Trauma

I have been knitting, really I have! See?

It's a bit like watching grass grow (in a drought) but any progress at all feels like a major victory with all else going on around here.

That sleeve is one diamond from its ribbed cuff.

Here's my Mommes Lysedug, which is a real lifesaver for a lace knitter in a heat wave. (Especially one who is buggy-eyed with house buying woes and desperately needs to knit)

The Tencel thread is cool and light in my fingers; the loveliness of the doily makes me imagine it gracing my dining room table in a new home; progress is visible and the knitting speedy.

On the other hand, it does take some attention. So I have to be honest, it hasn't gotten as much work as I'd like to give it.

This little thing (my Icelandic shawl, begun before Camp)is *not* cool and comfortable to knit in a heat wave:

The Icelandic/mohair mix lace yarn-- well, let's just say it will be lovely in December.

I am finally down to the last 4 rows where the sts have been increasing to an incredible degree. (six rows doubled the st count at the base of that leaf-like edge; the last 6 rows do it again.) 1200 sts is 1200 sts, and is sure better than, say, 5000 sts. But still.

Here's the poor feeble sock that has been moaning at me. It gets ignored as, honestly, it is just plain dull. The yarn is pretty, yes, and my sister will love it.

I have been struggling with different toe-up heel concepts, and had worked out an idea I thought would fit her well-- so last evening I grabbed it to bring to a minor league baseball game. Perfect knitting for a game where everything from cows to cars, crazy mascots and oversized dice might wander onto the field of play. (To say nothing of the players.)

Except that I left those heel instructions home.

Once I got to the spot to start a flap, I was stuck. There I was, at a baseball game, with a perfect knitting project, stuffed in its little sack and then-- I couldn't believe this-- I had to just sit there and watch! No knitting!

Trauma indeed.