The first rule of making lofty plans is not to flinch when things go wrong.
I had great plans for this winter’s knitting. A Foxgloves for Fliss, Seb’s Stars, and third yoked jumper for myself. These were all to be completed by Christmas, which would leave the long stretch from January to March free to knit something for Ben’s increasingly lanky frame. He’s a double knitting boy, not to be persuaded into aran. His jumpers take time.
It all started well enough, with the first two completed before advent. I picked up my pattern at the start of December, and, without a thought or concern, began to follow it.
The first doubts crept in halfway up the waist decreases, but I pressed on nonetheless. I wanted to wear it on Christmas Day; I would not be dissuaded.
By the time the bust increases began, even I couldn’t ignore the fact that the tube of knitted fabric bore no relation to my body. It would have fitted a lovely pair of hips, but not mine. I was forced to sternly remind myself of two facts. One: I always adapt patterns. Two: I never like curvy pullovers.
Frogged and rewound, we began again, this time with my own shaping added to to the original pattern. I worked furiously, churning out a whole three inches of 2-ply before I noticed that I was knitting a helix.
Which is how, six weeks after casting off Seb’s Stars, I have precisely one inch of 1×1 twisted rib to show for myself. That, and an uncharacteristic amount of sewing. Just one afternoon’s worth of knitting, to be exact.
But goodness me, it feels good to begin again. Those little knits just weren’t quite the thing for this time of year. Long rows are what I need. A project to carry me through whole weeks, not an evening or two. Two hundred and thirty one stitches per round, round and round again.
It’s an odd number because seven of those stitches form a steek. You see, somehow it’s become a cardigan. And for now, that’s all I know about it. I may revert to the original pattern and knit a neat necklace of bluebells, echoed at the cuffs. Yet I’ve been thinking about sweet peas, lately, and dreaming up a design of my own. Or maybe even an allover, in Xs and stripes and little blooms, made up as I go. I’m tempted to write to the supplier and order two more skeins, in dusty rose. Tomorrow, maybe.
Because today is a busy day, with lots of errands and cleaning, music lessons after school, and Cubs this evening for Seb. I’ll only manage a few rows, once the day is done. Five or six rows which will take me one way or another, so that tomorrow I’ll know whether I need that extra colour. I’m looking forward to seeing what my hands will do, once my head stops getting in the way. This is going to be fun.— January 14, 1931