The Tricky Part about Treats November 1, 2009

Wherein we survive another Halloween…

Sherlock lies beside me every evening as I knit. My left-hand ball of yarn is usually near his rear feet; his head rests upon my leg and we sit contentedly. Sometimes Claire occupies the sofa on the other side of Sherlock, but for small spaces of time only. Last night proceeded thusly:

{Sherlock lies beside me, I am knitting} The doorbell rings. Sherlock shoots off the couch, under the coffee table and to the front door, yapping wildly while Claire woofs her deeper barks. They race each other like the hounds of Hell. With Sherlock goes my ball of Hyacinth. The Others open the door and treat the costumed visitors. Sherlock returns and settles in again.

This scenario repeats itself a dozen times. Each time, it seems that the ball of yarn is taken further away from me until finally, it happens. The yarn is caught around Sherlock’s hind leg and he drags it all the way to the door. The path he takes– under the coffee table, around the ottoman, around a chair, through the kitchen, over the sectional– reminds me of one of those Family Circle cartoons that show the path of the little kids. I have to calm myself and coach Sherlock back along the same path in order for my yarn to be returned to me in a meaningful condition. This I do; Sherlock is an apt performer and quickly catches on. The yarn remains intact but I’m not sure I can say the same about my sanity.

I was really glad when the young ghouls stopped coming.

And so last night after having warded off all tricks by giving out treats, we began the last of the Civil War series: The Bloody Ground. Antietam (the South calls it Sharpsburg), the bloodiest battle of the entire war. I’m not sure I’m looking forward to being in the midst of it, but that is where Mr. Cornwell will undoubtedly put me.

And now I have a little exercise for you. Please observe Exhibit A, the collection of yarns involved in my Icy River design. Let me remind you that I put these colors together three or four years ago, with no thought whatsoever about other peoples’ designs.

Next, observe Exhibit B, the yarns I recently purchased with which to knit Anne Feitelson’s Hillswick Lumber cardigan.

Get my point?