I am as predictable as a sunrise. The moment there is the slightest feel of autumn in the air, I am casting on a sweater. Whoops, it’s 60 degrees F? I’m headfirst in the yarn cupboard, pawing through the wool. You can set your watch by me. The same thing will happen with mittens as soon as I see a snowflake, which let us fervently hope doesn’t happen for quite awhile, though it has been a strange year for weather. And how I love to choose a palette, wind everything into center-pull cakes, and tuck it all neatly into a pretty basket. It doesn’t stay pretty for long, but I do love it. The pattern I’m using is this one; you can see I’ve chosen my own colors. These are all Cascade 220, Patons Classic, and Berocco Vintage. It will (I know, I say this every time) probably take quite awhile—that’s a coat in stranded colorwork; my knuckles ache just thinking about it—but I can’t wait. I look at the basket of yarn the way an eight-year old looks at her birthday presents. Lemme at it! I just dance inside. Yarn, and color. Thank you, yarn, for being so great. I can’t promise I won’t cast on yet another sweater, for when I need a break from all the fussing of colorwork, and for when I also need a break from the endless and mind-erasing laceweight seed stitch wrap. (Seriously, knitting that thing puts me into a trance.) Well, it is September. I just want snuggly, soft, cabled cardigans.
In other happy news, my gorgeous vintage Singer 600 Slant-o-Matic, the beautiful Miss Kastner, lives. Thanks be for competent repairmen. (This guy says he can even fix my poor, dilapidated, half-destroyed Bernina, which I had essentially given up for dead, can you believe that? If he fixes the Bernina, I will adopt him and make him come to Thanksgiving dinner.)
This quilt is basted now, and all I need is one long, empty day. I’ll make coffee (iced or hot, depending on the weather), tune the radio to that station that keeps playing Philadelphia Freedom and Night Fever, and finish it up. I’ll take breaks to stir the soup, move the laundry, take the dog for a walk, knit a few rows. Git ‘er done.