Blanxiety cure

Remember this? It’s the blanket I started for my nephew, Galactus, Eater of Worlds. Well, I took Jacqui’s excellent advice and blocked it, and it still looked wrong. That pattern with a plainer yarn or that yarn with a plainer stitch — either would be lovely. That yarn and that stitch together were just too much fancy all in one place. Perfect for a shawl, maybe, or the bottom of a summer top, but for a baby blanket? No. I started again.

That’s a hell of a hat, son.

When I was little, I had this hat. This hat was long — at least as long as I was — and pointy, and it was striped in blue and grey with a tassel on the end. It was long enough to use as a scarf and a hat at the same time, and it tapered over the whole length until it was as pointy as one of those icicles on the tip of the eaves at the end of winter that almost reach the ground. It was a ridiculous hat, and I loved it so.

Just because you can, it doesn’t mean you should (or will).

Some time ago (a timespan measured in years), my sister had a big birthday. Big enough that I offered to make her something special for it. More than anything, she wanted a shawl. A square, lace shawl. A square, lace shawl in black. Coincidentally, I was in the mood to make just such a shawl, so I was delighted. We chose a pattern; I ordered the yarn; the shawl was all but made. Right?