I was out of sorts all day Thursday, and couldn’t find a reason why: Work was fine, roommate was fine, everything was fine. I thought maybe I needed excercise, considered a walk in the winter twilight that evening, then decided against it. Then I remembered this Wallace Stevens poem, The Poems of Our Climate:
II
Say even that this complete simplicity
Stripped one of all one’s torments, concealed
The evilly compounded, vital I
And made it fresh in a world of white,
A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
Still one would want more, one would need more,
More than a world of white and snowy scents.
III
There would still remain the never-resting mind,
So that one would want to escape, come back
To what had been so long composed.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.
I felt better. And since “the imperfect is our paradise,” I decided to watch Pirates of the Caribbean II with the roommate and knit a muff. Yes, I said it: a muff. Here it is, three steps away from being finished:
The reasons behind wanting to knit a muff are probably more complex than I care to explore (I’d have to blame the J. Peterman catalog, too), but the surface reasons are:
1. I tried starting a new project last night and it didn’t start well (never try to knit lace and watch an action movie)
2. I had a ball of varigated blue yarn, which reminded me of a bluebell I saw at the top of Hidden Peak this summer, and some leftover grey yarn from a project last year
3. I have a Dr. Zhivago-esque grey coat from Target without any pockets.
So when I fold this in two, sew up the bottom seam, and add a strap, I will have a coordinated place to put my hands. And if that doesn’t put someone in a good mood, I don’t know what will. Except, maybe, some Captain Jack Sparrow! Yarrr!!