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one mitt!

Sure, I’m in a soul-baring mood.

I am indecisive and slow to respond to some stimulus. I wonder if these are related? If I am slow to respond to stimulus, I am unlikely to feel like I have taken on all the data I need to make an informed choice, and therefore am made uneasy when faced with decision-making time. WHOA! Is this an epiphany? Is this what an epiphany feels like? It feels a bit like I’m hungry and my foot’s gone to sleep, but with surprise. Is that what you feel when you have an epiphany?

Asking me to construct a pair of black, fingerless mitts for you is a superlatively sensible request. Especially if you, the requester, are Dadini and you require them for protecting your chilled hands while working in the shed over the winter. God knows why it has taken me so long to get my dags a-rattling in relation to this project and finally cast them on. Well, I say “them”…I mean “it”.

O the drama!

This is half a Knucks from Knitty: a really good standard pattern for gloves without fingertips. (“Fingerless gloves” feels like a misnomer: they sort of have fingers, but those fingers lack tips!) I managed to get the first one done in a matter of hours — knitted while talking with folks and not really paying attention. Then I looked down and realised I was holding a big, soft baseball mitt. Gets away from you.

A tangled end...

Oh, Cleckheaton Merino Supreme. You minx. Is there no end to the variations of cruelty you taunt me with?

So I unravelled and cast on the next size down. Finished it, but…hmm. This mitt is troubling me. My Dadini doesn’t have huge hands, and this seems like a big mitt. But the thicker yarn makes me slightly hesitant to unravel and move to the next size down. Dee.Lemma. So it’s put aside, waiting to be tried on and evaluated further. Meanwhile, in order to stem the foaming tide of indecision that I was quietly lathering up, I unearthed some thinner yarn and finer needles and have begun another prototype. (They’re coming, Dadini! Hang in there!) Indecision is still prompting me to take the finished first draft mitt out of the bag and squint at it periodically, trying to figure out if it’s good or not, but I’m fighting the urge. One day at a time.

I have a theory that the hardest things to make yourself are the fundamentals: good sandwich bread, denim jeans that don’t look weird, plain t-shirts. Plain black fingerless mitts. There is no room for error because you have such a clear idea of what you need, and since they’re all things you turn to again and again, any mistakes you make will be brought to your attention like a stiletto heel grinding into your cheekbone OVER AND OVER. Gotta get these babies right.

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