On the Monkey

I have been on a serious finishing jaunt. Due to some April downpours, I've been stuck inside.



Yesterday I finally got around to finishing the Spindle Socks.



In one afternoon, I knit a whole foot, grafted the toes, blocked Loppem, blocked the Tomten jacket, cleaned the house, and set the twist on some handspun. It was as if I was in some sort of fold in the space time continuum. This is probably the same fold that's been collecting all of that time I lose during the rest of my week.


These socks were knit, from start to finish, without a hitch. There was no swearing, no throwing of needles, no threatening to abuse the knitting with scissors. It was the bizarro world of sock knitting. I was so inspired by this triumph, that I cast on for a second pair of socks. Yes, I'm ignoring the fact that I have three or four other pairs waiting to be finished. Please don't bring that up right now. I'm basking in the glow of a completed pair of sunshine colored socks. As I was saying, I cast on for another sock. It's the Monkey sock pattern from the talented Cookie A. She has a new book out. It's amazing. Her Monkey socks have been knit by 8916 people, on Ravelry. I thought I might as well hop on the bandwagon.
The sock I am knitting is too big. I sort of knew this as I cast on. I sort of knew it as I knit for three inches. Thankfully, I sort of had the brains to try it on, before denial led to a finished pair of yeti sized socks. My ego is a little bruised by this early failure, but the Monkey pattern is so addictive, that I think I'll drop down a needle size, and get back on that Monkey.
The other Hallmark knitting moment came when the Loppem sweater went from bad seed, troublemaker, redheaded stepchild status to beloved, angelic, can do no wrong, only child status. I don't know how this happened. I had resigned myself to the fact that I was probably going to have to rip out the whole thing, and then reknit it. I knew with certainty that it would be entirely too big. I would have bet lots of money on it. I gave it lots of nasty looks, and sighed many times while finishing up the yoke. About an inch from the finish line, things began to look more promising. The neckline wasn't going to be elephantesque. I bound off, and raced to the nearest reflective surface. It looked O.K. in the dark reflection of a glass door. I ran down the hall to the bathroom mirror, and was shocked to see a completely wearable sweater. I really can't tell you how this happened. I think it's a combination of the style of the sweater, and a diabolical case of body snatching. Someone snatched my imaginary willowy frame and replaced it with a buxom-y Germanic matron's figure. I'll post pictures, as soon the sweater finishes drying, and as soon as I come to terms with the fact that I'm not a size 6.