Knits of yore...

My friend Aeromum, who lives in Grafton, MA, sent me a photo of a cape she began knitting approximately forty-five years ago, then abandoned. She visited her mother this past Mother's Day, and mother kindly returned the project to its rightful owner.

Pretty nice work for a teenager, I'd say. My sense is the yarn will be recycled....

The venerable cape got me to thinking about things I'd knitted in past decades. Not only were there a cursed boyfriend sweater and scarf, there were two pullovers (one ribbed, one cabled) I gave to girl friends who are long lost to me, and many exquisite sweaters for Don Giovanni, a.k.a. Husband the First, a toxic quasi-human about whom the less said the better. I'm sure if all that beautiful handiwork wasn't burned or otherwise destroyed, it was given to Sally Ann or Good Will (but somehow I doubt its fate was so benign).

This is the part of knitting that upsets me, much more than frogging a labor-intensive project, or having knitting come out totally wrong. It's the putting of one's heart into a knitted garment that ends up being trashed. If I were more rational, I'd accept that once a handmade gift is given, there's no control and no guarantees--just like life.   AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!

This melancholy meditation led me to the cedar chest in the upstairs storage room. There I retrieved two of the many sweaters I knitted for my sons in the 1980s. One sweater had reparable moth damage--an entire cable twist neatly eaten out, but nothing else (thanks, cedar chest!); the other was intact.

The intact one was immediately claimed by Molly, who found it an agreeable bed.