ode to the straight stitch

As the temperature drops below zero, I now have the perfect place to knit. Bob is content to tend the fire, there is food in the house and all other obligations are complete.

As a result, progress has been made on the chocolate ice cream lime sherbet sweater. Right front is done up to the sleeve, though the felines are unimpressed and mostly wondering if I’m eating anything that they might have to clean up.

For whatever reason (maybe it’s not having to change colors on the ribbing), I am undaunted regarding the sleeves. Sleeves? I can whip them out in no time.

My efforts at blocking were a minimal success at best. Florists wire from Michael’s will be a part of the next attempt. The socks can’t get done fast enough. It’s FREEZING here. I want that baby alpaca on my feet.

Every knitted item has a story- particularly if you take it on the road. The first sock of this set will always be known as the sock that saved me when I was too tired to cable the cashmere. The second sock will be the one that had much of it’s work done while sitting next to a struggling 17-year old kid in search of an AA meeting.

If indeed the sweater actually happens, I will remember it as the New York yarn and a lesson to myself in how I would much rather purchase all florist’s wire on-line rather than go to Michael’s on a sub-zero Saturday afternoon. While the straight stitch has become occasionally boring, all I have to do is ask myself “would you rather be doing something complicated and tinking all evening?” Ah… the straight stitch, how I love thee today