And it goes on and on, my friend! Somebody started knittin' it, not knowin' what it was, and they'll continue knittin' it forever, just because...
This is the knitting equivalent of "Coyote Ugly". A few years back, my friend's shop was closing, and naturally it was my obligation as her friend to help reduce her inventory! This, apparently, was the only thing I could afford at the time. Or maybe the only thing left that I even marginally liked. [I got there as soon as I could, but still...]
As you will see, it's an exceedingly chunky chenille, space-dyed, and the individual colors are lovely. Parrot turquoise, the same milky brown as a bottle of YooHoo, indigo, smoky plum, several shades of green, burgundy, raspberry. You name it, and it's probably in there [except for orange or yellow], and they all play nicely together. The person who chose the colors gets a big gold star for his/her forehead.
But the fiber? I'm not sure what, exactly; the labels are gone with the wind. I promise you that this was never grown on any critter's back, nor extruded from a spinneret, nor pulled protesting from the ground. This is 100% Artificial Something, and working with it is about as close as I'm likely to get to calf roping. I now know how Jacob must have felt that night he wrestled with the angel, and limped for the rest of his life.
Silly, loyal me, I bought every skein she had. [I was probably thinking "I'm going to buy another loom" when I did.] And the Bag of Deception has survived every move and spring cleaning since its purchase, which earns it my grudging respect.
In the past three years, I have made: (1) a child's sweater in garter stitch, lacking its buttons until Friday morning;
Closer shot of the sweater, because we saved these to draft at Secondborn's last night, and I haven't figured out how to upload more than one picture per draft from my computer at home, nor how to delete an image once it's embedded in a draft:
Close-up of the buttons, cleverly marked up at the fabric store from $2.50 a card to $3.00 and then the $3.25 I paid for each of two cards. What do they think this is, gasoline?
(2) a tubular scarf, given as a present, which if she had any sense was immediately filled with kitty litter and converted into a "draft dodger"; photos mercifully not available
(3) a child's hat in stockinette, with intermittently fashionable rolled brim, and (4) a coordinating hat for an adult in 2x2 ribbing, which I devoutly hoped would use the last of the yarn, but alas, did not. How convenient to have a delightful Mother-Daughter combo living 18 miles away in Foat Wuth (Fort Worth, for those of you who don't speak Texan.)
Detail of BittyBit's hat, carefully photographed to show off the button trim. And after the wrestle we had to position the hats so as not to be suggestive in the extreme, I have a greater appreciation for why most hats are finished with a tassel or a pompom, and not pink jeweled buttons. Secondborn says that if I mention what we called the hats as we were shooting them, she will cut the buttons off, and they are too cute to languish in a button jar.
and (5) the final project: an adult's hat in stockinette, which mercifully did finish it off. And nearly me, as well. Somebody please send Sean Connery over to kiss my hands all better!
In terms of gauge this was a good antidote to Sock The First; in terms of PITA* factor, it was not.
All that's left of the yarn, praise be!
Parting shot: BittyBit mugging for the camera in her new hat.
*PITA factor: (n, highly intransigent!) the extent to which a person, place, thing, or situation is a Pain In The Ahem.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!