The weather around here has fluctuated wildly in the last week or so, from 10 degrees Fahrenheit and inches of snow to short-sleeves-and-sandals temperatures, sending my attitude toward knitting ricocheting back and forth in turn.
On an unexpectedly warm, bright day, I start feeling foolish stirrings. Sitting on the couch with knitting needles and a hot lapful of wool begins to seem like a chore instead of a pleasure. I hardly know what to do, whether to persevere stubbornly or rush outside and run madly in circles on the lawn, kicking up my heels like a springtime lamb. Or limber up for an energetic burst of spring cleaning, giving a bathroom a scrubbing of unexceeded thoroughness. Or some of each.
I start thinking restlessly of other crafts. This is not unprecedented. After all, I've never been exclusive about knitting, though I guess I've been closer to it lately than ever before. These days, it's easy and fun to stay focused on knitting, with a whole on-line community of excited people cheering each other on, giving encouragement, showing off their feats, unearthing or creating interesting patterns.
Nevertheless, I've also in the past enjoyed sewing, crocheting, cross-stitching, needlepoint, and what have you. (And, of course, lately, there's the spinning.) I love to learn about this and that and try things out. Crafts as-yet-untried beckon still. There are plenty of unexplored frontiers. I'm curious about bobbin lace, and tatting, and lucets, and who knows what all else. Even the knitting bloggers tempt, from time to time, with other crafts. (If I end up experimenting with rug-hooking, Robin, I'll lay that directly at your door!)
So it's a good thing for me and for dad's sweater that the weather has lately taken another swing back toward winter. Tonight's prediction is for freezing temperatures and a possibility of snow.
With a nip again in the air, I've been moving along again briskly. But last night, as I was finishing up the second sleeve, I noticed that something didn't seem to be adding up quite right. Compared to sleeve number one, number two seemed to be taking a few extra rows past the last increase to get to the same point in the pattern. I examined and compared them carefully, mystified, meticulously counting the rows between increases.
Finally, I spotted something. Do you notice anything strange about the second diamond in the picture? That's right, it's smaller than the others. I'd gotten over-eager and turned the corner before it reached its full size. The mistake was 13 inches down the sleeve. 13 time-consuming inches of cabled knitting. Well, no matter. There was no help for it. I wasn't going to leave it that way. Even if I could live with a visible mistake (and often not), I couldn't do it on a sleeve. Sleeves must match.
So back out it came. But that's okay.
Unlike the groundhog, I'm hoping for a few more weeks of winter.