Lust Deferred

After my first post Ruth pointed out that my "about me" list had failed to mention that I really, really hate to follow other people's patterns, preferring to invent my own. This would not be so bad if I stuck to basic designs, if I riffed on The Knitter's Handy Book of Patterns (which, if you're a riffer by nature, is the only pattern book you'll ever need) by adding a moss stitch here, a baby cable there. Unfortunately my imagination is more likely to come up with something like this:

And, since I'm not entirely sure (despite swatching) that it can really be done, I tend to procrastinate a lot. So it takes me six months to knit a pair of socks. All I can say is thank heaven I made them out of stretchy yarn, so they still fit Miss B's ever-growing feet. (She is a foot shorter than I am and wears the same shoe size. But I digress.)


Cut to last week. The scene: Ruth's living room. I have dropped by to show her the yarn for my Knitting Olympics sweater. I describe to her the design I have in mind: a lot of different ribbings side by side, done in different shades of purple. In the middle of this I start to laugh, because Ruth is getting a look on her face, a look that says "no wonder you never finish a sweater." I protest: there will be no intarsia cables, no vines, no flowers, no intricate patterning, just a few simple ribbings. I cannot wait to start swatching, I say. Ruth nods, skeptical look in place.

Cut to last weekend. The first swatch is done, and all I have to do is figure out how many stitches I have to play with, chart the final arrangement of ribs, and do a second swatch for that. I love my swatch. I love it even more the first time I see it in sunlight. I picture the whole sweater, and I want to wear it everywhere.

But, at this point, Reality raises her head. "Do you really think you can do this in 16 days?" she asks. I think about all the color switching -- I could do the sleeves in the main color, after all, but still -- and I start figuring how much I would have to knit each day to finish in time, blocked and all. I wonder if I would hate that gorgeous deep purply blue before I was done.

And I remember that I know a charming baby boy for whom I have inexplicably failed to knit anything whatsoever, and that I have some great baby sweater patterns, and some lovely light-blue wool in my stash.

That Reality is so sensible. I hate people like that.