Bibbidi, Bobbidi, Boo

Late last night, as I blocked my newly completed lace shawl, I had a little song running through my head, inspired by the magical way I was turning a gnarly mass of loopy wool into a delicate work of art. I know most of you either have children or were children, so you know this song. Sing with me.

Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo


Put ’em together and what
have you got
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo

Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo
It’ll do magic believe it or not
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo

Now sala-gadoola means
Menchicka booleroo
But the thing-a-ma-bob that
does the job
Is bibbidi-bobbidi-boo

Sala-gadoola-menchicka-boo-la
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo
Put ’em together and what
have you got
Bibbidi-bobbidi
Bibbidi-bobbidi
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo

I am totally infatuated with this thing.

I keep draping it over anything that can be draped over.

This is the most beautiful thing I have ever made with my hands.

It was the most challenging knitting project I have ever undertaken.

Now, what am I going to do with it?

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Victorious

So, last night, I knew I was going to finish Gold, my first lace shawl. Before I begin this heroic account of those last four rows, I want to sidetrack. (A sidetrack in the first line? Gotta be some kind of record!) I am a project knitter. I knit because I want a sweater or a diaper cover or a gift for a loved one. I enjoy knitting, but I don’t knit for the pure pleasure. I want the end result. This was different. I did not knit this shawl because I decided, “Gee, I really want a lace shawl”. This baby was all about the process. And what a process it was. But back to the main story.

So, last night, I am trucking along. Four rows left. Now three. Now two. Last row, and it is all purl. Purl, purl, purl. Five hundred and twenty five purls. Easy. The finish line was in sight. I could see it, and as my hands took over their mindless task, I started to daydream. I mentally blocked it. I started composing my blog in my head. I could hear the Chariots of Fire playing in the background. Then, about thirty stitches from the end, an odd sense of foreboding hit me. The victorious music faded, and I think I heard the Jaws soundtrack. I ignored it for a few more stitches, then stopped. Wait a minute. Wasn’t I purling? NOPE. Knitting. My hands switched to knitting way back when my brain started fantasizing about lacy pictures and victorious blog speeches. My lifeline was, arogantly, 15 rows back. So, I started tinking. Tink, tink, tink.

I wish that was the end of the saga. Once my hands learned their lesson and purled the whole row, I commenced to binding off. No problem, right? I have bound off a hundred times. I could do it in my sleep. (Which was a lovely idea. It was getting late and I was tired.) Problem. I have never bound off lace, and this new procedure was a bit baffling. With two strands held together, purl 2, slip back to the left needle and purl them together. I know that sounds simple, now. But, at 10:30 at night with the euphoria of victory building in my breast, and my husband going to bed without me, my hands, once again took over. Now, I was composing this post, in which I documented the horror of that last row, but the victory of binding off in the end. Then, it happened again. My hands, thinking that they knew better than I, had started to bind off as if we were making some ordinary sweater way back along the line. Tink, tink, tink.

For those of you who are wondering, I do have a shawl this morning. A glorious, hand made, lace shawl. I blocked it last night after working on the last four rows for three hours. I crawled into bed, exhausted and happy. Victorious.

It doesn’t look like much now, but wait till tomorrows episode when we work the magic of blocking….