Once I knitted a lap blanket made from 25 different yarns. It sparkled in some places, was textured and muted in others, and contained a quantity of yarns that have since disappeared from shop shelves and my shifting stash. There was leftover blue-green yarn from the sweater I made for my small granddaughter. The handspun I bought too much of at the Taos Wool Festival and then didn't know what to do with. The gold metallic I couldn't resist because it resembled Miami Beach lame that was prevalent on women of a certain age and I thought would make a funky something to go with my new cats-eye reading glasses, both of which I never used.
Eventually the finished blanket made it's way to San Francisco where it was a prop in the window of a gallery draped over the shoulders of a vintage French mannequin (sans head, but lovely shoulders). The blanket started out as a scarf. Events that led up to its re-styling are vaguely boring now. What remains is how I felt like a true artist using yarn for the paints on my palette, and how I unconsciously adapted my vision to the yarn at hand.
Reading my notes again, I recall the emptiness of dark still nights knitting in the wicker chair near the lamp and how lonely and half-mad I felt. And then waking before dawn next morning, positive and eager to write in the journal and get back to work on the blanket.
we'll try this
In my next post I will include some suggestions and a highly modifiable pattern for making a Journal Blanket. It is an excerpt from my forthcoming book which I will tell you more about as publication gets closer.
Meanwhile, I wish my daughter and my best friend (both far away) a Happy Birthday. For the rest of us, Happy Tibetan New Year!