Yesterday was one of those rare days in San Francisco: a day without fog. And it turned into an evening that was warm with just a slight breeze and no humidity. Hubby and I had tentative plans to meet friends in the city for dinner, but when that fell through, we decided to go by ourselves. (I know this is a knitting blog. Stay with me. I’ll get to that part soon.) We ferried in, found a restaurant with an outdoor patio and kicked back. We watched the people go by, nibbled on appetizers, and I may have had just a little more wine than I should. After a sunset ferry ride back I settled on the sofa with my knitting. The perfect ending to a perfect day.
When I picked up my knitting again this morning I saw it - dropped stitches, missed decreases and whole rows missing! I certainly know not to drink and drive, but no one ever warned me not to drink and knit.
Or maybe they did.
As I ripped out the mess, I recalled something that happened about eight years ago. That was around the time that I had started back knitting again. Hubby and I were in the airport in Rome waiting for our flight home. I had finished all the knitting and and reading I had brought on our trip. A yarn store in the airport was too much to hope for, so I looked in vain for a bookstore or newsstand. Nothing. Then a very kind English lady overheard me and offered her Sunday newspaper saying that she had finished it and was about to throw it away. I accepted gratefully.
On the long flight back I read just about every section of that paper but it was an article in the magazine section that stuck in my mind. The author was a woman who was writing about how she had become obsessed with knitting. She would pick up her project whenever she had a few seconds. She would knit a row before she dashed off to the bus in the morning. Or while she was waiting for the kettle to boil. Or after a night out with her friends at the pub. But then of course her results were the same as mine had been, and the “pub row” would get ripped out the next morning. Apparently I'm not the only one.
So just say you’ve been warned: Don’t Drink and Knit.