Green like eggshell on the pale purple sea

by Emily

I like the idea of knitting or stitching something of my physical and emotional surroundings into the clothes I make, so that at the end of a project I have a garment with cozy evenings by the rainy window knitted into the seams, and quiet times in a teashop with a friend sewn into the collar. This weekend, as David and I embarked on an epic Portland odyssey, traversing hither and thither on foot in the brave March sunshine, I took my latest project with me and worked a few rows here and there throughout our walk, stitching the sunshine and adventure of the gorgeous day into the seafoam sweaterback. Now when I wear the sweater, even in the dark, cold days of winter, it will contain the warmth of the first sunny days of spring.

Remember how I mentioned trying out socks and liking them, but sort of preferring sweaters anyway? Apparently my limit for sock knitting is actually three and a half socks exactly, because as I was stitching along the other day on my current sock project, I was suddenly overcome with the desire - nay, the compulsion - to be knitting a sweater. I had been hemming and hawing over sweater patterns for months, unable to find something I was head-over-heels for. But after that third-and-a-half sock I could feel the sea change in my knitting soul, and this time, as soon as I took down the knitting books from the shelf, I was immediately awash in patterns I felt I must make up. The next day I bought the yarn and swatched, and half a week later I was reclining on the westside waterfront, fastening sunbeams into the sweaterback.

Unfortunately, the semi-magical transfer of ambient emotions and physical atmosphere into the knitted garment works both ways. Yesterday, much to my detriment, I attempted to ignore this vital fact and paid dearly. I don't know how yesterday went down for YOU all, but for me it was One Of Those Days. You know, those days when computers break, friends betray you, businesspeople forget appointments, the rain coats your brain with fuzz, and an atmosphere of tension and uncertainty pervades everything. Foolishly, I soldiered on with my knitting, failing to read the signs even after I made a couple of uncharacteristically simple mistakes. Sure enough, I ended up having to tear out almost an entire days' worth of knitting, due to an inexplicable mistake whose genesis I still don't understand. Drat. I suppose it's just as well, though. Now all that ill-will is expulsed from the fabric of the sweater, and I can comfort myself that other atmospheres, such as happy tiredness and the first growth of spring green, are affixed there instead.