A month's time

Around a month ago, we were regularly walking on the lake.

About three weeks ago, we went cross-country skiing.

Sammy helped.

A week later, Sammy was in the lake instead of on it.

And in another week, the grass was green and the trees and flowers were budding.

Hey that's my shoe!

These people haven't done jack to their lawn in at least a year, and yet pretty flowers happen anyway.

What a weird winter. On the one hand, I'm enjoying being able to wear short-sleeves, on the other hand, it's totally ominous and creepy.

I've actually been doing a fair amount of knitting over the past month, but for some reason have kept it a secret. I mean, it's not really a secret, but I think I was subconsciously dubious as to whether or not it would work, and kind of confused as to why I was doing it in the first place.

It started with the revelation that I don't particularly care for this sweater. I never even bothered having someone take a picture of me actually in it. I've worn it a total of one time, and I felt a little like a jackass the entire day. The fabric is heavy and ultimately it's too big. I remember thinking that I liked it when I finished it (after several iterations of ripping apart and fixing), but now I'm thinking that I was suffering from a form of knitting Stockholm syndrome. So when I saw a sale on Tilli Tomas yarn back in November, I picked up a sweater appropriate amount with the seed of an idea.

Sammy opened the yarn shipment while I was at work. He does love yarn.

Thanks for your 'help'.

About a month ago, I decided that I would bite the bullet and try the same sweater again (#10 Tunis). But it also seemed kind of stupid to possibly get burned again. I just re-read my review of the pattern on Ravelry and it's bordering on brutal. I really hated the sweater. So I wasn't entirely sure it was going to work, nor entirely sure why I was doing it in the first place. Sometimes once you finish a pattern though, you realize what you (think you) needed to do to make it work.

I worked up most of the torso while I was in Japan, and spent the lion's share of a delayed-sit-on-the-tarmac-for-hours-flight picking up the sleeves (Orlando: worst conference venue EVER--the flight home was the cherry on the shit sundae). Just the neckline remains.

I'm willing to declare success only with the addition of a question mark (success?). Got to get that neckline before I start counting chickens in earnest.