The week that is unravelling.....

Monday arrived with good intentions and a to-do list longer than a skein of yarn. Chores were tackled, town errands dispatched, and eventually I was able to sit with my knitting. 

It started well. The yarn behaved. I completed a few rounds, I was cruising.

And then—the mistake.

I spotted it on the next round and tried to tink my way back, gently and with hope. But the more I tinked, the more mistakes I made. It's not easy tinking out K2Tog on 2.75mm sticks. One or two expressive words may have escaped (I won’t name them, but they rhymed with "glugger" and “knit”).

Eventually, I admitted defeat. The mess was beyond redemption. So I did what any seasoned knitter with a sense of drama would do—I ripped it out. I frogged the whole thing. Watched the rows unravel like a slow-motion confession.

It wasn’t a failure. It was a reset. A reminder that even on a day off, perfection is optional and progress is sometimes disguised as a do-over. So, I restarted. 

And here you see where I got to on my restart. I have to say, I’m actually happy that it was necessary. The new version is much neater than the original and will hopefully remain so. Sometimes the frogging is part of the ritual—a quiet reset that leads to something better. No Pixie Wine coloured yarn yet, just the leafy green and that magical waste yarn crochet foundation. 

I’d love to get back to my knitting soon, but the weekend’s looking full—weather permitting, we’ll be building a second greenhouse. The big one’s still going strong and will house twelve tomato plants come summer, but we’re adding a smaller one just for capsicum and chilli peppers. There’s nothing quite like watching Tony’s face light up over a proper hot chilli, so this new space is really for him, so I can keep him supplied with my Evil Chilli Chutney.  If all goes well, I’ll be elbow-deep in preserves in a few months—jars lined up like trophies, each one a spicy little victory.

Sunday will bring its own kind of whirlwind, with our usual visit from the beautiful grandies. They keep us on our toes—inventing games, sharing stories, and reminding us that energy is a fast renewable resource if you’re under ten. Oh, and we will be celebrating Master Torstein's 5th birthday so I'll have to produce a birthday cake! With diggers or dinosaurs, or something! By the time they head home, I may be too tired to knit, but the heart will be full and the house a little brighter for it.

Hopefully, once the grandies have headed home and the house settles into its evening hush, I’ll have just enough energy left to ripple away mindlessly on my blanket. No counting, no fuss—just the quiet comfort of yarn moving through fingers, one soothing triple at a time.

Speaking of the ripple, I added a lovely violet row last night—soft and steady, just before bedtime. Rather than push on, I decided to spend a little time burying yarn ends. It’s a task I actually enjoy, so long as the numbers stay reasonable. A dozen or so is fine—almost meditative, like tidying up after a good story. But if I leave them too long and they start multiplying like weeds after rain, then I get fed up. Best to tackle them before they become weeds.

Those snipped threads may be destined for the bin, but for a fleeting moment they’re a tapestry of colour—violet, aqua, and deep chocolaty browns tangled together like a secret celebration. Each one carries the memory of a row completed, a choice made, a quiet triumph stitched into the ripple.

Thinking about the weekend..

Saturday’s forecast isn’t looking too flash—they’re predicting another southerly front, much like Wednesday’s. That one rolled in with thunder and lightning right over the top of work, loud enough to rattle windows and scramble the call bell system. I found myself dashing through the rain, checking on cottage residents who had no idea their call lights were glowing like storm lanterns. It only lasted twenty minutes, but it made its presence known. Later, as Tony and I cooked dinner, we watched another front blow in—darker, moodier, and full of promise. This time it brought hailstones, brief but dramatic, before the whole thing blew over as quickly as it came. If Saturday follows suit, we won't be outdoors building anything. I just might have time to knit. 

So, what does this evening have in store? 

Dinner’s eaten, the dishes are done, and even the ironing’s out of the way. The evening is mine at last. Now the only question is: do I pick up the needles or reach for the hook? Either way, it’s time to settle in and let the yarn decide. I have one more work shift before our busy weekend, so it won't be a late night.

*

“If this stirred a memory or made you smile, I’d love to hear about it—drop a note below, even if it’s just a wave from your corner of the world.”