Doing the Jitterbug

Many moons ago, I went on a trip that went badly. Very badly. To soothe myself, I did what any self-respecting knitter would do. I bought a fabulous hank of out-of-my-budget yarn dyed in bright and cheerful colors. Upon returning home, I placed this yarn in my basket and waited for inspiration to strike, for the wool to whisper to me what it wanted to be, and then to knit it up into something beautiful that would in some way help redeem the memory of the trip.

And it sat there for months until finally, sick and tired of waiting for inspiration and starting to feel almost mocked by that bright little ball of wool, I saw a lacy little scarf pattern that I thought just might work and decided to knit the blasted thing. Which I did, and after making a six foot long scarf, still had more leftover to continue the mockery. So I made a head scarf. But like the memory of that week, it just wouldn't go away. Still more remained. Giving up on my idea of full redemption through yarn, I finally gave it away, tossing it to a fellow yarn lover with my best wishes.

Pleased that finally it was gone, I then went to block my new projects. For the non-knitterly folks, that simply means soaking the project and pinning it out to dry into shape. I put it in its first bath, and it bled.  And continued to bleed through the nearly 15 subsequent washes. I never could get the water to run clear. I laughed a lot, I cried a little, and I supposed that ultimately the story of this little ball of wool (Colinette Jitterbug, hence the title) had completed itself in the only way it could have.