This is Colinette Cadenza in 'Raphael'. Isn't it lovely? I think it's going to be a small-gauge Anthropologie Inspired Capelet, because look how pretty.
I know this runs counter to my "knit only from the beautiful, bountiful stash" mission, but sometimes one can't help but slip up just a little. I'm having a tumultuous emotional week.
I've taken on this new, stressful project at work, which depending on the gossip I listen to on any given day, may or not be a complete waste of time because we might be out of business before I can get it off the ground. I nod along and keep working, because what's the point in giving up and reading magazines all day when I can at least try to improve myself? And what if the company pulls it out and keeps going? I want to be a part of that. I try not to listen to the gossip, but it's getting to the point where not listening to it means that I talk to absolutely nobody for the entire workday. Sometimes it gets to me, and this week was one of those times.
And then, I'm shuffling around the homestead and I notice that Winston's crunching on something. Further investigation reveals that he's got a copy of Sting's 'The Soul Cages' in his mouth, and while I'm kneeling to scoop the shards of plastic from under his tongue, I notice that he's gnawed on the wooden bistro chairs. I know he's bored, and I know that'd improve if we'd work him really hard when we got home, but not when it's 110 degrees and smoggy outside, as it was most of this week. As much as I love him, days like that make me realize how acutely I still miss my sweet Lucy.
And something is eating the leaves off of my bean plants. I suspect trolls.
As do I, the Woman. I've told the blunderbuss to station himself by the back door every evening and stare for hours out into the darkness while the three of us watch television. Is it not working? - Buddy the Cat
I do sit there and stare outside, and I don't even turn my head when you guys call my name, because I'm keeping watch for the trolls that live under the deck, not because I'm ignoring you. So why does Buddy still hit me in the face? - Winston the Dog
Yes, well, maybe it's not trolls. Maybe it's SLUGS! Hahahaha! You see what I did there? Slug? Double entendre? My humor is lost on all of you. - BtC
Aaaanyway, my job's going shit, my dog's either chewing the furniture or obsessively and unsuccessfully guarding the patio plants, and it's hotter than the devil's sack outside. So, on my birthday, I left my possibly-doomed job a few minutes early and headed to Fashion Knit.
And there was this yarn, four skeins of the six that looked roughly the same. It made me happy to look at it. I took the four skeins to the knitting table with me and let them sit there while I worked on my Berroco top. I kept looking over at them, willing them to seem less appealing to me. If anything, they became more beautiful every time I looked up from my work.
"It's your birthday," said the woman sitting next to me. "You deserve it!"
I don't usually fall for that kind of influence, but then I thought, "Yeah, you know what? I do deserve it. Thirty-seven was a crappy year for ol' SuzannaBanana, and maybe I'm supposed to buy this yarn and make something good out of it as a reward for getting through it. Maybe, implausibly, it'll even turn things around. Also, I'll get air miles if I buy it using my Southwest card..." Decision made.
And you know what? Maybe it is already turning things around. Sure, my job's still more than likely doomed, and something's still eating my bean plants, and the air's so bad that we can't see Mount Diablo from our kitchen window. No, my dog still doesn't seem to know his own name. But when I got home and strolled over to show my neighbor my birthday yarn, she said, "Happy Birthday! Let me guess...thirty...two?" So I got that going for me. Which is nice.