So last night I got the leaf sewn in and even me, the queen of hard-on-herself-land thought it looked pretty freakin good.
I paraded it around. Ken was here for dinner and I showed it to him a lot, because you know, he's a knitter and he respects the crazy that leaf represents. I made the kids look at it, and since they are my kids and they are teenaged girls I had to force them to pretend to respect the knits, which they did...so that was super-fun. Then I worked the plain foot up to where the embossed grape pattern begins. I did stop every few rounds to admire the leaf, which I think is not just normal, but necessary.
This morning I promised myself that I wouldn't knit on the sock until I had my word count done, but me and myself are serious with the bargaining, and I talked myself into just doing the attached I-cord leaf stem for the little inlaid leaf. That way the leaf would be really finished (except for the embroidery, which I am not really thinking about right now.) and I could take a super cool blog picture of the leaf with the stem and the everything.
There are three little live stitches at the top of the stem. See them? In this picture they are being held on that length of yarn.
To work the stem, you slip those live stitches onto a dpn, then work just a few rows of I-cord, attaching it to the sock foot as you go. It's deadly clever.
So I picked up the stitches,
and then I sat at my desk to work the five (I thought five would be good. I like stems) rows of I-cord. I knit the first one, then the second. It was easy. I worked a third. My i-cord was lying flat and beautiful on the sock. I knit another one. That's four. Damn it was beautiful. Beautiful and clever. Beautiful and clever and I was picking up all the stitches in exactly the right spots and did I mention to you the inlaid leaf that was sewn in so well? Did I mention that it really does look like a leaf and not like an amoeba and maybe I'm a pretty solid knitter? That little stem lay there, knit into the top of the sock in a fetching wee curl and DAMN IT WAS GOOD. It made me want to scream things like SEE THAT YA BOSSY LITTLE SOCK or NOW WHO KNIT YOU, EH? EH? or even WHO'S YOUR DADDY, which I don't really understand as an impulse, but there you have it.
I was overwhelmed with the glory of a perfectly knit leaf with it's attached stem inlaid into a sock toe of near perfection. ( Or as near to perfection as you're going to get with a knit inlaid leaf toe with an attached i-cord stem, which is fine with me.) That' s right my little knitterly poppets, amat victoria curam. (Victory favours those who take pains) I had one more row to go and I was so hopped up that I was feeling indomitable and using latin phrases, which is so bad a sign that the use of it should be considered foreshadowing in a knitblog. I was poised to do the last row of tiny i-cord when it happened.
I dropped it. I dropped the sock. For no reason at all....it just fell from my hands and landed on the floor.
Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that it can't possibly be a serious problem to drop a sock. Perhaps I dropped it in coffee? In the sea? Perhaps it descended onto a landmine and was blown to a thousand bits? Nope. Worse.
As the sock fell, I realized in a horrible crushing wave of nausea, that I WAS STILL HOLDING THE YARN AND NEEDLES. The sock, with which I had only been engaged by way of three tiny stitches, had slipped off the dpn, and my hands still held the working yarn, tensioned around my right hand. This meant that as it fell the short trip to the floor, I felt in my hand the slight and sickening popping tink of stitches unravelling as it travelled.
plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink....
I sat there, yarn and needles still in my hands, frozen in horror. Frozen. For sure the i-cord had unravelled. For sure, but the stitches at the base of the i-cord had been live. Live, available stitches. I stared at it. It had, in the manner of all things that have fallen on the floor, like toast with peanut butter....landed with the most interesting or disastrous side down. Looking at it didn't tell me of the scope of the cataclysm that lay beneath the smooth back side presenting. I took a breath, which was sort of necessary, since all of the oxygen had swept out of me when my hand felt that plink, plink business and watched the terrible tumble. I breathed. I looked at it.
For one moment I thought about just walking away. Going into the kitchen and making coffee or something. Not looking at it. Just getting on with my day and forgetting that there ever was anything with a leaf on it at all. More than that, I thought about stepping on it out of spite on my way there. I didn't though. I reached down, I picked up the sock and I lay it on my leg. As I said to Denny on the phone later, I took a few moment to think that maybe it wasn't that bad. I focussed on how it might not be that bad. I thought "nottoobadpleaseohplease" thoughts, and I flipped it over with a ginger hand.
It's unravelled. It's unravelled back into the leaf. It's gored. It's a (*&^%$%^&*ing gored inlaid &^%!!ing leaf corpse sewn into a *&^%$%ing &$%&er of a leaf hole. Rat Bastards. Pig dogs. Son of a (*&^%$%^ing tangled skein of laceweight silk.
I'm going to have a lie down now. Or maybe a drink. Or maybe a lie down AND a drink.....or maybe....
Maybe I'll have me a smallish bonfire.Posted by Stephanie at January 15, 2008 1:38 PM