My knitting eyes are bigger than my stomach.
I dream of great creations; wonderful intricate sweaters with involved color work; giving friends elaborate gifts I made,even designed myself.
I finish knitting a sweater: the stitches look even, the rows are flat and neat, and I am happy.
Then I sit down to sew the pieces together and am forced to remember that I have not been doing this very long.
I have taught myself patience in the last couple of years. I have learned how to mattress stitch, and how to join stitches to rows along a seam, stitch by stitch, matching the colors to the stripes. I have learned to crochet a border. I place buttons carefully, making sure they are evenly spaced and aligned with the buttonholes.
And yet, when I am done and survey the finished product, I only see its imperfections. The buttons always gap a little, the seams are sometimes harder and stiffer than I would like, the edges are not crisp. It looks, well, homemade.
Now, I realize that the homemade look is part of the charm of a hand knit. And I love my friend who wears the sweater I designed and made for her all the time, embracing its imperfections. But still, I feel I've brought my knitting to a level that I should be getting crisper, happier results.
The only sweater I've ever been thoroughly satisfied with is my Faroe.