Grant Park pullover, 242 stitches for the body, knit in the round. I have been anticipating this part of the tubular cast-on, with some trepidation. Each sleeve was multiple starts, rips, and restarts. That was only 56 stitches.
Tubular cast-on. Yup.
Dutifully cast on 242 stitches. Kept looking at the work, wondering what would happen to derail this attempt. I cannot tell the difference between premonition and actual disaster, so I keep knitting. My circular needle was barely big enough after the first row (k1, yo). I decided not to join in the round until a few more rows in, then stitch up the side carefully. Second row (sl 1 wyib, P1), and I'm wondering when the stitches condense into the tube. Then I am realizing, with pain, and understanding, and inevitability, that I had cast on 242 when I should have cast on 122. So after knitting...hmmmm 242 x2 plus 242 x 2 -3 (yes it took until three stitches from the end of the entire second row to put it all together), it was frogged.
And I wonder why I seem to knit so slowly.
The restart is started. The hem (K1P1 infinitely) is done. The pattern is not mindless. Those purl stitches that make up the diamonds have to be placed Just So. Once the pattern is established, it will be faster, more rote.
Then the knitstupidity will strike, and the frogging will resume.
Then again, perhaps not.
I was about to say, "It's a mystery!". From Shakespeare in Love, it is the most oft-quoted movie line in the Etherknitter household. I would have linked to a Google quote, but found this. Simply substitute "knitting" for "theatre".
Philip Henslowe:
Mr.
Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural
condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent
disaster.
Hugh Fennyman:
So what do we do?
Philip Henslowe:
Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.
Hugh Fennyman:
How?
Philip Henslowe:
I don't know. It's a mystery.
I do know that I am part of an amorphous sweater KAL. No one knows what patterns the others are knitting. No one knows who else is participating in the KAL. But we do know the name of the group.
NaKniSweGoSlo. Srsly.
Our second hotel in Barcelona was in the Gothic quarter. We were half a block from the Cathedral. I have to say "Gothic Cathedral", despite the apparent redundancy of that. The city is more known for Sagrada Familia, the cathedral begun in 1883, with construction taken over by Gaudi in 1884. That is still a WIP, constructed over decades and centuries, as in the Middle Ages.
The Gothic quarter is old stone, impossibly narrow streets, uneven surfaces, and street musicians who take advantage of the resonance of the stone to perform their best. Two caught our ear.
One man plays an unusual harp. The soundbox built as one of the supports adds resonance to his music. He is from Colombia, smiles often, plays a mix of classics and pop favorites. His favorite corner has a small plaza with a stone bench, always lined with happy listeners. He recognized us each day, smiled and nodded when he saw us again.
The part of the harp strut that isn't the box was ornately carved. It reminded me of a Golding wheel.
The Gothic Cathedral is not the best example of its genre. It continues to be an active church, giving worshippers an earthly impression of the vastness of an Almighty. The side chapels lining the central nave draw many offerings. Candles are routine. Flowers scatter at the front of the enclosures.
These caught my eye.
The terror of flying adds piquancy to the time that follows. The sense of milennia of history is missing in America. Roman wall remnants remain in Barcelona. They are not pristine. Two thousand years show in the decay of stone, and cobbled repairs. As in Rome, the walls are used to build other structures, or as foundations for more walls. What is stamped in our DNA that drives us to build walls?
My Rhinebeck shawls are hopelessly behind. I'm removing the personal thumbscrews. I won't sacrifice the pleasure of the knit for a deadline. It is a liberation of sorts. Shuck the peer pressure, continue knitting. I think I lost a week somewhere. Rhinebeck is less than two weeks away, not the three weeks that my inner counter was counting!
