Shoveling while it's snowing

Even though it doesn't really snow here (one year was memorable for the great hailstorm that lasted about 15 minutes), I think I know what it feels like.

All of the short people in the house are sick, and I'm starting to feel something niggling around the back of my throat. Their sickness is translating into fairly sleep-free nights for me, and I'm not spending a lot of time knititng either, as they can be as sick as dogs and still perfectly able to create giant messes, demand food and drink, and want attention. Sometimes all three at once. Two of them, praise heavens, are claiming that what they really want to do is knit. This has come and gone before




-- who knows if or when it will stick, or not.


And, before the Great Cold Virus struck too virulently, I was sitting quietly during piano lessons and working away at that mis-frogged cable. Halfway through, I had a thought that could roughly be translated as "Screw this!" and pulled everything out, back to the end of the ribbing.





Notice the sad pile of stitch markers?

I just thought, "This is something I'm making for me (as opposed to a fast-moving small child), and I want to enjoy it for a long, long time. I'm going to be happier with it if it's right, and now I've learned what I did wrong the first time, so I might as well just. . . rip it."

So I did.

I have the slow-growing sleeve for company,







and, waiting upstairs is this:




Eight skeins of discontinued Rowan Magpie, in Tranquil (snort, snort, yeah, right). Maybe if I ever finish the orange vest, I'll reward myself with a nice complex, slimline Aran. Goodness knows I can always rip it out until I get it right.