A knitting friend of mine, Opal, shared her completion of a pair of gorgeous gloves with our A Loose Knit Group. She was elated to finish them as their completion was something constantly looming over her head. A monkey on her back. While commenting on her wonderful gloves, you gotta go look at 'em, I was shaken out of the lovely, lace fairy tale land I have been happily living in the last week.
My sweet little, warm, happy world quickly came to an abrupt halt. Now, I know she had no intention of this happening, so don't go blaming my little Hawaiian friend. Maybe it is guilt? Possibly self-condemnation. Could it be conviction? I don't know. However, I do know of one other time I felt the same deep hatred well up within. It was a time, not unlike the present, except for the fact I weighed a little more, had less gray and was almost 12 years younger.
Back in '96 my oldest two children, Aaron and Sara, and myself went to France and England with their High School French Club. It was a glorious time. We took the ferry from Cherbourg, France across the English Channel to Portsmouth, England. Although I had seen it before, I was pleased to find a viewing of Brave Heart being shown in the ferry theater. I'm sure some Englishmen/women would say it was French propaganda.
One of the locations we visited was Westminster Abbey. It is such a lovely place. As we walked around the site the tour guide gave us a history of the cathedral and its contents. My mind was somewhat wondering when I realized I was standing right next the the entombed remains of Edward "Longshanks." Yeah, THAT Edward "Longshanks." The one who sought William Wallace with a vengeance. As I stood there looking at the tomb with utter disgust I thought to myself, "Man, how I would like to spit on you." (I did bite my thumb at him)
That same feeling of total disgust came over me while looking at Opal's lovely gloves. I didn't want to spit on her gloves or her but, that #@%$@&*&# tomten. Who can deliver me from this body of death? Is there any worse plight known to knittingdom? Why, why, WHY did I ever start that stupid thing. I hate 'im. Henceforth he shall be known as Edward Longshanks, the oppressor of all that is beautiful and free. And he shall be relegated to living under the spinning wheel. LET FREEDOM RING!!!!!
I've completed Clue One of Dem Fischer Sin Fru - The Fisherman's Wife. I've dubbed this one "The Fisherman's Plaque." My dear friend, Peggy, brought it to my attention this should read "The Fisherman's Plague." I'm so glad I have friends. :) Read the story and you will understand why. It is a real joy to knit, however, as the pattern keeps increasing I have a feeling the wrong side purl rows are going to be monstrous by the time this baby is finished.