My vacation knitting ambition fizzled and my hostility towards snobbish crocheters faded to nothing but affection upon receiving the news my 94-year-old grandma passed away. 94 years is hella impressive, but still. It’s hard.
We got the news on the return trip from our day at the Grand Canyon. I didn’t knit anymore during vacation. I spent a considerable amount of time staring, a smaller amount writing and a fair amount thinking about how someone dying is the best reason in the world to have a drink after 260+ days of being sober.
I didn’t. Having struggled through a way-too-long depression last year, one thing I feel certain about is that drinking will not make any of this seem easier. Also, the fear of being sucked under depression’s tidal wave is enough to keep me on dry land. Rule #1 is that depression medication can’t work when you drink alcohol (a depressant).
Nonetheless, experiencing the world completely sober feels like needing sunglasses on a really bright day. So I close my eyes and, subsequently, fall asleep. Lots and lots of sleep.
Here is the too-short scarf I came home with in all of its imperfect glory. I tried some fancy stuff with the purl stitch. Check it!
Here is the finished scarf. It’s really not that awful once you wrap it around your neck a few times to hide all the mistakes. It’s almost pretty, right? Right??!
We are back home in the great white North. I planned to use this fuzzy yarn in Arizona, but ended up casting on tonight and starting something new. Maybe a not-too-short scarf? TBD.