Segue

I plan on attending the Stitch and Bitch at Effiloché tomorrow night. I have my end of the bargain to meet in the means of a lentil salad as a thank you gesture to the "angel" who helped me when I was stuck with yet another mistake in the French translation of the Debbie Bliss aran pullover pattern for Jacob, aka godson of the crazy knitting god-mother. That would be me.

I think she will like it. I perked up my favorite Patricia Wells recipe taken from my cherished copy of Bistrot Cooking, adding my personnal touch of grilled eggplant, mushrooms and cherry tomatoes glazed in balsamic vinegar. I had to taste it first, just to make sure. Just a little bite. Just one. I swear.

But what will I tackle now that I am relieved of the obligation to knit within a tight deadline? The sea of possibilities gets me nauseous. This hat made out of some luxurious hand-spinned hand-dyed slubby yarn tempts me. Or a very chic Clapotis scarf designed by Effiloché teacher and free-lance designer Kate Gilbert in silky Seacell. Or that 2nd Céline Barbeau “Au pied de l’arc-en-ciel” missing bootie from the second pair I knitted, this time in Dalegarn Baby Ull, since the first pair in Regia sock yarn was way too small. Jacob grows too fast for my output of knitted wooly little things. I shamelessly presented anyway that too small of a pair because I never managed to finish in time the 2nd bootie of the second pair. At this point of humiliation and self-deception, I wanted the mother to approve of the model in order to feel more at ease altogether with the 2nd two-toned pair. But she never gave them back. She would not let go. She wants to tie them with a ribbon as a keepsake of the christening. I obliged - and felt really proud inside.

That missing bootie finished, I could tackle my first pair of socks, probably with the Regia Self-stripping in some fall colorway. I’m anxious at the idea of breaking the mystery of the first pair, but the more I wait and linger, the less it gets done, and my anxiety level just goes up a notch every time my mind wanders at the thought of those very socks. This is insane. I am stuck with sock spell. I have no choice but to knit that pair of sock. Cause frankly, attempting any of my choked in the egg summer shells seams a bit ludicrous at this time of year…

All those work-in-progress wannabes in the making tire me and they’re not even born. There is too much of them. I feel their pull. All those fetuses tugging and wrestling to escape my womb and make it to the needles and then to the whole wide world.

What will it be? Decisions, decisions, decisions… But who am I kidding! I do know for a fact that I’m not the one in charge.