
I’m getting close on my sweater. The sleeves are almost done. I kind of tried it on before, and think I only need about an inch more.
I say “think” because it wasn’t as easy to try on as you might think, since I’ve got both sleeves on the same circular needle. The best I can manage is to slide my arm through one of the sleeves and kind of guesstimate at the length, but since at that point I’m not wearing the sweater properly, it’s hard to say for sure. What I should do (and will) is separate the sleeves onto different needles at least for the length of time needed to try the thing on properly.
But, anyway, we’re close. I don’t plan on doing anything elaborate at the collar–just a few rows of stockinette stitch to rollover at the top and make it look finished. Then–try the thing on properly and decide whether I want an extra button band or not. No matter how you look at it, though, I’m getting close to the finish.
Maybe I should start thinking about my next project, huh?
I think my dog clearly counts as middle-aged these days. We took him for a walk yesterday and bumped into a neighbor who’s dog-sitting her aunt’s 10-year old terrier, Toby, while the aunt has hip-replacement surgery. Toby is just a little smaller than Chappy and close enough in age that the two of them seem to have plenty to talk about. We were having no trouble chatting with Kirsten, either, and were all happily standing around when a man came along with his 11-month old pug. His highly energetic, bouncy, jumpy, should-have-better-manners-by-now pug. He, Max, immediately lunged into the conversation Chappy and Toby were having. Hi! Look at me! I’m a puppy! Hi! Hi! Basically, in dog parlance, he was being a brat.
Now, children–no matter what species–as a rule are energetic, and they don’t always have the patience to wait for the grown-ups to pay attention to them. (We’re so SLOW that way.) But you know as well as I do that there’s a big difference between nicely raised, polite kids who are sometimes a smidge inconvenient just because they’re being kids, and the kids who are quite simply spoiled brats. The nice kids, you put up with the occasional “Look at me!” or tugs on the sleeve because they want some attention because it’s all part of being an adult around kids. And because they’re nice, you don’t mind interrupting your conversation to answer a question or say, “Very nice.” Adults did the same thing for you when you were little and now it’s all part of the circle of life. The bratty kids, though, that are attention-whores? The ones whose parents have apparently never said “No” to in their lives? You might not go so far as to actually smack them, but you want to put as much distance between you and them as you reasonably can.
Well, apparently that’s the category little Max came into. Because while we humans were willing to pet his wriggling self and say hello, Chappy and Toby very much had the air of, “Excuse me, but we’re trying to have a conversation here.” Toby had a little more patience with the youngster and did say hello, but Chappy? He wanted NOTHING to do with him. He tried to keep our legs between him and Max and just completely shut him out, like an old man about to yell at the whippersnappers to get off his lawn. This is so unlike my “strangers are just a friend he hasn’t met” Chappy that I was astounded. Until I remembered he had reacted the same way to a similarly bratty puppy in our old neighborhood, too.
I guess Chappy really IS like his Mom. I like kids–some kids in particular–but the badly behaved ones? Um, no. There’s a reason I never refer to well-loved, privilged children as “Spoiled.” You know, the ones who, after being good all morning while running errands, get a comic book as a treat. Or who say, “Excuse me, but may I please have a cookie?” instead of just pointing and screaming. There’s nothing wrong with loving your kids (two- or four-legged) and giving them things because you love them and they are good kids. To me, that does not spoil them at all. It’s just a demonstration of your love. But, the kids who are given everything but never say thank you? Whose parents never teach them any manners at al, who just grab what they want because that’s what they get away with at home? To my mind, those are the children who are truly “spoiled” by their parents. Actually ruined–not irremedially, mind you–but spoiled.
How did I get off on this tangent? No idea, but I think that’s enough for tonight, huh? And meanwhile, I’ll try to ignore the beginning signs of creeping old age on my sweet little puppy for a while longer…
Tags: Knitting/Spinning by --Deb
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