off the sticks

Last night, I blocked my first thing ever--faina's scarf.

It's still drying in this muggy Washington August day, and with blocking, it has become a new thing altogether. I'm worried that I've stretched it out too far (B said last night, "It's really beautiful but tell me this. . .why is it so freakin' long?"). The fabric is now truly lacy with sharp yarnovers, clear chevrons, and is very fine, silky and airy instead of a curling-up softy dense nubbly pet. I followed the directions, and wet-blocking made sense to me, but while I celebrate my first real completion, I mourn a little for the loss of the thing that was the companion of my process. This is why, I suspect, knitting is so soulfully good: when done, you get to carry/wear/envelop yourself with an infusion, not just an object, of your own desires and workings and thoughts.

And then again, get off it, nann--it's just a scarf! Can't wait to sling it around my neck when the cold mornings come this fall and winter.