I'll Try Anything Twice

Generally, I try to make it a life philosophy to try anything twice. Not once - twice. I figure that the first time I do anything, my experience may be coloured by circumstances within or beyond my control.

Sushi is a good example. The first time I tried sushi I didn't enjoy it. I have a lot of texture issues when it comes to food and raw fish fell firmly into my "this feels gross in my mouth" category. I tried it for the first time at the terminus of a very long drive through Ontario to Montreal in sweltering July heat. The restaurant, after that drive, felt way too cold to me and I was uncomfortable. I was tired, I was crabby and I didn't want to be trying new things. I wanted to eat chocolate and fall into a soft bed. I admitted that my first impression of sushi was bad and I think I even grumbled about it. A lot of people would have sworn off the stuff forever but I said I'd try it again before I made up my mind for sure.

The second time I tried it, I was in a much better mood. I was, again, in Montreal but I had been there for a day or two and was settled in. We had spent the day on the town, skating on an outdoor rink, shopping and watching the end of the Santa Claus parade (I love that Santa went down Rue Sainte-Catharine yelling "Joyeux Noel Etienne! Merry Christmas Sarah! Happy Holidays Elizabeth" just knowing that he was filling select children with feelings of awe and wonder). I still didn't like the sushi much but I was much more reasonable about it and much better able to pinpoint what I didn't like and why. If I ever have to go to a sushi place again, I won't go home hungry. I won't tuck into my food with a great deal of zeal, but I'll manage.

For as many stories I can tell about things I didn't like both times, I have others of things I liked both times or liked once, hated the second time and had to do a third time to know for sure. 'Rash' is not a word people often use to describe me.

However, when it comes to knitting, I am NOT a girl who tries things twice. I fall deeply and passionately in love with a new project, cast it on, knit with glee and then show people what I'm making and tell them how smart I am. If I don't get angry with it and stuff it into the space behind my chair or fall out of love and banish the thing to my basement, I finish it.

Half the time when I knit, I'm doing it to learn something new or to show myself that I can do something that looks tricky and when it is done, I don't need to do it again. I know some people make the same project over and over and over again but I'm not that lady. I'm a "been there, done that" sorta knitter. Till now.

Back when I was making Daniel's monkey blanket I showed it to anyone who would look at it. I'd tell them how smart I thought the design was and I'd turn it this way and that, waiting for people to oooh and ahhh appropriately (it didn't always happen but I tried). I was so in love with the project that I did the lion's share of it in 12 days. That's fast knitting for a heavily pregnant woman with two kids under five.

The danger of waggling my knitting in front of everyone who will look at it is that someone is eventually bound to love it as much as I do and lust after the thing. My friend Candy ('friend' is not an appropriate word, we've known each other since Grade Six and are more like sisters we picked for ourselves than friends) was 10 weeks behind me in her pregnancy. Every time I'd fire up the webcam and force her to look at the blanket-in-progress she would make little noises of desire. She hinted that I make her one and I immediately answered with a big ol' "this is too much work to do again...I love ya babe but no dice".

A couple of weeks passed, Daniel arrived and I used that blanket everywhere I went. Knitters and non-knitters alike petted it and told me how great it was. By then, the memories of the knitting of the blanket had faded (or had been trampled by the pain of labour) and the idea of making one for Candy didn't seem so horrid anymore. And besides, what sort of human am I if I am unwilling to knit a great blanket for the girl who a) was finally getting the baby she and her husband had wanted for so long b) I grew up with and love like family.

Then she sent me this picture of the newly-painted nursery:



Before I knew it I was up at the yarn store, standing at the wall of Cascade 220, matching colours to the room. Between the kids and the upcoming vacation, I didn't have a lot of time but in what little I had I managed to make a second monkey blanket. Together with a bunch of other monkey stuff I found, it turned into a pretty neat baby gift. I didn't get a chance to block it before I gave it away so you'll have to excuse the rippling border:



Monkey side:


Ring side:

I have to admit that I think I liked this colourway better than the original one. The colours just popped on the dark brown background and the whole thing looked really classy. I think my ability to knit this project twice had a lot to do with the fact that it is a stranded project. I could do stranded knitting all day and all night and never get bored. Stranded work goes so quickly for me. I need to knit just one more row to see how it'll look, then three more rows to see the full pattern, then 24 more rows to see what the next repeat of the pattern will add to it, and before I know it the whole thing is done.

Candy liked it and even though it was summer, she used it on the baby a fair amount (evenings are cool in Newfoundland). I'm really glad I made it. She was a happy momma and the baby is so cute he deserved it (and he can pretty much ask me to knit him ANYTHING and I'll crumble). Just look how cute:



No more monkey blankets though. Two was plenty. I tried it twice and I liked it but I'm done now. Let's knit something new!