Wednesday got off to an exciting start this morning with a burst blood vessel in my left eye. I know because I’ve seen an Eye Man. He rang up the eye hospital as I sat there, to find out if they wanted to see me straight away, and they didn’t. There’s nothing to be done immediately, he says, and I’ll hear from the hospital soon about an appointment. He’ll fax them details and a photograph of my Inner Eye.
So that was scary.
I’ve reached row 14 of Repeat No #9 – the slow, slightly difficult part of the repeat is finished. I gave up calculating and tried counting motifs, outwards from the centre stitch, and still find that there are fewer stitches on the right side. I’m adding them at decent intervals.
I’m sure the picking up of stitches has been correctly done. What happens is that you pick up a stitch from the border at the end of every row – and begin the next row by knitting two together. The actual new stitches come from that faggoting: yo, k2tog, yo on each side every other row.
There’s room for clumsiness at the end/beginning of a row, but that doesn’t explain how I could be so very far out. I thought of your idea, Cynthia, that the centre marker had somehow been moved – but that doesn’t help. If my calculations are right, there are too few stitches in the row, no matter where that marker is.
“Inspired to Knit”, recommended by Franklin for its difficulta, turned up yesterday. It’s not for me, I’m afraid, although one or two of the shrug-like garments briefly tempt. Still, it’s endlessly fun entering a new book in LibraryThing.
It set me to wondering for a while, what it is I do like, when it comes to actual garments for myself. EZ, I think, and not much else. Those late pictures of her with Meg wearing garter stitch jackets (The Bog Jacket? Round the Bend?) are utterly attractive. Why don’t I just knit one?
I took Alexander’s sock along to the oculist, and finished the gusset decreases while waiting for the eye drops to work. A problem looms. I’m using an Araucania Multi and the current skein is nearly finished. I started winding the next one, and it becomes obvious that although very similar, it is not the same.
Alexander is not a natty dresser (he doesn’t own a suit or even a jacket) but he has his standards. As it happens, we are going to Glasgow on Friday to see some art – Chardin and Boucher at the Hunterian, if I’ve got it right -- and to stay overnight with the Mileses at their second home in the city. So I can show him what’s going on. I had better take some other yarn so that I can cast on socks for my husband if Alexander throws up his hands in horror.
And meanwhile Ketki, the banker, should have some tales to tell us. I think her bank, JP Morgan Chase, had some of Bush's largesse forced on it yesterday.
We’re going up to Princes Street this afternoon on various tedious errands. I may cheer myself up with the new Jamie Oliver book.