Imagine a dressy, elegant sweater, gossamer weight, and warm enough to be cozy. The sleeves are wrist length, without flare. The neckline is lower than crew, higher than scoop. One button coyly closes the top. It falls to just hip length. The neck, sleeves and bottom have a 1" moss stitch border, and the buttonband (which has only the one closure at the top) has a stabilizing, delicate cable on each side.
That's the sweater fleshed out and made into a pattern by the many-pierced artist assisting me at Artfibers in San Francisco. The yarn refuses to sit still for a decent picture. It is Sylph, color 04.
A sweaters' worth of yarn rarely makes the leap into the stash. I had been thinking about this one for some time. Claudia had warned me: "Leave your expectations at the door and your husband at the hotel." It's hard to fall in love with sumptuous yarns, then recognize that there is no garment you can picture in your life for that fiber. Sylph was my sole purchase. She's higher up in the queue than I had anticipated.
Sylvia showed me pelicans. She stopped on the street and pointed out sculptural bamboo. Her hands danced as she described making beadlizards to us.
Juno's post today was exquisite in its concise wisdom. My morning yoga class creaked and snapped my body into the awareness of need for more yoga. So easy to say, "Tomorrow," and so foolish. The Japanese garden in Golden Gate Park stirred the soul around and reminds me of my resolve.
The baby kimono is ready for assemblage. Three needle bind-off (trivial) and seaming two sleeves remain. The hard lessons always come last. I cast-on two different ways: long tail, and backwards loop. Now I am left making the odd seams seamless. There is trial and error in my future, more than usual.