Creep has been on the blocking board since Monday. It is completely dry, and yet I am loathe to unpin it and take it up. It just looks so pretty lying there, in the corner, on my bedroom floor. I am entranced by the architecture of it, the way it sometimes looks like a row of stone columns marching across the floor or the way it sometimes reminds of a grouping of stained glass windows. Perhaps the effect is best experienced early in the morning, when I have not yet donned my glasses, or at those odd moments, when I am not expecting it and it catches my eye as I walk across the room. Folding will ruin the effect. There shall be no lump of joy when I gaze upon its neat blue form on the shelf. I am fairly confident I will enjoy wearing it, but for the moment I am content to just sit and drink my coffee and gaze fondly upon it.
The photo above was taken in the late afternoon sun, when droplets of water still clung to the top of the wool. My poor camera skills were inadequate to capture the magic and yet, when I looked at this photo just now, my mind's eye remembered the combination of glistening water on soft wool, the aetherial sparkle, and I am again rendered speechless that this small bit of beauty could be lying on my own bedroom floor, knitted and pinned in place by my own hands.
Alas, I have descended from knitting nirvana into one of the lower circles of hell. Worst of all, I have done it to myself. As I finished up Creep I was already thinking about what I would knit next, and I decided to do something with the two remaining balls of the lovely Royal Alpaca that I had originally intended to use for Creep before Moisés got his claws into it. I fell hard for the lovely Milanese Loop on Ravelry and as soon as I pinned Creep to the floor, I sat down and cast on. It is not a difficult pattern; a few short weeks ago I would have just ripped through it.
You might recall that I took it into my head to learn a new way of knitting, as if the way I had been knitting for 20 years was not good enough. Now, just as I had gotten comfortable with the new technique on straight needles, I had to adapt to circulars. 50 stitches into the first round I was ready to pull my hair out, telling myself I was a total birdbrain. By the time I got 100 stitches into the round I was constantly dropping and retensioning the yarn in my right hand, but at least I had a grip on the needles. By the time I got to stitch number 200, it was smooth sailing, slow but with a natural rhythm, and I thought "I can do this". There are only 224 stitches in a round.
Then all hell broke loose. The first and last six rows of this pattern are knit in garter stitch. That doesn't sound so bad. But I am knitting in the round. That means I have to purl the even numbered rows. Purling was my downfall. I couldn't get the yarn around the needle to make a loop. My hands kept cramping up. I was muttering curses under my breath, cursing whoever thought up this method of knitting, cursing myself for ever thinking that I needed to learn something new. Most of all I was cursing whoever thought that knitting garter stitch in the round was a good idea. Who wants to purl in the round? People knit in the round to avoid purling.
I had to take a break, go look at creep lying innocently on the floor, take a few deep breaths, and remind myself that I could indeed produce something lovely, tell myself that I would not be beaten by stupid knitting. And yet, those 224 purled stitches almost did me in, almost made me into a blithering lunatic. I was muttering curses under my breath that would make the saltiest sailor blush, my hands all contorted into unnatural shapes, and I wouldn't be surprised if my hair was standing on end as well. Even my cats thought I had lost my mind; they abandoned me in the middle of a complete purl-induced breakdown and were sitting across the room, staring at me wide-eyed with alarm.
When I finally finished that row I uttered a huge sigh of releif. I had to make a cup of tea just to hold it and let my hands relax. I looked forward to a row of simple knit stitches, but to my chagrin, I had lost the hard-won rhythm I had finally achieved at the end of the first row and had to start learning all over. Luckily this time I got the rhythm after the first 100 stitches, leaving half a row of joy before venturing on another row of pain and suffering.
Now I never minded purling before this. I never understood people who hated to purl, who would knit in the round just to avoid having to make a purl stitch. Even learning the new technique I had no trouble making purl stitches on a straight needle with the needle firmly anchored under my arm. But the small tip of a circular held in my hand was a completely different story. It took me four hours to knit those six cursed rows. Four hours to knit 1496 stitches. And I'll admit I cheated. I went back to my old technique. It was the only way I survived. I'd still be knitting those accursed six rows of garter stitch if I hadn't reverted. But my hands paid. Throwing the way I used to throw is much harder on my arthritic knuckles. Even though I was nearly spent, I had to knit the first couple of rows of the pattern, using the new technique, just to calm my hands and my mind. I had to quit for the evening with a win.
Now that I have another 96 rows of nice straight knitting ahead of me I can relax. Already I want to drag it out, make the knitting last as long as possible before I have to purl again. Maybe it will be simpler by then. Maybe.
For my next project though, I will be back on straight needles. New techniques are probaly best mastered one step at a time. But I still have doubts about purling in the round.