June 17, 2004
I know what you mean about hypnotic. Remember my new beach blanket, the Psychedelic Squares Afghan?
It seemed like a good idea at the time. From where I sit now, at the cast-on of Square 36, it still seems like a good idea. A really good idea. A scary good idea.
I can’t seem to work on anything else. These squares are the perfect bite-sized snack. The Cheetos of knitting. You start out with 72 stitches, but decrease 3 stitches every other row, so it zips along. Just when you’re getting tired of these two colors, the thing is done already, and the temptation to start a square with a new color is very powerful. It’s easy to turn out several of them in a day, while multi-tasking (translation: barely doing) necessary chores, such as nodding and frowning at conflicting accounts of what Joseph just did to Carrie, for example. The problem is, it is not easy to work on anything else. The psycho squares have taken over.
I realized that if I didn’t start sewing up the blocks of squares, by the time I got to the end it would be an insurmountable pile of sewing. So I blocked a bunch of them, and sewed up the first two blocks:
…which made me love them even more. A mitered square is a beautiful thing.
In Other News WARNING: EXTREME CRAFTING CONTENT
I did have to shake off the psychedelic squares for the 10 minutes it took me to sew the tiny sleeves into this:
Awwww….it’s a baby bolero, “Poppy” from Debbie Bliss’ Cotton Angora collection, which takes less than 3 balls of yarn in this size. I knit the pieces weeks ago, and sewed the sides and sleeves, but managed to put it it down before setting the sleeves in.
Then I got the baby announcement, did the math, and realized that the baby was two months old already. Still too tiny for her sweater, but high time for a present! I popped in the sleeves, gave it the old Rowenta Treatment, and was pleased to have found this cute little hanger:
I should have stopped there. But no. An urge that was exceedingly craftsy, even for me, welled up and would not let me go.
And so I got out THE RUBBER STAMPS [no! not the rubber stamps!], and did this:
Even at a convention of garden-gnome painters, you can clear the room by mentioning that you enjoy a spot of rubber-stamping now and then. I do not know why this is so. It seems terribly unfair, but what can you do?