the Pensieve of the Lacemakers




At some point in the lace making,
the memories of the ancients arrived.

No longer was I jerking along and bobbing my head reading the charts; my hands became fluid in their movements. I found the areas of pattern repeats by touch not sight and flew...

This enlightened state took place not at the beginning. Not in the middle when tedium and mass crush the spirit, but at the very end, when now, empowered by intuitve understanding, I could've knit forever and a day.

At this moment, 7/8ths of the way, nay, 98? 99% of the way to the finished (and highly desirable edge) I stumbled.

Or more correctly, the Little Bad Muse stumbled...

I was almost OUT of YARN and there were 2 rows to go!

Surely my calculations/estimations were correct? Surely the amount the pattern called for was accurate? Sadly, I'm sure, this was not to be...

Desperately, I started thinking about what was to be done.

Tear out my hair! NAY - it was once again growing out from a bad haircut and I could not spare a millimeter.

Rippout the last pattern repeat and repurpose the edge with that? NAY - I was stuck to my proportions of blue to orange like the Super Glue bonding to your finger and the package wrapper when instead you're trying to repair an earring or two...

Rant and Rave and Raid the STASH? LIGHTBULB! But alas, there's nothing there remotely in the dramatic range of your first two colors...

But wait. Look UP. See your Sock Yarn Stash. See sticking out one lonely little ball of Hemp/Wool left over from some socks...

EUREKA!

This yarn was not the same color but it was almost the same colors - shades of yellow, rust, brown touched with orange. Applied on the very edge of my shawl, it would make a light little froth of color, maybe accidently banded on the curving edge wherever the darker tones arrived.

It was meant to be...

...to be continued. For the whole shebang read it HERE...

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