I am making the second Log Cabin sock. It doesn’t look any different from the first, so I won’t be giving you pictures of it much. I am also making some progress on Pipes. I am eager to get back to Erin as well, and the yarn for #2 son’s sweater will be arriving soon — he has alerted me that he wants it for Christmas. I also have a long-ignored prayer shawl on the needles. And there is the other long-ignored shawl, one I am making for myself but which has been languishing unworked for about a year now.
As you may have noticed (if you always read my blog and have total recall) I am not one of those knitters who has lots of Works in Progress. Two is about my speed. I am currently letting the socks be my epic project and Pipes be the zombie project. Once the socks are finished (this week) I could shift and let Erin be the epic project.
Or I could do some sort of rotation: socks on Monday, Pipes on Tuesday… Or be a mad sock-knitter during Socktober and go back to sweaters in November.
One thing that I am sure of is that I don’t have time to do calculations and trial and error for #2 son’s sweater. He wants a plain gray sweater shaped like a sweatshirt. If any of you can point me toward a good, accurate pattern for such a sweater in a boy’s size 14 in worsted weight, I’ll be very grateful.
While I am still reading The Physics of Superheroes, I am also doing some creepy reading for the Autumn Challenge. I am afraid that the timing is a little off for where I live. Reading creepy books in front of the fire while the sky drips cold rain from its dismal gray clouds would be the best, and we are still enjoying Indian summer here. Nonetheless, I am reading The Black Opal, by Victoria Holt. The Little Friend, my first creepy book for the challenge, was distinctly Southern Gothic. The alcoholic mother, the absent father (he wasn’t a riverboat gambler, since it’s set in the 1970s, but he could have been), the assorted mad relatives, the crumbling ante-bellum mansion — she might have written it with a checklist by her side. The Black Opal is British gothic — pregnant governess, gypsies in the woods, mad servants…
Both are well written, though The Black Opal has no pretensions to literariness. But I disliked The Little Friend enormously, and am enjoying The Black Opal enormously. I think it is the level of realism.
In the same way that I never minded reading my kids fairy tales (which are full of gore and horror) but dislike their playing video games like Vice City, I like a good formulaic gothic story. The Little Friend did, it is true, have its madwoman in the attic, but it had meth labs and child abuse and an ambiguous ending, all of which unpleasant things are all too common in real life. The Black Opal has so little in common with reality, or at least with my own personal slice of reality, that I can enjoy it as I would a fairy tale. We are not going to see scenes reminiscent of Wuthering Heights on the news.
Today we are expecting a book shipment — though it will not include The God Delusion, as we missed the narrow window between the street date and the warehouses being sold out. And there is an alto sectional tonight, at which I will be caught not knowing all the notes. Since I am only barely literate in music, I have to learn the music by rote. In a full rehearsal, I can follow my neighbor (although this results in one’s being a fraction of a second behind, and is therefore not a good strategy) when I forget how the piece is supposed to go. Obviously, I will have to devote part of this morning to plunking out the shaky sections on the piano.
But tomorrow is our average first frost date. It may soon become autumn here, and I will be able to sit before the fire with my creepy novel and wooly sweaters.