No, Fox Paws isn’t done. It was supposed to be – or at least I thought it would be done today, and maybe it would have been, if things hadn’t gone a little pear shaped. (By a little pear shaped, understand that I mean that me and that piece of knitting have suffered an insult to our relationship that I’m still struggling to work through.) I was knitting along, minding my own business, packing for Madrona in my head (which is not as effective as actually packing, but you know- it’s a start) and all of a sudden, it stopped working. Now that I’m used to it, Fox Paws has a rhythm I can see. There’s certain points where I can check in, and know if I’m spot on, or if something’s come off the rails. There’s spots where decreases line up, and increases go on top of other increases, and now that I’ve learned where those landmarks are, it helps a lot. If I get to one of those spots and things aren’t working, then I know I missed something, and back I go – just to the beginning of that repeat – or the last place it all made sense. So, that’s what happened this morning. I got to a place where I check in, and it didn’t check out, and so I swore gracefully (I’m getting good at it) and tinked back, and had myself a little do over. Still wrong. Back I went again, and still wrong. I tried a few more times, and then figured that I’d done something really stupid a few rows back – something like knitting four together instead of five, or missed a little yarn-over. A klutzy little manoeuvre that left me short a stitch. I looked for it, didn’t find it, and in the grand tradition of knitters everywhere, I fudged. I did one less decrease so that it would start lining up again, and carried on. This – for the record, didn’t work. Things stayed screwy, likely because I’d compensated in the wrong spot, and a few rows later, when I was just about out of my mind trying to get back on the horse, I saw this.
Yup. A dropped stitch. See that little cream coloured one that’s in the wind? Rat bastage. At that point I did the only mature thing. I contemplated some sort of ninja fix, decided I’d come too far to have it be less than perfect, and I ripped out several heartbreaking rows.
This, my friends, is the reason why some knitters drink in the afternoon, which I didn’t do, but I understood the urge completely. A considerable amount of time later (really, really considerable) I had it back on the needles, and it was working again.
Still, that little episode cost me my only knitting time today, and so instead of being finished, Fox Paws is one small curled cat length short of a chesterfield, and I can’t spare any more time to wrestle with it. I’ve got workshops to prep for – and the Madrona Teacher Talent Show for Charity to finish pulling together (and I still have no talent – apparently not even for knitting) and well. The idea that I’d get on a plane on Wednesday wearing this bad boy is starting to be pretty freakin’ unlikely. All because I dropped one stinking stitch.
Today, knitting and I have a pretty dysfunctional love-hate thing going.