« Meme clickclick typetype | Main | Moving on up... »


This morning, I put one corner of the exponentially-growing Fir Cone Shawl on scrap yarn and roughly pinned it out.

The motif in the inner border is a little triangle:

while the outer border has a geometric wave punctuated with little clover shapes.

It's all very nice and everything, but this shawl is killing me. I don't mean in your figurative hyperbole-for-the-sake-of-the-narration sense; I mean that the thought of starting each slightly longer row makes a little piece of my soul wither and die. If you look carefully in the upper left, you can see a cloven hoof in the ruched lace. Last night, the edging flew off the needles by itself, all the windows jammed shut, and the ambient temperature dropped by about 40 degrees. It burned the fingers of a passing nun. Telephones crackle with static when it's near. Babies burst into tears around it for no reason. I saw it turn a dog to stone. TO STONE, PEOPLE.

Dressed as a lamb, indeed.


Have you considered starting another pair of socks? Or maybe that Gansy for your dad.

Hide the beast away from ye lest it devour thy soul completely!!!

Tee hee! I love your descriptions of the beast that is the Fir Cone shawl. And I thought I was the only one who felt that way sometimes. It's good to know such a knitter as yourself feels that way too!

If you exorcise this nasty demon and finish it, you're a way better knitter than I. (Actually, you are even if you don't!) When I feel that way about a project, I usually bag it!

You could get some holy water, and maybe burn some sage......
or hide it under a pillow until it starts to look good again.

Your Norwegian stockings fill me with envy and respect.

Post a comment