Two Unfinished, One Finished (For Now, Anyway)
The Frenchie's colleague had a little boy just about two years ago for whom I made a little cap. As it turns out, poor thing's allergic to wool, so I'm working on something for him in cotton.
My intention is to end up with a little henley sweater kind of like the one I found in an old copy of Family Circle knitting, but we'll see what happens. I seem to have a terminal problem following patterns. Already the stitch pattern's been changed (should have been an alternating 6-stitch cable).
I haven't bought myself any new spring clothes in a while now (penury sucks), so decided to both make myself a new top and get rid of my stash with this. So far so good, as it's a nice little mindless thing I can work on while reading or being read to.
The last time I had to have flesh cut out of a sensitive place, I promised myself a little trip to the nearest local yarn store for an expensive (for me, anyway, I'd budgeted myself $20) treat as a reward for showing up*. I found that $20 isn't a lot, but it can get a nice double skein of recycled sari silk.
Long story short, the yarn ended up in the stash until a coworker's wife's birthday when I decided to give it some action. During the course of knitting, I found myself growing more and more attached to what I was making. In the end I remembered that I did after all get the yarn for me, so shouldn't it stand to reason that I get to keep the finished product? Ended up giving the intended recipient something else and keeping the scarf for myself.
When I knit and I know who I'm knitting for, it's hard for me not to think good thoughts, to be happy imagining the intended wearing/using what I've made. It's probably good that I have these prayers knitted into the sari scarf, as the treatment for what's been ailing me isn't working and I need to get it kicked up a notch. Next week, I go in and get another chunk cut out of that sensitive spot again, and then on to another specialist.
* I'm much braver than I used to be. The old me would have ignored it and let it bloom into something worse. The new me gets poked and probed and prescribed all sorts of things. Heck, my gyno even bargained me up to bimonthly breast self-exams.