Hey, did you realize it’s almost Christmas? I think you mentioned this the other day but I paid no mind.
I did do a bit of Christmas knitting. I did it last January or February. One Saturday, I was browsing in my local yarn store, Knitty City, and I came across a cubby full of Rowan Brushed Fleece, a yarn I’d never seen before. There was a beautiful Rowan pattern booklet for it. You know the genre: arrestingly beautiful young people standing in fields under overcast skies, wearing statement sweaters. I’m a sucker for that crap. And I was particularly vulnerable that day. The Rowan Brushed Fleece knits up on US 10 needles, it was 5 balls to make a cropped raglan called Cole, the model reminded me of Carrie, and that was that. I blame it on the lure of the quickly cranked sweater in a novel and fetching yarn.
(Just clearing some brush.)
Since I don’t stash yarn,* I cast on Cole as soon as I got home. This was going to be the work of a few evenings. And it was. It was the work of a few evenings during which I remembered that I don’t enjoy yarn that is constructed by adhering fluff–even premium quality wool and alpaca fluff–onto a thin thread of something else. When I’m knitting yarns like this, the working needle wants to get stuck in the fluff, and there is a distinct drag as you pull the sausage-like strand through each stitch. The fabric has no stitch definition; it’s just a beautiful velvety puddle. It’s fine for them as likes it, but it’s Not For Me. Every yarn is not for everybody. That’s ok.
Once I’d knit the four pieces to Cole, something came up** and I didn’t get it sewn together right away. Belinda came to visit last March, and she asked, “Did you ever sew up that fleecy Rowan jumper for Carrie?” Her next question was, “So you want me to sew it up for you then?” And then she did it, like it was nothing to sew up a fleecy fluffy jumper in a yarn that doesn’t want to be pulled through stitches. While she had it laid out on the dining room table, she asked, deadpan, “Did you know you made the sleeves in two different gauges?”
I actually didn’t know that. The sleeves were in different gauges, and therefore different lengths. I must have picked up the wrong needles when I started the second sleeve? Who knows? Belinda told me I could reknit one sleeve, or she could just stick it in and see how it came out. I chose the latter. It all worked out. I guess that is a virtue of fleecy fluffiness.
I don’t have any regrets about knitting this sweater. I just feel like Carrie ought to go stand in a field while she is wearing it.
*This is kind of a lie.
**I abandoned it for something more interesting than sewing up a sweater.