May be I learned it in my past. There was precious little wool or any other yarn available, knitting needles were prized possessions - losing one was a tragedy, patterns were circulated according to the best underground traditions. Supplies were limited in the state-run stores; if there was yarn, it would be the wrong weight, or the wrong colour, or not enough of it. You bought it anyway. Women frogged old sweaters to make ones in the latest styles. And yet, even in this universe of scarcity, miracles appeared - big, smooshy ski hats with huge pom-poms, Nordic ski sweaters, belted cardigans form thick Tatra mountain sheepswool.
After a week of lousy results and one big disaster I shake myself. I will go and fix things. I will lengthen the sleeves of the Cranberry that shrunk in the wash, and finally loosen up the turtleneck, so that I can wear it comfortably. I will take out, frog and shorten the sleeves for the Lace for Me, so that they do not dip in the soup I am making. I will probably not change the Moebius (second iteration does not look much better that the first). And I will give the Big Blue Ice (now HUUUUUUGE Blue Ice) to Nadia who is taller and loves it. And I will make myself a new Big Blue Ice because I love it.
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