Duck Feet

Since my Knitter picked up her needles I've been wondering what's in it for me. I've watched her make herself an impressive array of tops, send jumpers to her family and even give one of our friends the softest birthday scarf. If I'm honest, I did get a lovely winter jumper a few months ago, but I've been waiting for something really exciting to come along. Something that would make me the envy of my friends and turn heads as I stride down the street.

Yet it's hard to recall the first moment that the duck feet were mentioned in conversation or exactly when my Knitter first showed me the picture of these awesomely cute little morsels; these tiny golden triangles of delight, with their dinky rolled down ankles and exquisite toe-based detailing. I can't imagine a parent not wanting to stick a pair on their baby's feet and squish them all afternoon.

Development was an intricate process because the pattern was designed for ages three to six months and I'm in my thirties. It meant we had to get seriously technical and draw round my feet with a pencil to get the size right. Then there followed a period of rapid progress while the soles took shape. They grew like lightning for a spell, but when my Knitter reached the ankles things slowed down. You can see from the picture that this took some proper needle skills and there was definitely plenty of learning on the job.

I think you'll agree that the end result was worth it...

I wonder what I should ask her for next. Does anyone think a duck-billed woolly hat might be a good plan?

Cheers,
YarnBoy

PS: Here is my Knitter's project on Ravelry.

Lana Grossa or Knitting Invaded My Brain

Being around my Knitter initially seemed relatively harmless. I was one step removed, observing the obsession from a safe distance as though it were quarantined within her. I felt safe, immune to it's spread, close enough to see how it worked, but far enough away to remain impartial. It turns out I was dangerously wrong.

There had already been signs that I should have recognised. I'd gradually been picking up the terminology as though by osmosis. It was a gentle process and I didn't realise what was happening at the time. You might even say that it didn't seem wrong that I knew the pros and cons of using bamboo needles as opposed to steel ones. I felt that it was ok to bump into the local dry cleaner in the street and be asked if my Knitter had found a good button shop yet. I even kind of liked how our concierge would sometimes have a parcel for her and tell me he "knew what this would be," as he handed it over. These things seemed fairly innocent and even a little bit fun.

My problem only really dawned on me when we hired someone new at work and on learning that she was called Lana, all I could think of was Lana Grossa. This was a living, breathing human being, but my poor, knitting infected brain could not distinguish her from a ball of yarn.

I hope that treatment is available.

Cheers,
YarnBoy