I've been treading water lately.
Keeping time.
Filling time.
Trying to make the days bearable, until the next thing I have to look forward to.
Late July and August were such difficult stretches. Lonely, searching...but September showed up and I feel like I have footing again, even if just a little.
During the summer months when I was banging around trying to find something or someone to help me figure stuff out, I wrote this:
It's simple. Nothing to call home about, really. I prefer constancy and safety to flash and dazzle anyway.
I wrote about this sweater earlier, but after more than a few moments of disillusionment with knitting pattern design in general, I lost the plot and decided to just write a little about the yarn, and a slap dash pattern here instead of putting out some fancy PDF with no soul.
What is the point in a hand knitted garment anyway if it doesn't have a story?
This particular tale begins in Ireland.
In 2018 I had a 2 week holiday with my daughter, traveling the country side and spending time in a small apartment we rented in Dublin's center. It was one of my favorite get-aways to memory, because my daughter and I spent a lot of time knitting together. We sat in cafes, she drank cocoa with heaps of marshmallows on top while I watched the rain. It was drizzly and kind of miserable a good deal of the time, but I think on