My So Called Scarf

After an initial anxiety producing encounter with knitting, I decided to give it another go. Each day I would return from work and my half completed purple, raspberry, and gold scarf silently cajoled, Finish me. Finish me. Pick me up and work magic with my ever so soft fibers. So I did.

I knitted all the way to Lake Tahoe and all the way back. My three balls of yarn were quickly diminishing. Early on in the project I had decided the scarf would be as long as there was yarn. When the yarn ran out, the project was finished.

This time, the knitting was different. I no longer stressed about how many rows I had finished. I enjoyed the feel of the bamboo needles against my fingers. I relished the warmth of the length of completed scarf in my lap. I fingered the fuzzy angora, imagining how soft it would feel wrapped around my neck.

Once I returned home, I laid the scarf out flat on the kitchen table, curious if it was near the 60″ that is the recommended length for a proper scarf. I stretched it out, noticing that it looked not so much like a scarf, but more like a boa constrictor enjoying a mouse. It started out thin and neat for about two feet, then suddenly bulged, growing wider and wider and wider, then gradually tapering again. Upon closer inspection, I realized that as my anxiety about the project diminished, my gauge became looser. Sigh.

Knitting, 1. Lori, 0.

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