate description of his rendition follows:
(with somewhat dour look on face)
*stare at knitting*
*knit knit knit*
*cast withering glance at TV for a nanosecond*
*stare at knitting again*
*knit knit knit*
*mutter expletives*
*unravel*
*knit knit knit*
*cast withering glance at TV for a nanosecond*
... and so on. (I deny everything, of course.)
Meet the Tribble.
The Tribble is actually a ball? hank? whatchamacallit of Artful Yarns "Portrait" yarn, from which I am trying to extract a lace scarf.
I've finished one pattern repeat, and in a good light -- in this case, my flashbulb -- the scarf looks like this.
The pattern is a little more obscured otherwise, both by the fuzz and perhaps by the darkish color. Nonetheless, it still looks pretty, so I'm going to soldier on.
I made one previous attempt at knitting the Tribble, and it ended badly a few rows into the pattern. Lace is lovely, but it's also a complex balance of decreasing and increasing. In some places, you join two or more stitches from the previous row with one new stitch. In other places, you wrap the yarn around the working needle without inserting the needle into a stitch, thus making a new loop out of nothing. The combination of the two produces the holes and shapes of lace; it also produces a headache if you can't keep them all straight.
In my previous attempt, I achieved such a headache, tried to unravel what little I'd done, and ended up breaking the yarn because the stitches just wouldn't come apart. (It's all that damn fuzz.) I probably could have salvaged the scrap, but as I was ready to curse Artful Yarns and its employees' offspring unto the ninth generation, the scarf bit wound up in the trash.
Last night, I plunged into the fray again, this time properly armed.
A glass of plum wine, a Tribble of yarn, and thou ...
I made up for lost work, and then some. I have renewed faith that I will conquer this pattern, oh yes, I will.
I will face this project. I will permit any problems to pass over me and through me. And when it is done, I will turn the inner eye to appreciate its beauty. Where the Tribble has been, there will be nothing. Only lace will remain.
stelic, bless his dastardly little heart, enjoys imitating me as I knit in front of the TV. An approximate description of his rendition follows:
(with somewhat dour look on face)
*stare at knitting*
*knit knit knit*
*cast withering glance at TV for a nanosecond*
*stare at knitting again*
*knit knit knit*
*mutter expletives*
*unravel*
*knit knit knit*
*cast withering glance at TV for a nanosecond*
... and so on. (I deny everything, of course.)