Before I left, I had done one of those things knitters do, and had wrapped up the half-finished Urban Aran (cardiganized version) for my sister and given it to her for her birthday. I felt really bad that I hadn’t finished, but apparently not badly enough that I was willing to either A) not finish the book I was writing at the time or B) carry a heavy project around with me from city to city for a while to get it done. Yesterday when I was thinking over a sweater and looking at the choices and fondling new yarn while I pondered new books (I am thoroughly besotted with Norah Gaughan’s Berroco stuff right now – which isn’t surprising, since I have a fetish for this book too) I had a sudden pang of guilt.
Rather uncharacteristically, since knitting guilt doesn’t move me much, feeling as I do – that people who get whole sweaters from knitters are pretty lucky folk… I pulled it out from the basket and took stock. I had knit the back, both sleeves and a front, and all that remains is a single front and the collar, making up and (much dreaded) zipper insertion, I pledged that I would finish this before starting something for myself. That’s how much I love my sister. (Kindly overlook the six pairs of socks knit in the meantime.) I’m delaying my own wardrobe and gratification for her. (Again, with the exception of those socks.) With a little luck, I can finish it this weekend, and totally relieve myself of the burden of knowing that I’m slacking on her present, and present her with a chunky wool sweater just in time for the steamy Toronto summer.
I might still feel just a little guilty.