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••• Monday, December 15, 2003

Tales of a Beanie Weenie
I've knit not a stitch since Thursday evening. This is a conscious choice, and I'm okay with it.

My original Christmas project list included beanies for all my nephews and nieces. Considering my own son's aversion to the London Beanie, I decided to poll my siblings on whether or not their offspring would be interested.

The thought behind the pre-production polling was to avoid knitting my knuckles knarly for knaught. My younger sister wasn't sure about two of her boys, but added "It doesn't matter if they like them. Do it for all or do it for none."

Fine.

So I add two hats to the current list of five. And I notice that I'm not breathing so easy. Either my lungs have shrunk or that knot in my stomach is growing and encroaching on my sacred sacs of life.

Then I remember that all three of my sister's boys have larger than average-size heads. This will have considerable impact on stitchage per cappage. I'll need more time. I breathe deep, the gathering gloom.

I also have to finish mother-in-law's sweater (UxBridge Striper). It needs two sleeves.

I hate sleeves.

I love Beanies.

I procrastinate.

Before I left for shopping on Friday, my plan to knit beanies was still intact. As I shopped, I noted an urgency to get done, get home and get circular.

For my family Christmas celebration, we don't purchase regular gifts for the kids or for siblings. We buy each child (and adult) a stocking gift. The gifts are stuffed into a humongous stocking (five feet tall) and at the designated time, the stocking is dumped on the floor. Each kid has a decorated bag for their respective gift gathering pleasure. It's a fun-filled festive, frenzy. Even my 25 year-old married niece still sits in on the fun.

So, back to Friday shopping. I'm waiting in line at the checkout of the sports equipment store and see this basket filled with miscellaneous do-hickies. Teenage-boy-stuff-it-in-a-humongous-stocking-typa do-hickies.

On impulse, I scoop a handful and dump it on my pile for purchase. I notice an immediate, physical response to this action. I was breathing better. I felt lighter. Relaxed. Celebratory.

Okay, maybe not celebratory.

In one fell scoop, I'd cleared hours of knitting and fretting off of my holiday to-do list. And added a month to my lifespan.

Friday night, however, I still couldn't make myself start on those sleeves. I still needed something. Some sort of purification ritual. Something to reflect my reborn spirit. I needed to clear my fiber palate.

So on Friday night, I knit not. Instead, I organized my knitting. I cleared out numerous unfinished project bags. I found and put away most of my Denise needle points and cables. I reorganized my knitting book shelf. I brought all beanie yarns to the basement, and any other yarn unrelated to the Berrocan turtleneck was hidden away.

When finished, I vowed to not knit a stitch for the rest of the weekend. Neither would I look at a pattern book, or cop a feel of Indulgence.

At 1:00 a.m., I looked around and saw that it was good.
I said "dang."
I went to bed.

And I knit not a bit for the remainder of the weekend.

::Gawd, what a boring post. My only other option was an anti-holiday tirade. And no, my tree's not up yet. So whazzituya? ::


# posted by Marcia @ 11:15 AM