Anastasia Meets the Afterthought Heel

I meticulously reloaded half my stitches back onto the needle and tried Anastasia on for size after inhaling my lunch yesterday. [Chipotle cheddar cheese sliced wafer-thin, atop whole-grain saltine crackers. And a bag of Wildly Cherry M&M’s for dessert. Doesn’t get any better than that!] About 2” shy of my heel, and a perfect fit. I started to use the same toe-up heel flap that I used for the Stripedy Stockings, and after two rounds I decided that I wanted to try an afterthought heel instead.

Happily, there was a bit of the yarn from the Stripedy Stockings in my toolbag, so I tinked back those two rounds and used the brown-grey-black-and-cream as a barely-discernible row, to be picked out in a few days, after I’ve bound off the cuff.

I went to bed at 10:00 last night and slept like a rock. Six and a quarter hours of presumably quiet breathing [except for the Luke-I-am-your-mother whooshing of my CPAP], and no lights on when I awoke an hour ahead of my alarm this morning.

When I went to bed last night ~ reluctantly; I was having so much fun with Anastasia ~ there were four or five rows above my afterthought marker row. Now it’s more like 5/8”. This design is so simple to knit, and so easy to modify, and the pattern it produces just makes me grin. Now that I’ve been knitting socks for a year and a half, and lace for about a year, I wonder why I didn’t try both, sooner.

Knitting is one of the simplest things there is. Two stitches really: knitting [the top of the loop faces away from you in the finished fabric] and purling [the top of the loop faces you]. You get lace by pairing strategically-placed increases and decreases. You get cables by crossing one or more stitches over or under others. You get ribbing by alternating knit stitches and purl stitches. And when you are done muttering *[K7, K2tog, YO, K2tog] repeat from *, you have something that fits your own particular assortment of curves and straightaways, in a color that pleases you, and the pleasure of having learned one or more new techniques in the process, and the knowledge that you will never, ever see the same item coming toward you on the sidewalk on somebody three sizes smaller.

What’s not to love?

I am feeling somewhat less needy this morning. Still looking forward to dining with my favorite samurai tonight, but not feeling quite so testosterone-deprived. It helps to listen to David Reidy. Maybe it’s the accent. Maybe it’s just nice to hear an intelligent man natter on about Things Knitterly. I tried to listen to Cast On last night, but she lost me when the music came on, and the F-word jumped out of the chorus and slapped me in the face. This is my home, and these are my ears. And I am voting with them; I won’t be going back to her podcast. Though I will be knitting Mrs. Beeton in the foreseeable future.

I have to laugh at myself, at least a little. Ten years ago, when I was freshly-divorced and generally cranky, I read women writers and listened to female singers. I had had it up to here with male voices for the time being, whether written or audible. I think it was probably part of the healing process, not to mention that when I divorced the children’s father I no longer had to endure Rush and G. Gordon and a host of other blatherskytes whose political leanings I tend to share, but whose method of delivery is so off-putting [to me, at least] that almost it persuadeth me to become a Democrat.

Gradually, I discovered men who didn’t set my teeth on edge. Men of sound mind and resolute character. Men who respect women and enjoy their company. Men whose counsel I can trust. Now, the CD in my car is as likely to be Ray Charles as Emmylou Harris. It’s a good place to be.

Happy Friday, everybody! It’s payday, chez nous, and my turn to buy dinner, and Anastasia is looking rather pleased with herself.