Infidelity in the Den

OK, so, I will give me this one. Because, you know, I only had about seven month’s warning and emergencies do happen. So, currently on (almost off, actually – I’m on the last button band, yay) the needles, one baby sweater:



I am finishing this with literally inches of white yarn to spare. Well, I mean, duh. Even if I had fifty yards, there’d still be inches involved. But what I mean is, I will probably end up with less than a foot of ‘extra’. Which is cutting it rather fine, y’all. But I have measured carefully (several times) and think I’m going to make it.

Either that, or there will be a wild-eyed, drunken rant on this blog rather shortly. And the non-word @*^&@ may be thrown about with abandon.

But wait, what’s this? What is this object I have found (or, to be more precise, been handed by my husband, who was suffering from a rare moment of tidying up the front room)?



Why, could it be Cromarty from Alice Starmore’s Celtic Collection, in Ye Olde Plaine Woolle Which Hath Not a Name Upon it? (This yarn really is ‘generic’ – no name, not even printed on the mill cones) (Kind of scratchy-awful to work with pre-washing, but one quick dip in the tub with a little Woolite and the garment becomes soft and lovely and oh-so-warm.)

Why yes. Yes it could. And is. Hmm. Now that it is before me, I remember that I was doing this. And I said something like “…well, let me just whump out a baby sweater and a romper and then I’ll get right back to it.”

This was back in February, if memory serves. And memory serving is obviously not something I can rely upon. Since then I have cast on and completed several baby sweaters, the romper, a batch of infant hats, a pair of fingerless gloves, two adult hats, a pair of socks and, oh yeah. The only item I’m actually claiming to be working on right now?



Celtic Lattice, which has been languishing at the bottom of the knitting basket for a few weeks now.

Even the lonely traveling sock has gotten more time in the sun…



…and people, it has been on the needles since mid-March. And remains a sock. No ‘s’ on the end, there. Not an end-s in sight.

Now, what makes this particularly pathetic is this. I was just saying quietly to myself, “Hmm, it’s almost May Day. I’d like to start something fresh and new on Bealtaine this year.”

I was pondering maybe doing a Bohus (only in rather muted colors, thus setting me up for endless arguments with myself about whether or not I ought to rush out and buy some brighter colors to mix things up a bit because after all, a Knitter does not live by earth tones alone), or plucking up my laceweight courage and attempting something flimsy and wafty, or knuckling down and casting on the sweater for the DH (He of the Never-Ending Arms), or then again I have this beautiful pile of Elsbeth Lavold’s Silky Wool (deviously acquired for about 40% off retail, bwa ha ha ha ha) and have been contemplating something silky-woolish.

All the while, I have four perfectly good projects languishing in the basket.

Huh? What? What projects? Where? {blank expression} I see no forgotten projects here…

**sigh**

See, infidelity is one thing. But at least one could have a little bit of conscientiousness around it, don’t you think? At least be aware that one is flirting with multiple partners? But noooooooooo.

All I do is occasionally mutter, “Now, where on earth do you suppose all my #6 circulars have gotten to…?” without it ever once dawning on me that, given the absence of about 3,000 pairs of #6 circular needles, well.

There’s probably Something Going On in the darker corners of the craft closet, you know?