Okay. I after I set my Fair Isle project up for the shoot, I ran to get my camera and came back to this:
As one might discern, I’m nearly done with the second side of this bag. This project has been fun and I’m eager to do another one in the near future. Here’s the other side of Boba and the bag:
Clearly, he didn’t appreciate the disturbance especially after I set this out specifically for him to nap on. In about 16 hours, I might be able to knit again; according to SCNT (Standard Cat Nap Time).
I am still working the moebius. It’s on the back burner. Now that I’m comfortable with the rhythm of the pattern, I feel confident I can set it aside to finish the bag. Besides, I want to show the bag off at the Playground ~ my ulterior motive. I need some recognition, an esteem booster, like a shot of nicotine, like a Soap star fishing for admirers at the mall (I’m assuming you’ve seen Soap Dish).
What I have decided to bring to the Playground (on balmier knitting days) is one ball of some unidentifiable fiber from my grandmother’s stash and a book she bequeathed to me: Patterns for Guernseys, Jerseys & Arans; Fishermen’s Sweaters from the British Isles by Gladys Thompson. I got this cool book (published by Dover 1971) and all her knitting needles with the special box that she kept them in. That box was (and still is) like a magic box for me. When Mom was gearing up for a project and choosing her needles, I’d run my fingers through the metal needles all jumbled together. It made matching needles a game. I found several pairs the same size, but bought at different times in her life. Some were flexible and plastic coated, most were metal, and so they click and clack musically ~ it makes for fine meditating. It’s amusing to look through the pages of this book and fine titles for patterns such as: Scottish Fleet Pattern I, Musselburgh or Filey Pattern II, Mr. G. Overy (I’m trying this one out just for the name alone). These patterns are like executing special moves on the jungle gym or making it all the way across on the monkey bars ~ they’re impressive. I hope I don’t fall flat on my face trying to impress the other knitters on the Playground . . . it’s another form of social suicide. Hey, I look at it this way, I don’t bungee jump; this is my bizarre thrill.
I did manage to show up at the easel last night to finish a piece. I need to start another, but that will happen soon enough. Maybe tonight.
I leave with a bit of poetry my grandmother wrote on one of many slips of paper found in the pages of the book:
I may not be around for you to see,
But you will always be a part of me.
And I’ll be always there for you to find
In all the hidden corners of your mind.
Mildly eerie, really.