September 29, 2004
The View from the High Dive
Since, no thanks to The Claw, I am on the wagon knitting-wise, before I left my house for Ferals on Monday I cast around for something knitting-free yet knitting-related I could do during the get-together. My eye fell on the Janine Pillow with its as-yet-uncut steek, and I decided to take it with me to get advice from my Fellow Ferals on cutting it.
What I envisioned:
We would have a long, serious and intense discussion about how to sew up the two columns of stitches on either side of the cutting line to prevent the stitches from unraveling. This would be followed by a similarly long discussion about what length and tightness of stitch I should use on my sewing machine; how sharp and large my scissors should be, what my hormone levels should be, what phase the moon should be in, how the planets and the stars should be aligned, and whether or not Cuzzin Tom should be in a meditative state, holding together the world as we know it, when I actually cut the steek; and how much alcohol I was entitled to drink after I cut the steek and the pillow disintegrated into a pile of navy blue, green, pink and yellow yarn, which I was sure was what would happen. After these discussions, I would go home and procrastinate for however long I damn well felt like until I actually got up the nerve to do the sewing and the cutting.
What actually happened:
As I predicted, there were indeed a few mutterings about sewing up the steek but they were not the mutterings I had imagined. Instead, they went something like this:
“I cut a sample sweater for a class many years ago without sewing the steek first, and it has never unraveled so now I just cut."
“I never sew up my steeks. I just cut."
“So-and-so, who is a Fair Isle and Steeking Goddess, never sews up her steeks. She just cuts.”
“I read in a book, don’t bother to sew up the steek. Just cut.”
And then slowly these disparate mutterings coalesced into this, which they voiced as one: “Ryan, don’t sew. Just cut. Now. Here. With Us. In Public. Completely Unprepared.” The normally friendly and civilized group stopped short of pounding their fists on the table and chanting, “Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut!” Images of Lord of the Flies started to flit through my mind...and I was Piggy.
In the meantime, MaryB had surreptitiously added “runway lights” to the steek so my loud squeals of protest that I wouldn’t know where to cut and would get lost along the way and would most certainly slash right across the middle of the pillow and it would be all their fault for pressuring me fell on seven pairs of deaf ears.
In desperation, I played my last defensive card which was to announce that I didn’t have any scissors. In a blinding instant and with a loud clatter, all of this appeared in front of me:
By this time we were laughing so hard we had to wipe the tears from our faces and soon after, yes, Dear Friends, I cut. Without Sewing. There. Then. With Them. In Public. Completely Unprepared.
And here it is:
And a not very flattering picture of Yours Truly holding my trophy (Norma, note the nails. They are currently sparkly hooker-purple.):
Ferals, love and hugs to you all! In fact, I had such a good time Monday, I don’t think I would really have minded if the pillow had fallen apart. Much.
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Dear Readers, be sure not to miss the limerick Cuzzin Tom added at the bottom of last entry's comments. It's a mite crude, very funny, very creative, and very Cuzzinish. Cuzzin, I'm sending you a virtual cheek pinch!