These things sneak up on a body. I had all the time in the world, and then suddenly, there is no time left. Woefully unprepared, I have no Rhinebeck sweater to sport.
One does not bang out a Stopover in Etherknitterland. Each row is constructed, then occasionally deconstructed. So it was with the decrease row after the sleeves were joined. So close, I could feel the finished sweater slipping over my head and arms. But I had two stitches left which should not be there. I'm ALMOST certain I counted, and started with the right number. Wine and knitting are not always happy bedfellows. The heat of summer hit; sweaters on laps became an impossibility.
Suddenly (remember that suddenness?), failure to plan was planning to fail. I didn't bring it on a trip (too heavy too bulky), then this happened, and that happened, and it simply didn't happen. I plan to wear my trademark Red Sox cap (losers!), plus something weather-appropriate. I am sure you will recognize me.
My muse says do not buy sweater yarn and do not buy shawl yarn. A difficult truth, that. The festival is not really a weaving yarn kind of place. What shall I buy? Do I sin with an apple crisp, which is no longer on the eating plan? There are more dilemmas to contemplate in addition to the Rhinebeck absence-of-sweater conundrum.
September revealed a remarkable feast called Utah. Golden aspens, scrumptious food, and stellar companions (hi Margene! hi Smith!) joined together for some western magic. Silver Lake was as stunning as promised.