February 28, 2011

More knitting. Less opera.

 

Oh ye of abysmally little faith. 

NINE squares! Count 'em! NINE!

Yes, frell it, I’m knitting.  I don’t say I’m knitting well, but I’m knitting.*  And remember there’s a tenth one in the needle case waiting for Fiona to teach me how to unknit a row or two without unravelling the whole thing.**  I acknowledge (especially since it won’t do me any good not to acknowledge) that the quality of my unsquares is what might politely be called variable . . . and the grey ones tend to be worse because it’s the grey yarn that travels around in the Mobile Knitting Unit and suffers distractions.  The grey one on the lower left, for example, was the one knitted at Iphigenie last night.  Now I don’t dare stop in the middle of a row so when the lights went down I kept knitting.  And thus found that I could . . . sort of.  The problem comes when my stitches proliferate, as they are inclined to do—at one point I had sixteen of the little frellers instead of the desired fourteen, and since I was doing it IN THE DARK I couldn’t identify which were the flimsiest, and most suitable for knitting together again, and I didn’t choose too well.***

            And I seemed to be the only person in the entire theatre knitting . . . and I had at least six people say to me, oh, what a good idea, I should have brought my knitting.  So I will be interested to see if anybody else shows up with yarn at Lucia di Lammermoor next month.  The woman next to me said oh, what are you making?  And I said, a hel—a dog blanket.  In squares.  I’ve only just started (struggling with one of my suddenly too-tight stitches, which seem to spring from nowhere, like vampires and ground elder), and I figure the dogs won’t mind.†  Oh, she said, staring in fascination.  —Yo, lady, you too were a beginner once.

           I love this knitting shtick.  It’s the best fidget ever.††  On Twitter yesterday I was bleeping, I mean tweeting, about knitting, and someone answered:  it sounds like fun.  I responded:  All Things Are Fun with Knitting, whereupon Jodi, for some reason, and I can’t think why, tweeted:   All things are fun with knitting?? VICTORY. VICTORY VICTORY VICTORY!!!!!!!  Funny Jodi.

* * *

* I’m so ready to learn to purl.  Fiona comes on TUESDAY.  YAAAAY.  Although Bronwen tried to show me how to purl on Friday—or rather, she did show me how to purl, it’s just it had been a long day and I said, no, no! I can’t cope!^

^ I don’t care that you’re the one who drove down from Skye and was menaced by sea monsters!  I’m a poor sad elderly thing and my brain is melting!

** Too horrible to contemplate.  Waste a square?  No, no,  no, a fate worse than orange shag carpeting or algebra tests.^

^ And at this point I went off on a very, very long tangent about the mathematics (or not) of bell ringing . . . which I have cut and put aside for another post.  Your reprieve is temporary. 

*** Yes, at this point, at the end of a row, I should have stopped.  But I was now interested in the problem.

† Have I told you that my ringing friend Tilda is coming back for another visit?^  And she wants me to show her how to knit.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

^ And she’s agreed to let us torture her with handbells this time.  Mwa hahahahahahaha.

 †† A knitting friend who—er—really knits, and is also musical, asks if I can knit while I’m listening attentively to music?  Doesn’t the rhythm of the one interfere with the rhythm of the other?  Rhythm?  Are you kidding?  I don’t have a knitting rhythm.  Although last night I kept slowing down during the exciting bits.  Oreste is lying there on the slab and Iphigenie is standing over him with the knife, and . . .

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