I wasn't going to participate in the Knitting Olympics
this year. I love the concept, but was mentally out of it... drugged up on the couch with a broken leg.
Then, on the night of the opening ceremonies Team USA paraded in with those cute Ralph Lauren hats with the moose (reindeer? I like to think of them as moose). I decided one of those would be manageable, particularly when I discovered this free chart
by Helena Bristow on Ravelry. When I scrounged up enough red white and blue worsted leftovers in my stash, the deal was sealed.
I could tell by the time I hit the moose's neck that the hat would be too long. I started thinking "toque," and so made the top taller, too, decreasing only in the plain color bands so as not to disrupt the fair isle pattern in the crown.
I finished this a few days ago, and made the mistake of weaving in the ends before I tried it on. I dispatched the ends in short order, slapped it on my head, and gimped over to a mirror. Here's what I saw:
Not only do the moose look like crap, the thing is WAY too tall. What kind of drugs was I on when I knit this? Oh yeah... PAINkillers. The drug of denial. The drug of "It will get better... just keep knitting it." It didn't get better.
So, I have officially disqualified myself from the Knitting Olympics. No hard feelings. Training starts today for 2014.
If you've suffered through reading all that, you're entitled to a GOOD story, Here you go:
Last night I arrived home from teaching a knitting class. (Yes, despite the crappy knitting portrayed here, I do my best to help other people knit beautiful things.) It was dark. I began to crutch across the icy 30-yards from our detached garage to the front walk of the house. When I have to cross snow and ice on crutches, I focus entirely on the crutch tips... making sure each step has solid purchase. So I'm looking at the ground, hobbling across the snow-covered driveway. Just as I get to the front walk, I hear a loud rustling. I look up to see than I'm barely 10 feet from a mama and baby moose who had bedded down in the front yard for the night. Now they are standing, and mama is giving me the hairy eyeball.
Believe me, if you never seen a live moose, they are HUGE. Sort of like a Volkswagen Microbus with legs. You don't want to cross one. And yet hear I was, on crutches, spitting distance from a now-threatened mama, who stood between me and my front door.
In a grand leap of faith I turned my back on the moose and started hobbling slowly but deliberately back to the car. I figured if I made it to the garage before she charged I'd be ok. I got in the car and called Jim inside the house to tell him I was trapped for the time being. The curious baby followed me to the car, but was less of a threat as he was more the size of a Smart Car with legs. He came into the garage, then decided to follow his mama off into the darkness. Whew.
This was my third encounter with moose since I broke my leg a month ago, and this one was a little too close for comfort. I think I like them better on the hat... poorly knit at that.