So, let’s talk about the knitting. I’ve been making a valiant effort to knit at least a couple of rows on the mega-scarf per night and for the most part it’s been going swimmingly. I’m still not particularly fast, but I can manage this smallish amount on a pretty steady basis. I’ve even remarked on how surprisingly simple and friendly it all seems. Not in any way resembling my previous, slightly deranged and manic attempts that left me seething with homicidal rage.
Buoyed by the appearance of a steadily growing straight edge, I’ve actually even come to terms with the tremendous size of the thing. Measuring in at well over three and a half feet in width without the slightest bit of stretching, I’ve decided the only reasonable thing to do is to accept it’s mutant size and make it the nine foot long monstrosity it obviously aspires to be. Like Frankenstein’s monster, it abides only by the laws of nature and its ultimate destiny is entirely out of my hands. I bow to the God’s of knitting and their infinite wisdom. It is the scarf that ate Cincinnati.
In the interest of feeding the ever-growing beast, I knew that at some point I would have to figure out how to add new skeins of yarn. For the inexperienced knitter, the promise of having to “join yarn” looming on the horizon is something similar to being dragged against your will to the guillotine. As such, when I realized I was getting close and had already knit two and a half rows this evening, I decided that the task would be best served on a fresh new day, such as never or, at the very least, tomorrow. I decided to finish my row and be done for the night.
It was at the very moment of my decision that I took a good, long look at the pathetic little tangle of yarn that sat so innocently on my desktop. It had seemed like such an acceptable amount at the rows start that I could hardly believe it had diminished so quickly. If there’s one thing I’ve read over and over again during my knitting studies thus far, it’s the importance of not joining yarn in the middle of the row. Every book, every website, every account was peppered with thinly veiled threats and cryptic warnings of the dangers that lurk in the mid-row join. Lacking specific details of the consequences of this forbidden indiscretion I could only begin to imagine the horrors that such an act could unleash upon the world – visions of Tsunami’s and plagues and Paris Hilton for President, were only the tip of the iceberg as my mind created all manner of tragedies wrought by both man and nature. Thinking perhaps, I was remembering the starting amount incorrectly and not sure how much yarn each stitch actually requires, I continued knitting another quarter of the row. Three quarters of the way through but sadly, not particularly close to the end; I took a gander.
That’s not hot.
And now, your baby of Zen.