Square Two of the Wall of Linen blanket is a walk in the park. Cast on 30 in cream. Make 4 navy blue stripes of either 3 or 4 ridges (go crazy with the possibilities). Start these stripes on the wrong side, to achieve an appearance of WS on the RS. (This Knitting Special Effect looks like ticking. I find it Visually Interesting.) Knit a total of 60 garter ridges, then bind off, then work cro-Kay all the way around the square. (Cro-Kay is: Pick up 2 stitches on the edge. *Bind off 1 stitch, pick up 1 stitch; repeat from * all the way around the edge.) (Cro-Kaying all the way around is optional and perhaps even controversial. But I like the idea of a uniform edge all the way around. Slipping the first stitch of every row would achieve a similar effect, but when I do this I get a looser edge than I want here.)
BREAKING NEWS: I have changed my mind about carrying the color-not-in-use up the side of the work as I a knit stripes. I did this for the first 2 squares, but I’m not liking the way the edge looks on the WS with that thread of contrasting color poking through. I’ve decided to make the supreme sacrifice of cutting the yarn between stripes and weaving in the (many) extra ends that this will create. You may think me a fool. You may think me a prodigal waster of precious yarn and a weakener of Blanket Integrity. But dang it, that’s what I’m doing.
We Pause for a Profound Observation on the Nature of Motherhood or Perhaps Womanhood Itself
I blame it on reading Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse for the Lit Hum class I’ve been auditing. I’ve been doing lots of thinking on Who Am I and What Am I Here For and What Is Significant About This Particular Moment When We Are Eating Cream Cheese on Bagels And Looking Meaningfully Across the Table, Seething With Unspoken Thoughts of How Very Precious We Are To Each Other But Wait, You’ve Got a Schmear On Your Chin.
This weekend I noticed myself going from room to room, picking up Other People’s Stuff and taking it back to its home location. The Mets Foam Finger, the detritus of homework, the many, many newspapers concerning Sports and Finance, the paperbacks of Horrible Histories, the whimsical erasers. I realized that I do this on auto-pilot: roam, stop, pick up object, return object to home location (or secretly put object in recycling bin), roam, repeat. I do this so constantly that nobody sees me do it. They think their stuff moves when they are not looking.
It dawned on me that I am a human Roomba.
I am Momba.