Friends Don’t Let Friends Drink and Knit, Which is Why I Wait ’till My Friends Aren’t Home

After being off for three weeks, I returned to my regularly scheduled runs on Monday. Monday was brutally hot and I accepted the suggestion of a “shadier” route from a very seasoned runner in the office, but that route was not so shady, and the terrain was much more than I was prepared for. Today, it was much cooler (84 as opposed 94) and cloudy, and my run was much more successful.

As I hoped, the heat has done wonderful things for my tomatos.
Grape Tomatos
Those are my grape tomatoes. One of my full size tomatoes (Jet Star) was an orangy-green yesterday, so it might be ready by this weekend. I hope we score a little rain out of the severe thunderstorm warning currently in effect tonight. I have been watering plants like a fiend, but we are barely keeping up. One of the troubles of raised beds and potted veggies is the severe need for water.

Last night, the girl child wanted to watch the Little Mermaid again, so I grabbed my Trekking XXL boot sock and determined that I only had 4 inches of 2×2 ribbing to go and that by God I would finish them.

Well, I did. And I love them with a great love. Except for that one little issue. Can you tell?

How about now? You see, ball bands can lie. I bought my two balls of Trekking XXL from a friend who was destashing and I made sure when I bought them that I was buying not only the same colorway, but the same dye lot. Check and double check.

When I cast on for the second sock, it took only a short while to figure out I was in trouble. They are similar. They are beautiful colors. And they are distinctly different. What could I do? I let them languish, is what I did. Discontent typically means a project goes into the knitting bag and disappears for a while. I was pretty discontent with them for a while, but honestly, that has evaporated and I don’t care that they aren’t a perfect match anymore. The whole time I was knitting the first sock, I was imagining wearing them hiking in the mountains with my husband. I imagined how cool they would look worn under a rugged looking pair of hiking boots. I would be the E-PIT-O-ME of cool in these socks.

Well, you know what? Rugged and cool looking hiking boots will hide most of the color issues and honestly, who cares if there is less blaze-orange on one sock as opposed to its mate? I am happy they are finished.

Anyway, it is cold enough in my office that I am still wearing my woollen lovelies. And my feet still seem cold.

So, I finished my sock at the same time I finished a glass of wine, and was overtaken by the need to cast on something lace. And Peacock themed. Last year, I bought Proud Peacock roving from Gale’s Art at the Fall Fiber Festival in Montpelier. It was spun into a gorgeous laceweight, and while I was rummaging through my stash in a very tipsy sort of fashion, I came across it. I grabbed it and whacked my head on my book shelf, knocking my copy of Knitted Lace of Estonia by Nancy Bush onto myself (seriously, a little wine goes a LONG way with shortened intestines!). I opened the book straight to the Peacock and Leaves Scarf (Rav link, sorry), and it seemed just too coincidental to be an accident. A peacock themed laceweight yarn met a peacock themed lace project all in one tipsy encounter.

The Fates had spoken.

I drunkenly guestimated that I probably have enough yarn to make a go at it and also drunkenly cast on.

And ripped it back shortly thereafter, after starting the wrong chart first (in my defense, I assumed that the chart that came at the top of the page would be the first chart worked!).

And cast on again.

And miscounted and ripped it off again.

And cast on again.

At that point, I was beginning to sober up (counting to 81 several times will sober anyone up), so I went and got a little more wine, just to fortify myself really, and made a few rows of progress into the scarf. Just a few. Not enough to cure me of my Peacock fetish (oh, the Google hits that should bring), as I am ready to go back tearing into my scarf tonight.

It is not Peacock Feathers. It is not a shawl the size of a bedspread. It is not the Midnight Rainbow silk/wool blend I cannot afford.

It is small. It is my own handspun. It is beautifully colored. It is lace. And it will have to do.

Pictures soon.

(What beer sock?)

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