The Sea Change

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong, bell.

Shakespeare – The Tempest

My Summer Mystery Shawl is deceased. Dead on arrival. Pulled off the needles and mourned appropriately (meaning I didn’t fling it across the room, but only sighed as I tucked it away to rewind the yarn later). Somehow, as I got to the last 10 rows of the third repeat of Clue 3, it became clear I had Screwed Up ™. I had 9 more stitches on one half of the shawl than the other. How did I not notice this before I was 95% finished with the shawl? Those nine stitches allowed the pattern to still work out almost perfectly. I still cannot see how I added (or subtracted from the other side) all the extra stitches without noticing. The pattern is not muddled or messed up looking on the body of the shawl itself, but the problem was when it came time to bind off, one side would be ready to bind off several rows before the other side, and there was no fixing that.
Edited to note that I went back and discovered there were several mistakes posted in the patterns, and because I was away from the computer so much while all these were coming out, I never checked to see if there was any errata! Maybe the fault is not all mine afterall! Remember, knitters, ALWAYS keep an eye open for errata!

Ah well. It was a lovely distraction while it lasted. I am going to turn that handspun yarn into a pair of fingerless mitts now, I think. It is silken and beautiful, but not really right for a shawl, I now believe.

I was supposed to cast on the June socks too. Beautiful German cabled pattern called Falling Tears. They were intended to be knit for my grandmother for Christmas (remember, most of this Sock Club is about getting my Christmas knitting done), but the pattern is intended for a Size 9 women’s foot, and I cannot see a way to shrink it down for my grandma’s dainty size 7 feet. I needed smaller needles than I currently have just to make it a size 9. I guess they will get knit eventually, just not for Grandma, and just not this month.

Instead, I went back to the May yarn. A KnitPicks self-striping yarn intended to become a pair of Jaywalker socks for my Dad. Instead, with a mind too frazzled and hands too sore to function well, I chose to cast on the most vanilla of basic socks and start a pair of toe up striped socks to end up under the Christmas tree most likely, just not for my Dad.

I am pulled too thin to wrangle intricate and beautifully structured cables on a pattern called Falling Tears, and I am too raw and hurt to knit something for the man who is literally pulling the yarn and unraveling my entire family.

My extended family is in a state of flux at the moment, and will likely remain so for a very long time to come. Byram and I are strong, united, and we adapt well to sea changes, but it doesn’t mean that the ride won’t be rough.

Sapphire Joust took a lot out of me this year, as I knew it would. That wasn’t the problem. The trouble came in the fact that Sapphire happened at the same time the unraveling yarn of my family began to pick up some serious speed. Additionally, between the three tick bites I picked up over a two week period, I picked up something more sinister: my symptoms line up best with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, but it could be Lyme or one of the other 24 different tick-bite transmitted illnesses (thus with the sore hands; painful joints is one of my symptoms). Either way, I am on a very potent broad-spectrum antibiotic, and the rubber band that is my life feels like it was stretched until it finally broke, and I am curled up and broken and useless right now. J.R.R. Tolkien described it through Bilbo Baggins as feeling like butter spread too thin over toast. That is me. That’s where I am.

We are going to be okay. Really. In life, you have to hike through the valleys to reach the mountain peaks, and I know that. My family will rally together, support my Mom, act as the safety pin you use to catch a running stitch, and we will pull her up back to safety. I am going to get over whatever crap I caught pretty soon. My husband, daughter, and I will grow and adapt, and love and learn. Tonight, I am going to pitch a tent in our backyard, light a little fire in our firebowl, and we are going to roast marshmallows and “camp out” per a request Grace has made (very earnestly).

Life is good, even if right now, we are in the midst of a sea change and our little boat is a-rockin’ and we are too close to the rocky shore for comfort. I will knit on, pray on, live on, and on the other side, I will be stronger and smarter for it all; my household will look and feel different, but change always comes. It is up to us to either embrace it or adapt to it, but you cannot reject it.

I wish you a happy Father’s Day weekend.


One response to this post.

  1. My prayers and happy thoughts are with you all. If you ever need to visit this island, float on by.


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