I had a lot of fun last night putting all those projects for which I have yarn and pattern into my Ravelry queue, as you suggested, Lisa and Joni. And like you, Lisa, I spent such happy time doing it that there was little or none left for blogging.
As with anything, an actual, finite, written-down list is less terrifying and less depressing than the vague feeling that I’ve-bought-too-much. Although that remains true.
As for actual knitting, I went on with the Neap Tide shawl. I found the ball bands, and they are both from the same dye lot. The shawl is beginning to feel substantial, but when I stretch it out on the floor and measure, it is still short of a metre. (The finished size is supposed to be two metres, and I am past half way.) I’m not going to worry. Blocking can achieve wonders, and anyway it feels as if it will be big enough.
The new IK turned up. New editor, lots of really good patterns, especially shawls and summer tops. And I’m interested in the Summit Vest, towards the end. It’s closed with a zipper. (Horror! Horror!) The zipper is of a different colour to the knitting, and set in so that the tape shows. My died-and-gone-to-heaven dream is that Franklin will come to the EYF next year and teach his class on fastenings, but until then I am rather taken with the thought that a little clumsiness may not be the end of the world.
The one thing I would complain about with this issue, is that there’s nothing to read. There is what I am sure is an extremely useful article about designing set-in sleeves, but all that arithmetic is less than soothing at the end of a long hard day. I speak as one who is not afraid of arithmetic.
Here is the promised picture of the sweater I knit for Rachel, long ago. “1969” the magazine says – she was 11 that year. I knit it twice – both times for her? I can’t remember. I never knit the hat, but I like it. Maybe there will be enough Buachaille left over from Miss Rachel’s Yoke to attempt it.
I am sorry for anything I said yesterday that offended anyone. All of us are nervy in this extraordinary election year, and I will try really hard not to overstep again. My sister emailed me in defense of Hillary, and I replied with the paragraph I had been polishing in my head for publication here. Just as well. Hillary hurt my feelings, all those years ago, with her famous line about baking cookies, and I have found it hard to acknowledge her undoubted abilities ever since.
And Kentucky couldn’t make up its mind.