Which one in the Rain?

While the East Coast is being ravaged with Hurricane Sandy, (I know a woman named Sandy whom is similar to a hurricane, but hurricanes you can at least flee from; I am stuck with her) Ohio is simply wet and cold. Really, I didn’t know it was possible to be this wet and cold, living outside of Yorkshire that is. The ironic part is that all of last winter was like this, cold and wet. The dampness has creeped into the house, and so begins the seven months of the year when I simply can’t get warm.

But this weather is quite condusive to good knitting. It might be the lack of other things to do, (Which is quite likely, I read a whole, almost 300 page novel yesterday.) It also could be there’s plenty of call for knitting. There is nothing like a need for a sweater to get you to acutally knit one. I’m not yet 100% sure of any other these yet.

But it doesn’t really matter why we do what we do, it simply matters that we do what we do. Why do we feel the need to explain away all of our emotions? That’s another topic though, you may see me at my (other) pointless driveling blog for that. (I don’t have one, don’t pester me for links.) What all this is, is really a roundabout way of saying that I’m almost finished with one sweater.

Guess which one.

I would love to tell you that the Fishtrap Aran is almost done, but that would be a lie, and what’s more you’d know it, especially when it isn’t done for a while. Nope, the Rorscach is almost done, thanks to me doing an inordinate amount of reading here lately. This thing is so simple that I can simply churn along on it while my eyes are doing something else.

There was a funny moment with the thing over the weekend. I go to the coffeehouse just about every weekend, namely because it keeps me from sitting at home every Saturday night like some loser. Well, I went there two nights ago, and wasn’t expecting a large crowd. Well, I was wrong, because I had a hard time even getting a seat at the bar, let alone a table. This wasn’t good for my plans. I had to knit some applied I-cord on the sleeves, and then, there really wasn’t much else left to do at that point, but graft up the sides.

Don’t you wonder how I dared to do so? This time last year, grafting feared me like nothing else. And there I was, far from home,  no refrence books to help me, and unwilling to lose out on potential knitting time.  I didn’t even have a table, only my lap.(There was so much going on that it would have been pointless to read.) I am so proud of myself.

I didn’t do to badly either. There was onle one little half-purl blip that told of faluire. Granted, that was the sweatiest, most nerve wracking half hour I’ve had in a long time, but it’s all over, and the sense of smug satasfaction now outweighs all of that

I’ll try to finish soon. All will be easy, except for the buttons. Don’t count on the buttons.

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