My Head I Bangeth Against the Wall
August 23, 2003
I am struck how very like a voodoo doll ol’ Splash looks as I pin up that last sleeve. I promise not to post any more pictures of this until I’m WEARING it–it’s not like this is some 31-color Starmore Fair Isle. “Gee, Ann. Great stockinette.”
In another, more dreadful direction, I have begun the Birch knitalong that so many of our fellow Rowanettes are cursing through over at the Rowan International message board. For those not following this, Birch is a shawl, a fluffy mohair shawl with a pretty little leaf pattern. In Rowanland, you wear it with lots of stripes. There is a Danish grad student named Thomas who is a ferocious lace knitter and possibly the only dude on the whole Rowan board. He’s leading the knitalong for Birch, and so far there have been a few cheerful participants, like that Emma who knits in her sleep. “Easy pattern!” I think she said. But many, many have stepped up to the task and been swacked back like so many gnats.
I’m one of them. Here, for posterity, is the cast-on and Row Number One of Birch, 299 stitches knitted with what is basically hair:
I am pretty sure that when you get to Hell, Beelzebub hands you a ball of Kidsilk Haze, a number 8 circular, and the email from Thomas about this knitalong.
When I get to Row Number Two, I’ll start a blog entirely focused on this project.
It IS a pretty shade of blue, I must say.
I just returned home from a birthday party with Mr. Four only to find stately Shayne Manor engulfed in what can only be called Old Pancake Smell. Ugh! I hate that! There’s nothing more depressing than unventilated breakfast. It’s two o’clock, for chrissakes.
Hope the mighty stores of Costco can get you through the next wave of visitors.