Icelandic and Reflections from behind the Mower

It occurred to me, while I sat here and looked at a blank screen, thinking about what I should write, that I have yet to tell you about my Icelandic/ Raglan sweater. I don’t know how that happened, but this is me, and my mind really is like the Bermuda Triangle of thoughts. So there you have it.

As opposed to the typical bathroom mirror shot, which let’s be honest, is hardly an art form. I decided to try the camera function on this fancy pants computer. (But not with a self repairing keyboard. Why? I’d rather have that than this thing called “a charms menu.” What the hell does that mean?) Anyway, It worked pretty well, you’ll see in a minute, aside from that point where I got up, got into the pose and then thought “How am I going to take the picture?” I pushed the button with a  yardstick. High tech around these here parts.

picture001

Of course, it’s a mirror image because I can’t figure out how to flip it for the life of me. Anyway, please ignore the messy bedroom behind me, and the head of a garden statue of Siddhartha Gautama behind me. (I call him Sid.)

The pattern, a bastardizion of the Raglan yoke shaping (Which is in KW, but you really could figure it out by yourself if you really wanted to) clapped together with the Icelandic yoke pattern. I came up with this idea when I saw a picture of Adam Levine wearing one in some Men’s magazine. (That is sort of embarrassing to admit, when it comes to Adam Levine I am about eight kinds of fan girl, not fan boy, I don’t even have the dignity of that.) I originally meant to do it all in the olive green, but that stuff was a Goodwill find that I, um, you know, “miscalculated.” (We are going to leave it at that.) So, with the off-white yoke, and the primary color patters, it looks a lot like the sweater that I got the idea from.

I sewed and cut the front of it for a steek, and I also did a Kangaroo pouch, but I didn’t do that quite right, because there is one point in the button band where I kind of had to “take a short cut across the body of it, to avoid having a “stair step neck” (It really would have looked like stairs.) So now, there is a flap of pointless knitting in the collar area. I’ll live.

I snipped half a stitch for a pocket and then did a “close enough” mirror image of it on the other side. (I’m sure I’m a few stitches off.) I was so confident that I didn’t even put them on needles as I went, I just let them flap in the breeze till I was ready for them. Contrary to popular belief, a free stitch doesn’t just shoot down to the bottom of your work. I only lost one of them, but he was soon picked pack up. I made big, deep pockets, and bordered them with applied I-cord, so they wouldn’t curl (much, it curls a little, but not to the point where it is annoying.)

There is a difference in gauge between the white and the olive green, the difference between a light worsted and heavy worsted, so not that much, but it is a little bigger in the chest area. When I was knitting the sleeves, I felt like that would bother me much more than it did in the body, so I knit about six inches of 2×2 ribbing, and that seems to hold it in nicely. I hate sleeves that aren’t snug enough.

The neck seemed a bit big, so I put in a little more decreasing to hold it in, and it seems to have worked. However, I don’t quite remember what that ratio was.

It didn’t seem like I had that much going on while knitting it, but it kind of looks like it in retrospect. Anyway, now that this thing is done, I’ve got only 14 projects left to do in Knitting Workshop. Well over halfway done, considering that two of those remaining fourteen are well underway. Boo YA!

 . . . . . . .

I mowed for the first time yesterday. I was putting off, namely because I wanted my father to check the mower and make sure that it wouldn’t blow up and kill me. I know that the chances of if killing me because it had old gas in it are about a million to one, but I really don’t want to take that risk. And changing the oil just always seemed to manly an activity for me. You know, this sort of thing starts with mowers, and the next thing you know, I’m replacing a faulty transmission at two o’clock in the morning in my front yard, and that would really cut into the knitting time.

Once you start mowing, you’re doing it till it’s time to rake leaves, so it’s only natural that this sort of thing would be put off, mowing not being as fun as, say a color work sweater. I consider it exercise too, which I need considering that a 32 is starting to get a little tight on me. (I don’t want to gain that infamous freshman fifteen before I’m a freshman, and that looks like the way I’m heading. I WILL NOT BE FAT AGAIN!!!) But mowing is like, coincidental exercise, I’d still be mowing even if I didn’t burn a calorie at all.

I’m pretty afraid of large machinery, so you can understand what mowing means to me — confronting a fear of something that has the potential to kill me. And that feeling of dread when you run over a rock, or the flower bed edging. And the worst part is, I’m getting so close to the edge of the flower bed because of another fear of large machinery. The closer I get, the less weed-eating needs to be done. I will not weed eat. I will not. The mower is one thing, the weed eating is another thing entirely. That thing really can be dangerous. I will sooner take to the trimming with my good scissors before running that thing.  Period.

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