Your Brain on Cables
July 2, 2013
We got home on Saturday from our two weeks away. It was a two-part roots trip, to Croatia (home of Aunt Kathy’s maternal grandparents, both from the tiny island of Olib) and to our four kids’ literal fatherland, the town of Laupheim and the city of Ulm, in southern Germany. My travelog was in real time, on Instagram (where I am @kaygardiner and you are @annshayne, as God intended), but this picture is from the best day.
It’s a long ferry ride from Zadar to Olib–3 and a half hours–and then a long ride back. Knitting, a Big Linen Shirt, sunset over the Adriatic Sea: aaaaahhhhhhh.
Upon departure, I braggadociously predicted that I would finish my tunic-modified Whitby pullover (in Rowan Denim, if you’re just joining the program) during that two weeks. That was really just motivational speaking for myself.
But I did ok. I love having a project like this to get my teeth into in a really dedicated, monotheistic way. I enjoy the way a complex cable pattern never really gets automated–the center cable is 28 rows of differentness, after all–but it reveals itself, more and more, as you knit along. Your mind grasps onto its logic, in chunks. I was already working the front–more than 7 repeats into the sweater–before I noticed that the center cable does its actual twists on the same rows (the third row of every four) as the other two cable panels, and that the twists alternate direction. The purls move around on the other RS rows, so you are cabling, but the twists happen on the same row as the twists in the other, more regular and repetitive, panels. (Are you still with me?) Anyway, the center panel is so much easier after that epiphany; maybe I’m slow, but I get there. The chart is, finally, just a reference, a confirmation that I haven’t screwed up, a friend.
Another great memory: the time in Munich when Joseph and I were too hungry to go to a restaurant and order lunch with the others, so we ate panini and pretzels in the Viktualienmarkt, where of course there is a beer station, and of course regulars just throw a token into a box instead of waiting to pay with money. I had a moment of Token Envy that was quickly soothed by a half liter of beer that really is more delicious there, under the trees, sharing picnic tables with day-drinking locals and grannies having fried fish alfresco, than anywhere else.
What have you been up to, my Ann?