Stop! Sweater Time!

Yes, gentle readers, I have completed my most excellent sweater. Until (almost) any of the sweaters I have made up until this point, it fits! It fits a person the way it should with arms and torso decidedly not akimbo or even remotely deformed.

All and all, this pattern was a joy to knit. I speak, of course, about Joji Locatelli's Perla. It's a very well-written pattern, very clear. I had a little bit of issue with the sleeve cap on both sleeves but that could definitely have to do more with user error than anything intrinsically wrong with the pattern. While I can and do execute short rows, I am not precisely adept at them. They look well enough without a lot of wobble or unevenness, but I'm still just not at all sure about them.

The pattern comes complete with a little how-to for constructing the adorable little pins depicted in the pattern photos-- how often does that happen, really?

I'd also forgotten that wearing Malabrigo Merino Worsted is like wearing a buttery, velvet cloud. So that's pleasant, especially considering how the weather has turned from warm back to snowy in the last week. A little bit of brightness and warmth is welcome here and now.

I'd also forgotten how much pink there was in this colorway (Sealing Wax). It doesn't really look it in the skein and in the body of the sweater, the textured pattern breaks it up a little, but it's really quite evident in the sleeves. Still, I like it. Perhaps my abject dislike of wearing pink is lessening in my old age.

I'm visiting my parents briefly for Easter this year.

This upcoming Thursday night will mark the first time in almost three years that I've been in California. A very short visit-- around thirty-six hours by my not-very-precise estimates; but I'll see my folks and my house and my dog. I may even see a friend or two while I'm there.

A cursory search of the local eatery options means I'll probably be spending much of that time in and around Encinitas, CA for the simple reason that they have much more vegan-friendly fare than any of the surrounding cities. It also just so happens that there are two rather excellent yarn stores in the immediate vicinity, if memory serves (oh, and I never forget a yarn shop!). Black Sheep Yarns and Common Threads, I'm a-comin' for you.

I don't expect I will be able to do much damage in these stores, but you never know-- I must find something I just have to have.

In the meantime, I'm knitting a little something out of leftovers from my Prairie Drift shawl. I wonder if anyone can guess what it will be (apart from a pseudo-rectangle)?

I'll try to snap some pictures when it actually looks like something, but as the recipient has been known to read this blog, I don't wish to spoil the surprise!

I'm experiencing a strange sense of nostalgia in thinking about visiting my hometown which is not something I expected to feel, frankly. I'm a little anxious, in fact, to see things and how they've changed. I'm worried that my dog won't remember me-- I'm worried that Things Will Have Changed and will no longer be recognizable to me. I spent the better part of eighteen years living in the same town near the sea and although much changed in that time, the broad strokes are still there: same ocean, same pier, same maddening lack of connections to major thoroughfare streets, same strange mixture of socio-economic backgrounds.

I realize, of course, that Things Do Change and there is nothing inherently wrong with that but one's home town, it seems, at least in my mind should be at least partially exempt from this particular form of entropy. I want the same greasy spoon restaurants to be there (even if there isn't anything there any longer than I can/will eat); I want the same landmarks and the same awkwardly shoehorned little downtown; I want the same pier with the same unspoken understanding that there are part of the pier that you do not step on for fear of being plunged into the icy Pacific water.

And I suppose I'll see how much Things Have Changed in the two-and-something years I've been gone.

At least it won't be such a shock the next time I visit. I'll adjust and manage my expectations. Regardless, it was the town I grew up in; the down that -in some ways- will always be home.

And that much, at least, won't change.