Meet me at The Ryman Wrap from Haus of Yarn - Day 5

The endless not-yet-end...

This middle took a long time.  

Like For. Ev. Er.  

Yes, I know I lengthened it—and I’m not sorry for that—but by the end of the middle I am looking at over 50 inches of stockinette and garter.  That’s some mind-numbing marathon knitting, folks.  I probably could have binge-watched the entire Harry Potter series and still not have finished the necessary rows.  Not that I would.  Such a feat would have amounted to inviting carpal tunnel syndrome in for tea.

Still, I don’t quite know what I’ve got here yet.  It’s behaving more like a scarf than a shawl because it’s not blocked.  The lacework end is doing that scrunchy bumpy thing all lacework does before you block it.  The sides are curling menacingly.  It’s too big to carry around with any degree of subtlety—I judge all handbags by their ability to hold my knitting, and this thing has outgrown even my handbag.

It never ceases to amaze me how knitting is like other parts of my life.  Ask any novelist what the hardest part of any manuscript is, and most will say “the middle.”  It’s true for me.  Middles are this thing I simply have to slog through, unable to see the ending but knowing vaguely what it’s supposed to look like.  This is a middle to slog through.

Knitting is also like parenting.  It’s both full of possibility and daunting at the beginning, and then the middle is mostly keeping at it despite the this-will-never-end feeling.  In the end, you get a finished product, but most times it’s not quite what you thought you’d get.  Both my kids are simultaneously exactly what I’d hoped and wondrously different than I planned.  They’re both adults, so we’re at or near the “bind off” for both of them, but the middles were long and taxing.

Are middles hard? Yep, in knitting, writing, and parenting.  Needing patience, endurance, persistence, and no small amount of stubborn refusal to quit?  Without a doubt. Worth it?  Absolutely.  

After all, knitting is like a million things.

We’re all knit together, the whole lot of us, and we’ll come out beautiful when it’s finished.  

These final, endless-seeming election days (in the U.S., that is), that’s good to remember.

PS: If you're near San Antonio, don't forget my upcoming event there--I'd love to see you!

Knit Along: Schmetterling Shawl from Mia Bella - Day 4

“I’m not going to bed until I finish the pattern repeats on this thing!”

One of those weeks.  I could barely get to the “must get done"s by the weekend, much less the things that are supposed to be fun.  That’s the trouble with craft blogs.  I can’t exactly tell my publisher that my current assignment is going to be late because the knitting didn’t cooperate.

Actually, the knitting was downright obsequious.  It was the rest of my life that excelled at making tasks impossible.  Like mothers everywhere, I live my life at the mercy of my kids’ immune systems.  My life can be brought down by a single phone call from the school nurse.  And has. Repeatedly.  I have the feeling a few of you know what I’m talking about. 

Actually, that role isn’t just the bane of moms.  Elderly parents can tank a week in a single phone call, too, can't they?

Ah, but the knitting is always patiently waiting for me.  It never pouts that I’ve ignored it.  The satisfaction of having completed four increasing repeats of a rather complicated pattern is the perfect antidote to an exploded week.  Accomplishment is luscious indeed.

I made it to the end border. Sure it was almost two weeks behind when I wanted to reach it, and the Christmas party I planned to wear this shawlette to was two nights ago, but there’s still Christmas Eve.  A knitting deadline is a flexible thing.

My publisher, well that’s another story.

Knit Along: Winter Wonder Mittens - Day 3

Thumthing wicked this way comes...

It’s sitting there, tucked snugly inside the current mitten, mocking me.  The thumb.

Really, after mastering all this lovely patterned color-work, I should hardly be afraid of a thumb.  It’s what separates us from lower life forms, right?  Opposable thumbs?  The physiological distinction that enables me to hold my knitting needles while other adorable yet less evolved species like my dog must content themselves with scratching?  Of course I should be able to craft a suitable housing for my beloved thumb.

Yet, I have to wonder.  Why do they leave it to last?  Is it so difficult that we’d bail on the project if we tried it mid-stream?  The same reason why I believe God gives us the easy child first so that we’re duped into thinking we can handle more and then POW...the “challenging child” comes along? (I was that second challenging child, by the way, so I’ve earned the right to say that...).

I do have a few mittens where the thumbs came out dorky.  Too fat, too long specimens, inelegant reminders that small details make a big difference.  Still, I’m astounded how this element makes me fret.  It’s probably no mistake that I marked its location with red yarn.  A cautionary color.

All else is going well, however, so I will try to persist in optimism.  I will cary on.