An Easygoing Day

My faithful readers will know that I am an inveterate procrastinator. "Mañana!” is one of my guiding principles.  For example, I have three Aran sweaters, one given to me by my mother, which I seldom wear, as I want to keep it in its relatively pristine condition, and to have a nice sweater to wear when I have need to appear really clean.  The second is one I knitted for Rebecca more than twenty years ago, which she rejected, saying it was too white.  She was remembering that lovely greasy with lanolin grey-white of the true Aran yarn with which I had knitted her sweaters in Ireland when she was little.  I don’t think one can get that delightfully smelly yarn anymore.  It was a real breath of the Auld Sod, with the scent of Irish sheep, and infused with tiny Irish twigs.    Instead of the despised overly white cardigan, she demanded one that I had knitted for myself many years previous, now at least forty years old and still going. That one could never be accused of excessive whiteness. Its non-whiteness was not from lanolin, however, but rather from years of constant wear. She gave me back the reviled too-white one which since has become a nice ecru – verging on beige.  And once again, not from lanolin.  My third Aran was given to me by an Irish friend, and was knitted by her sister.  This alone makes it precious, quite aside from it being a great sweater with nice pockets.  I love these sweaters, and have worn one or the other nearly every day – and every night for quite a few years.  My house is cold and I prefer to put on a sweater rather than turn up the heat.  Finally, I decided that after all those years of constant wear, they needed a bath.  But another year went by while I thought about giving them one.  Then as the need became more imperative, I could delay no longer, but even then, I put that unpleasant job off for another month or two.  So  finally, I did steel myself, washed them, and laid them out on my sweater drying rack.  I feared that Tobias would sit on them, but he didn’t.  After they were dry and I had put them back into circulation, I dithered about for a few more days about putting away the rack.  It is not fun to assemble or to disassemble. I was awaiting the perfect moment.  That moment came when I found a very large kitty using the rack for a hammock, and the hammock on the verge of collapsing.  Sometimes one just needs a little inspiration before springing (or in my case, slouching) into action.