knitter next door

How I became a girl who can't say no to knitting (and other musings on obsession) esimnitt (at) yahoo (dot) com

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

To this, the very baby beginnings of clapotis (or as the mister calls it, "crap-o-tee," which I'm going to hope refers to my lackluster start and not the beautiful finished object I have in mind).

Not so impressive, really, especially when compared with my Team Clapotis mates. But I'm going to say it's akin to being in 32nd place after the downhill going into the slalom or picking myself up after crashing hard on the ice. My Olympics has been plagued with issues -- and a few injuries. To begin with, I didn't finish knitting Mr. Knitter's Valentine's socks before Feb. 10 as planned. No. The last end for those was woven in at 2 p.m. on Valentine's Day, a full four days into the knitting Olympics. And while I don't have to contend with it being the anniversary of my grandmother's death, I have had to deal with major upheaval at work (I'll have a new position at the paper starting in March. More details to come). And then there's the chronic dry skin from which me and my father suffer. (Take a close look at my poor thumb and index finger knuckles in the picture. If you dare).

Do I have a lot to overcome in the next 11 days? You bet. But overcoming adversity (if you buy into the newscasts of the Games) is what the Olympics is all about. Posted by Picasa


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