Nothing to see here, move along

There might be a way to weave in the ends as you crochet along, but I have not yet found one that I am confident will keep those little ends from working loose and unraveling my carefully-constructed masterpiece of color and taste. As a result, I have a LOT of ends to weave in on these medallions. Six, to be specific. For each finished circle. Six ends. Seventy-six circles, six ends on each. You do the math. (Because I don’t have a calculator handy.) It’s a lot.

I’ve learned from my mistakes, both with crochet and with knitting. When you hate weaving in ends, weave them in as you complete your project, lest you reach the end of the construction phase and hold it up in triumph, only to realize that you have eleventy-bajillion ends still to weave in, which will probably take another three hours of work. It’s crushing. I have left the last four or five rows of a very large project unfinished for months at a time, simply because the sewing-up and weaving-in was so overwhelmingly daunting.

I have been a good girl, for the most part, with these circles. I’ve been systematically making them in batches, per the center color. When the third row is complete, I weave in all the ends and stack them on a very long knitting needle on my nightstand. When they’re all done, I’ll take a picture of this. I suspect I will need two needles.

Isosceles is a cat. She is a fat, cranky, vocal cat. She hates moving around much, but loves sleeping by my legs on the bed. By my legs, on my legs, between my legs…it’s all the same to her: warm. Plus, if she’s near me and the Podling (or Fezzik, her arch-enemy) wanders past for any reason, I’ll shoo them away from her. I don’t want the poor (angry, finicky, bitey) kitty to be disturbed by those meanies.

I want to do it myself.

For some reason, even though there is a small, froggy trash can just a few feet away, I prefer to throw my cut-off ends on the cat. She sleeps through it, mostly, but even if she’s awake she tolerates it…up to a point.

Nyte wandered into the room to talk to me one evening, as I sat on the bed weaving in ends and launching them at the cat. He stopped in the middle of his train of thought, looking at the cat, then made a show of looking at the trash can just a few feet from my own feet. “You were yelling at me for making a mess with the flour when I was making pizza dough, but it’s okay for you to throw your yarn everywhere?” It was true; I’d railed at him for the flour on the counter, on the floor, on the stove, and on the carpet bordering the kitchen. “There’s a trash can right there.”

“Yeah,” I whined, “but the trash can has yet to abruptly roll over on its back and clap its paws together, playing with a piece of trash I throw at it. Watch.”

Naturally, Isosceles being Isosceles, the cat refused to perform. I poked her. She grunted.

“So far, I’m not seeing a difference,” said Nyte. “They’re doing the exact same thing right now. They’re even the same size. They’re practically the same shape, too.”

“It’s totally different.” I don’t think he believed me. My first clue was him shaking his head, looking dubious, and leaving the room. It’s possible he was biting his tongue.

I’ll pick them up, eventually. After the cats and Podling scatter all the yarn pieces to the four winds, of course. It’s worth it.


About crankyfacedknitter

We are a motley collection of cats, cranks, nerds, geeks, hobbyists, humorists, writers, caffeine addicts and one knitter. We have many offspring, but admittedly, most of them are imaginary.
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