When last I posted, it was the coming out for my Mondo Cable Cardi. Since then, we've had the Olympics, and I am proud to say that not only did I come home (stay home?) with the gold, but my sweater is - predictably- the best thing I've ever knit.
(This reminds me of elementary school, where we would write, "Today is March 3rd, 2010. This is a sample of my very best handwriting.")
I know I said that about the Tangled Yoke cardigan, and probably every other sweater I've knit before that. But seriously, they keep getting better and better. Either that, or it's my inner magpie piping up.
In any case, I finished the knitting, and the finishing before closing ceremonies, and I was *so* excited about it that I put the Seneca on Venus (my bust/body double) immediately. Knitting a sweater is a labor of love, and regardless of the image in my head, sometimes the sweater doesn't work out, and it isn't until I put it on that I know for certain whether it is a total failure or success.
Technique, execution, and my beloved math are less powerful combined than the power of delusion. As someone who sees herself about six feet tall in her mind's eye, I'm keenly aware of this. I always have a moment, when I'm trying a finished sweater on for the first time, where I am ready to look in the mirror and see a Failure. It has happened, and those sweaters find new, loving homes. Not a big deal, especially now that the nieces have become teens, and are always willing to enhance their wardrobes.
You will understand my joy, when after buying the fleece, spinning, plying, and knitting this sweater, I put it on and it SANG on my body. The shaping follows my curves, the horizontal cables sit perfectly on my shoulders, and - even unblocked - every single time I passed a mirror (or reflective window), I preened like a peacock. Apparently, horizontal cables are the new black.
I'm doing my best to be Jasmin 2010, because what the Knitting Olympics remind me every time is that I *can* knit a sweater in two weeks - if I stick to it. Now, if only my inner magpie would pipe down and stop tempting me with new patterns...