Wednesday, November 28, 2007

It was a dark and dreary night, ages ago...

Okay well, no it was about a week ago. But it was probably dark and dreary. And this is a horror story, so lets get in the mood. Conjure up Poe, light a few candles, and brace yourselves. This ain't for the faint of heart.

So, a few weeks ago I was merrily knitting away on a sweater for my father. It is a tradition: every year I give him a sweater and this year will not be different. I was dutiful, I ordered the yarn in August, cast on in September, and last week had the great pleasure of casting off the last stitches of the body.

There you see the sweater happily bathing, pre-blocking. People, this was a lot of yarn. A lot of knitting, and a lot of yarn. And, oh, about 3 months of my life.

And here we see lots and lots of teeny-tiny floats, a beauty in their own right.

*Sigh*. This sweater could have been so beautiful.

And then...Deep breath...unraveling.

I know! I know what must be running through the minds of every knitter right now, hands clutched to breasts in fear, or perhaps their own WIP. Thinking "Don't do it! Stop, you crazy bitch! What are you doing?"

The damn thing is too big.

And we're not talking a few inches of ease. No,I'm not that much of a perfectionist, and my father still abides by the rules that if I knit it, he must love it. But there are limits, and I could not give my father a sweater that could easily have fit two of him inside. His chest is about 42" around, and this sweater was pushing a 54" bust measurement post-blocking.

It's like the monster of knitting. I have created a monster!

I deliberated for days, (hence the lack of blogging). What to do? Give my father a sweater that he could also use as a tent in case of emergencies? Steek it and sew it? (Wouldn't have enough yarn for the sleeves...) Find a new pattern and commit myself to knitting another fair isle sweater in a few weeks? Rip out the sweater? Or even worse, buy my father a present?

In the end, I decided the sweater would be sent to the frog pond. Then there was some drinking and complaining. And then I went to Liberty's and bought 7 balls of Rowan Wool.

Stay tuned...Christmas is in less than a month, I'm on a trans-continental flight in 21 days, and I have two papers due next week. But Goddammit, my daddy is getting a sweater.

All I can say now is, I was so right in calling it the Sweater O' Doom.

1 comment:

Laiane said...

The mere mention of the word "steek" makes me break out in hives. You are a brave soul (and must love your father dearly) to even consider it.