Knitting in the Tunnel

It isn't a very good place for knitting. For one thing, it's dark. Also kind of twisty. Not to mention dank. But I'm not actually digging through the rubble at the moment, so it seems a better place than it's been. Undeniably, though, knitting has been rather thin on the ground. I can give you a litany of all my failures or a fantasy preview of all my plans. Perhaps both, clearing the decks and then going on to prove my cockeyed indomitable determined optimism (Hark. Is that Bernstein's Candide playing in my head? "Once one dismisses the rest of all possible world's one finds that this is the best of all possible worlds . . . .Objection! What about snakes?").

Anyway. It is said that confession is good for the soul. With that in mind, a not comprehensive, albeit indicative, exposition of -- let's err on the side of charity here and call it -- interrupted knitting.

The Great Race for Afghans for Afghans? Lost it. On three counts, because I didn't even manage to rid my house of the purple sweater.

Their Father's long-dormant cardigan? I am seriously looking at frogging the back because I don't want the cables from the front to just stop at the shoulder seam. Right now I just avert my eyes from it. Some ostrich-ish notion that if I keep it out of my direct line of sight I won't have to actually do something about it.

The Ab-Fab Afghan I Intend to Absolutely Love? Not even cast on. Even a one row, 17 stitch repeat of Old Shale is apparently too much. (One of the reasons the Great Sweater Race fell apart was because I kept blithely --blindly? -- knitting stockinette when I should have been reading the pattern, with the result that the green sweater lost it's cables and the blue one needs to find it's neckline decreases.)

Enough. On to the fantasy part.

Er. Hmm. It's seems that well is dry. How disconcerting. How fortuitous, then, that I have been invited to produce a piece of knitting that -- based on the above recitation of aborted knitting projects -- precisely fits the current shape of the knitting hole in my life.

Small.

Simple.

For someone else.

Too bad it's a secret so I can't tell you much more. How about this, though? I have to make one decision.

Which color? I can't be expected to decide - the light in this tunnel is terrible.