That word, complex, is a good way to describe the last few days, and the next few. For some reason that escapes me now, I’m flying to Portland even though I’m on a book deadline and it’s twelve days before Christmas.
I think I probably thought I would be done the book by now, and working on SS11 and being able to go to some meetings in person, as well as seeing Tina and her girls before Christmas seemed right – but still, this weekend when I was trying to throw up a tree – finish a book, make plans for the girls, attend Christmas parties – and prepare to leave the country? I felt like whomever made that plan was a few elves short of an effective workshop, if you know what I mean.
I think I’ve pulled it all off though.
1. My tree is up and it is very nice. Maximum height, nice and pointy. That’s important to me, since it is a little known fact that a roundish tree can spoil the entire season.
(I had a conversation with the tree guy about round trees. He said that he has to sell them because some people like them, but that really he thinks those people are misguided about trees. Then he said that he could never put his name on that statement – because he’s a tree guy, and he’s supposed to think all trees are equal, and because slagging one kind of tree over another really seems to upset people. Then he said that the round tree people only get mad because they’re so misguided about trees that they think that the people who want a tall pointy tree are misguided. We spent a lot of time nodding and agreeing. Joe spent a lot of time looking at us like we were very, very misguided just because we care about the shape of a Christmas tree. Joe is rather misguided. )
2. The knitting is seriously behind. I have twelve days and 5.5 socks to knit, although today could be a game changer.
If this sock is done by the end of all my travels today, I think I might be able to restore some hope. (That’s the Paul Atwell socks, in Zen Yarn Garden’s Serenity 20. Colour is Mocha Olive, I think. I can’t be totally sure because I’m at the airport and the ball band is at home.) I am at the heel flap. Anything could happen.
3. I am a huge procrastinator, so because a lot of you said you wanted it, and because I was totally trying to find something else to do besides write a book, put up a tree or doing my Christmas knitting, I put together a pattern for the circle scarf I showed you on Friday. (The clincher was when Natalie told me to put the pattern up. Even though she works for me, not the other way around, I try not to cross her. She’s the only one who really knows what’s going on or where to find my stuff.)
I’ve called it Encompass (because it does) and it’s available by either going to Ravelry and downloading it, or clicking here:
(I am hoping that is not a string of code, but a link to the page. It could be either, and if it’s a string of code I have no idea how to fix it. I don’t even know if it’s going to be code until I hit "post". It’s a crap shoot.)
I hope you all love it, or at least love it as much as I do. The one I knit is a gift, and it turns out that I’m a little tiny bit broken hearted about that, so as soon as I get the holiday wrapped, another one of these will be on my needles. It takes less than 300m of chunky yarn, and knits up fast on 6.5mm circular needles. Still time to make a few before Christmas I think… even if you’re not really quick.
4. I packed yarn for all five socks left to do in my carry-on for today’s flight. Clearly I am now so entirely deluded by the whole thing that I think that it is totally possible that I will finish the book and knit five socks in a 12 hour travel period. That is not normal thinking. I knew that, and I took the yarn anyway, reasoning that my flight or my connection could be delayed or cancelled because the weather has been bad. That felt reasonable, but it just means that what I actually believed was that all of that was not possible 12 hours, but was if I had 24.
5. That’s still not a normal level of optimism, and I don’t even care. It’s Christmas. It’s not a time of year for normal optimism.