The Discipline of Discipline
March 2, 2004
In a rare moment of restraint, I have made a deal with myself. Under no circumstances can I begin to work on my Alice Starmore Fair Isle Heart of Darkness Tour 2004 until I finish the sweater I’m knitting for you. No winding of yarn, no photocopying of pattern, no burnt offerings to encourage a successful journey into the netherworld of handknits. Nothing. Until I finish Sassy.
Why didn’t somebody along the way explain to me about setting goals? About “limits”? My eight-year-old seems to have figured out the concept of work and reward–he sure as heck doesn’t have furniture dedicated to the archival storage of yarn. This dangling carrot stuff actually works, you know. Not since Mike Mulligan and Mary Anne dug a cellar in just one day has a project chugged along so steadily.
(For those joining us late, Kay and I agreed to knit each other a sweater back in, uh, November. And if Kay would just go over to Lis’s crib and retrieve the sleeves to my Olive cardigan she left there in a bubbly moment some weeks ago, well. Maybe we could get this exchange party started.)
I’m on the very last piece of Sassy, which features the oft-maligned (OK, oft-maligned by me) yarn known as Fine Cotton Chenille. Forgive me, but chenille has always struck me as a little too close to velour for my taste, just one furry step away from a track suit worn by somebody who ain’t foolin’ nobody that she’s been to the gym in the past five years.* If you’re in the habit of wearing Juicy Couture and I just don’t know about it, I’m supersorry.
But like most of my preconceived notions, my anti-chenille bias falls away in the face of this sweater I’m knitting for you. It’s really, really beautiful. It may never make it to Manhattan.
A picture here is worth about 10 words. Impossible for me to capture the lurvliness of chenille.
As I’ve worked my behonkus off to avoid the dreaded ladders and worming that are said to accompany this kind of knitting, I have pondered the meaning of Fine. Fine as in “OK not great”? Fine as in “Superfoxy not unlike Ralph Fiennes”? Fine as in “hi kwalidy”?
I know, it’s probably Fine as in “Not Chunky like that other Cotton Chenille we make.” But I think Fine also means “Most pleasant as in ‘One fine day.’ ”
You are going to love this fine, cotton, chenille sweater. And if you don’t, well, that’s fine too.
*Full disclosure: I haven’t been to the gym in five years, either, though I know some people who have.