Something Completely Different

The blue sweater continues to kick my ass with its refusal to be finished. It's as though the sleeve - yes there is still only one - is getting shorter as I knit it. I keep trying it on and loving it, especially the neckline, but I just cannot seem to finish the sleeves. Perhaps I should frog back the sleeve I've already done and finish both of them off as capped sleeves. I left the waste yarn in the working sleeve for this reason. I know in my heart that I don't want it to have capped sleeves, but if I have any hope of finishing it before summer, I might have to give in. Poor Ol' Blue

While I've been contemplating this, I've also been working on what I thought would be the antithesis of that sweater. I started knitting a large gauge sweater on great big needles, thinking that the almost instant gratification would be a nice break from the tedium of Ol' Blue. Know what I've forgotten about great big needles? After an hour or so of knitting with them, my wrist starts to hurt and I have to stop working with the great big needles for at least a few days. But I can't go back to Ol' Blue, because I'm still not over the unrelenting boredom of it.


I'm thinking about starting a third sweater with this stuff. It's the sport/DK weight from Interlacements. I've got two 850-yard skeins of it, and I'd almost certainly double it and knit it as a worsted yarn. Ol' Blue is being knit at a light DK gauge due to swatch/reality issues, and I can't bear the thought of two projects on the needles at that gauge.

I haven't decided what it should be yet, but I'm thinking something sort of Trekkie without being too Out There, if you take my meaning. The colors remind me of the Mutara Nebula from "Wrath of Khan". Oh, Montalban!


"Oh, handsome, courtly Montalban! How I shall miss your dulcet voice, reminiscent of nights sipping brandy by the fire! Your courtly manner brought grace and class to every stage you graced, and your gentlmanly handsomeness vivified every screen, with your warm, olive skin and your manly chest leading the way into every scene. Your suave, virile hips..."

Uh, Buddy?

"Yes, the Woman?"

You O.K. there, guy?

"Well, no, and thank you for finally asking, the Woman. The stage of the world is one light darker for the loss of Montalban. I shall miss him."

Yeah, alright, but it just seems like you're going to REALLY miss him. A LOT. I don't know how to ask this, and you know I'd never pry, but Buddy? Is there something you're not telling me? Did you have a crush on Ricardo Montalban?

"KHAAAAAN! KHAAAAAAAAAN!"

Guess we all should've seen that coming.

One Year Out

I feel so bad about this. I hardly remember her anymore. I try, but I can't remember her face. I can't bring it up in my mind when I think about her. I remember the whines of almost anguished joy when we'd ask her if she wanted to go for a walk, and I remember her sleep-howling. I remember the way her back legs turned out and how funny it made her look on walks when she'd get in front of me. I remember the incessant licking - her paws, our faces, the air, anything her tongue could reach - and how she'd try to do it more quietly when we'd tell her to stop. LICK LICK LICK "Lucy, for the love of GOD! STOP!" lick lick lick.

Everybody loved her. "I don't even like dogs, but she was different." "Oh, that's the one you told me about?" "Yeah, that's the one."

But I can't remember her face.