I had forgotten just how addictive Fair Isle knitting is. Yesterday I finished the collar [yes, I went ahead and did the three needle bind-off; I can always unpick it later] and cast on for the sleeves. When I came home from the potluck and fireside, I spent an hour or so winding all the yarn into cakes.
This morning I woke about an hour ahead of my alarm, and I thought to myself, “I’ll just sit here and work the first row and then work on my budget and pay a few bills.”
[All the knitters are picking themselves up off the floor. They know better.]
I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to sleep. If Sean Connery were sitting in the rocking chair, reading to me from the Harlot’s new book or one of Franklin’s essays, I would tell him, “Hush, dear, I’m trying to follow the chart.”
Can’t wait to get on the train this morning...
- 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!