I have it and I don't have it.
I don't know how I can sit for 10 hours doing one thing and be mad when somene is 10 minutes late. I'm usually fine waiting in lines, but I can't stand chatting with the clerk. I can have patience teaching someone for the first time... but not if I've showed them already.
I've decided blankets are a good tool to practice patience.
This blanket got me through a long, cold, dark and lonely winter of living alone. I loved it and I love it.
I used soooooooooo much scrap yarns for this so who knows how many skeins total. I started last winter watching all of the available Downton Abbey episodes, which ran out waaay before my knitting did!
Projects like these are so great for passing time. I looked forward to banging out a few squares each night and paring up fresh colors each time. No two are the same... but I'm sure someday a child will prove me wrong.
I took the time to sew as I went, trying to get rid of all the ends and make strips so the final "sewing up" wouldn't be so daunting. It was still pretty daunting, but it just took a dreary winter day (the following year) to get re-inspired to finish. (Or more likely, bored with all my other endeavors.)
When I started, I had NO bleeeeeping clue I'd have my own yarn store in which to find the perfect border yarn: Manos del Uruguay's Maxima in the color acid. Yeah. It's the best. I also made a sweater out of it. It's probably not the last thing either, I love the color so hard.
I don't know who will be the recipient of this blanket... a future child maybe? That's what I was thinking when I started. Hopefully it'll be my child, should I be so lucky, but who knows? It's kind of a strange size, bigger than a crib but not quite a twin or lap blanket. Well... it fits my extra long lap perfectly as long as no one wants to share... which is fine, because there's another long, cold, dark and lonely winter of living alone ahead and I need something to cover me for a bit until this winters blanket gets a little bigger.
I'll show you that one next year.
