Even if they are out, I still like the way they look. However, with Christmas fast approaching (Less than two months! Good heavens) I didn't feel I had the time to knit one, not without risking an overload of guilt. But for some reason, crochet is placed in my mind as a craft used for creating circles and quick guilt-free projects. How can you feel guilty when what you're making will only take a day?
Actually my scarf took two days in all, but if I'd sat down and worked on it straight through without taking breaks, I could probably have finished it in just a few hours.
Is it not lovely? When my sister saw it, she said, "Did you make that?" and then a few hours later, she said, "You seriously made that?". These two comments lead me to believe that she was impressed. I would put a smiley face after that but sometimes I find emoticons beneath me.
While I crocheted, I listened to a great deal of the book Coraline, by Neil Gaiman. I watched the movie Coraline a few years ago and was terrified by it, really really terrified, but despite this I picked the audiobook up from the library, because Neil Gaiman wrote an awesome Doctor Who episode and so I thought, 'surely his books are pretty good.' (He also wrote Stardust, the movie adaption of which is one of my favorite movies ever.) The book is read by the author, which is something one should always be wary of, but Gaiman does a surprisingly good job. Maybe it is the writing style, but something about the way he reads make the book seem very calming. I'll be doing a book review soon.
There, this picture better shows off the twirly ruffles.
Almost as soon as I finished this scarf and wore it for a few hours, I cast on for a new cowl. Which is really something I shouldn't do, but I struck a deal with myself: throughout November, I can only, only, only knit Christmas presents. (although I do have a sister whose birthday is in November and she has requested a hat, but that will be an exception.) This will ensure that November will be a terribly stressful month with no rewards (except for a novel and endless bragging rights, of course). Why do I do this to myself?