I think it is now clear that my former addiction to knitting has reemerged, even with the hard parts.
I got to the crown shaping on my Spring Cap just before bath time last night. While Mr L ran the bath, I thought I could furiously knit the final twelve rows (low water pressure here!) and call it done. Three rows in, and I had the wrong number of stitches. I tinked. Two more rows – and a different wrong number of stitches. I threw it away in disgust and went for my bath, deciding to rip it back a few rows this morning.
Post-ablutions… Mr L was in bed with his motor home brochures and I was rummaging in my workshop for an unoccupied pair of 2.5mm DPNs!
I sat for an hour, trying to conquer the Firestarter toe with my Red Hot Sox yarn and a very awkward set of circular needles. All the same, as I ripped it back thrice and started again and again, I felt the almost sensual thrill of knitting with fine yarn and little needles after knitting aran weight for a week. I almost can’t wait to pick up the socks again. This is my sixth attempt at understanding these pattern instructions and I think… I think… I may have it nailed this time. Probably not, but that won’t stop me trying again and again until it is conquered. I really do want to make these socks because they are gorgeous. I love the way that the yarn is knitting up, too. There is something about knitting socks, the close knitted smoothness of the fabric is deeply satisfying – it makes me feel quite clever to see all those neat stitches forming under my hands.
This morning, I have sat here, unpicking my Spring Cap over my morning tea, before I have even had my shower! (but not before taking out the bins)
It is a sad addiction I tell you.
Today: finish the damn Spring Cap, and block Custard and Kenaz before picking up the Firestarters and conquering that toe-up. But first, a shower and get the bread on to rise.
The tell me that the weather is bad. Not here in Orkney, it isn’t. I got up to sunshine, no rain, and no wind this morning. Geese were grazing peacefully on the field, the wren was singing his joyous song on the garden wall, and a bevy of beautiful starlings were chattering their annoyance at Nell and I from the safety of the overhead power lines. Cloud is gathering a bit now, but it is still pretty nice. Plenty of time for that to change… just wait 20 minutes, as Billy would say.
I do think the season is turning, albeit slowly. I look forward to taking our first morning tray of coffee outside. I think it was late March last year when that happened. It is good to sit in the sun and listen to the Snipe drumming, watching the hen harrier catch her breakfast, and listening to the murmur of the sea. Ah, bliss. I expect that this year I shall be taking my knitting out as well. Let us hope for soft winds…