What is this problem with facing into hard realities? Why, oh, why do I persist in thinking something’s going to be just FINE when it’s NOT FINE?
I’m speaking of knitting here, OK. Let’s just talk about the knitting aspect of those questions.
This little shawl neck napkin thingie was such an easy, sweet ride that I wanted to milk every last inch of this Manos del Uruguay Alegria, shade Maiz. I just knitted and knitted until I figured, well, I better bind off. The Shadow Shawl pattern was in some other bag or room or vehicle, so I just wung it. I bound off.
After about ten bound-off stitches, this phenomenon began.
And yet! And yet! I kept binding off, wishing or hoping or imagining that the rotation of the earth or the arrival of daylight savings time would somehow uncurl a piece of knitting that profoundly, truly wanted to curl.
I went so far as to completely finish this thing, clinging to “It will all come out in the blocking” even as I know, deeply, that sometimes it does not.
The only thing to do was to rip it back twelve rows so I can re-install a garter stitch edge. It’s a good thing this is the most cheerful yarn I have ever worked with.
The only creature who enjoyed yanking out twelve rows—the long rows! the finish-line rows!—was Kermit.
I end here by echoing your suggestion last week that it’s a good thing to READ. THE. PATTERN. What is wrong with us? (Please, nobody really answer that question, because I can’t really bear to get into that.)