What to say, now? Perhaps an homage to the sort of playing with cameras that we enjoy…or at least I enjoy, with the indulgence of my family members. Peter is responsible for this collection of KSN photos in the back yard, modeling the afghan as wrap/cape.
blocked, ready for use.
Every once in a while I start to wonder if we ham it up for the camera a little too much. After all, some of us are not getting any younger. Then again, it's terrific fun, especially for the self-absorbed. I'd also dare any of you, LFs, to do the same. Why not? In this instance, I'm rustling up the attention of my long-suffering spouse. One of the remedies to long term relationship blues is to simply ask for attention. It's so easy for us to focus lots of energy on self, on kids, pets, work, house, and forget about each other. So, on a Friday morning when I ask my spouse to take a few extra minutes to shoot these photos, I'm asking for attention, interaction, a laugh or too, and, thanks to the technology, a memory.
"This is going to look fabulous. I can wear it wherever I wish!"
Somebody warned, in an earlier post, that this afghan is too gorgeous to not convert to a wearable item. Now that it's finished, I sort of agree. It's main purpose will be to adorn my mid-century rattan couch, but whenever the fancy hits, I think I'll break out the "Harlequin Cape". why not? One hundred percent worsted wool, it's soft, not too scratchy, and warm. I'm fond of the colors. Chartreuse, coral, black, grey, white. Great midcentury colors, still classic today. I'm wild about the juxtaposition of classic vintage detail with modernity. In this case, the whole set-up looks hopelessly modern. The Harlequin Afghan time traveled to today and got stuck in a selfie-shoot and an outdoor affair.
"Go ahead. Just try to tell me what I can and can not wear!"
And so we have it. I can't help but try to synch the piece up with a pop song, and for some reason Hall and Oates comes to mind, again and again. If you see the cape around town, you'll know who it is. You'll also know what it is. And if you see me running/riding/sitting with this cape wrapped around my shoulders, you might even hum a few lines from a Hall & Oates song:
"It's up to me, what will be…"
"She's gone."
"What went wrong?"
"Face ain't looking any younger, now I can see, love taking her toll on me…"
And to quote the photographer: "I like seeing you argue with the camera!" There is usually a fair amount of arguing, but not without it's fun. Next installment of yarn madness, nobody knows. But there is a small chance that it will be painstaking, unique, and possess bit of whimsy.
The needlework wars. You know the sort. I'm sitting at a swim meet, with a giant hook in hand and somebody compliments my knitting. Or, as often, someone compliments my lovely knitted skirt. Or, a local yarn store is referred to as a "knitting store". I suppose it goes both ways. The crochet world holds it's own superiority complex as crochet, with a single hook and improvisation galore, layers of kitsch or ancient lacework, well, let's just say that those in the "know" sometimes wonder why bother with something so puritanical as knitting. I've pretty much revived my needlework career with the crochet hook, but as a lifelong knitter, I adore both crafts and see their pure perfection in many ways. That said, I'm also not afraid of just about any yarn art: needlepoint, crewel, stitchery, cross-stitch, even rug-hooking in recent years, as my queue of crochet and knit projects ever expands, but every once in a while an awesome '70s style needlework kit catches my eye. What's my point here? I like it all, and whatever yarn art you might decide to pursue, today, tomorrow, or whenever, there's great work to be done and fabulous ideas galore.
Here's another question, however. Did you ever wonder which craft was more safe, knit or crochet? I know I've wondered often about eye strain (both crafts) and repetitive use injuries (i've always sort of thought knitting would damage my wrists and arms more readily), sometimes my forefinger hurts as a result of some hearty hooking with tight crochet.
But today, I made an instant discovery, which many of you wise followers probably can imagine. I was sitting on a crowded bleacher at a swim meet. Peter insisted that I was sitting on MC's iPad, and suggested I stand up.
See that spot? Real Blood!
I quickly grabbed the sock that I was knitting and stood up, driving the size one double tipped knitting needle into the meat of my quadricep. Yes, today I stabbed myself at a swim meet, and didn't even let out a howl. I pulled the needle out, thinking it probably wasn't in my leg, it had only penetrated my faded jeans, but alas, after I sat back down and reorganized my yarn work, I saw a small circle of blood accumulate on my jeans. Fact: knitting is more dangerous than crochet, and today's work proved it. Good thing my tetanus shot is recent. Funny, my doc suggested I get a tetanus because of all the gnarly cycling I do...don't think she anticipated a dirty ol' metal knitting needle driving into my flesh. Go figure!
