Spectrum Blue
Oct. 26th, 2011 08:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyWhen I was about thirteen, I saw a knitting pattern for the world's best cardigan. It was so lovely. It was a cream bolero with a lace edging round the bottom and cabled sleeves and a checker-board pattern on the body created with squares of stocking stitch surrounded by moss stitch borders, and in every second square was a cross-stitch motif in brightly coloured wool, and it was done up with eighteen tiny buttons. I know. You are imagining that and thinking, I wish I had one of them.
My mother said that the model wearing this cardigan was tall and slender and could carry off a bulky, cropped jacket. I, she pointed out, was naturally bulky and cropped, so the cardigan might be too much of a good thing. I was unconvinced, and despite her misgivings, she knitted it for me. (I don't remember this, but I imagine she had assistance from my grandmother, who was a fast knitter. If my mother attempted it by herself, I'd still be waiting for it.)
Of course, she was right. I realised that as soon as I put on the finished cardie. It cropped me at the waist, making me look short and dumpy. It was thick and heavy, the cabled sleeves especially, which in turn made me look thick and heavy. And it was cream, which made me look enormous. I couldn't have picked a more unflattering garment for my body type if I'd tried. I knew I could never wear it. Oh dear.
I felt so guilty, because my mother had knitted it for me even though she doesn't really enjoy knitting, and because she'd done a really good job. That winter I made sure to put it on a few times, just round the house or visiting elderly relatives, so she'd see I was getting wear out of it. Once the warmer weather arrived, I put it at the back of the drawer and hoped she'd forget about it by the next year.
She did, and I did too. At least, I forgot about it until a few years later, when I was at university. I was sitting up in bed late one chilly winter's night reading a text book. My arms were cold, but when I put a jumper on, it was too long and bunched up round my middle. If only I had a cropped bed jacket, I thought, and suddenly, lightbulb! I did have one. I dug out the cream cardigan and it turned out to be just the ticket.
And you know what? It still is. I wear it as a bed jacket for reading every winter. I was looking at it earlier hanging over the back of a chair, and thought it's probably time to wash it and put it away for summer, when I realised that it's nearly twenty-five years old and must be the oldest garment I own. Which is unexpected.
My mother said that the model wearing this cardigan was tall and slender and could carry off a bulky, cropped jacket. I, she pointed out, was naturally bulky and cropped, so the cardigan might be too much of a good thing. I was unconvinced, and despite her misgivings, she knitted it for me. (I don't remember this, but I imagine she had assistance from my grandmother, who was a fast knitter. If my mother attempted it by herself, I'd still be waiting for it.)
Of course, she was right. I realised that as soon as I put on the finished cardie. It cropped me at the waist, making me look short and dumpy. It was thick and heavy, the cabled sleeves especially, which in turn made me look thick and heavy. And it was cream, which made me look enormous. I couldn't have picked a more unflattering garment for my body type if I'd tried. I knew I could never wear it. Oh dear.
I felt so guilty, because my mother had knitted it for me even though she doesn't really enjoy knitting, and because she'd done a really good job. That winter I made sure to put it on a few times, just round the house or visiting elderly relatives, so she'd see I was getting wear out of it. Once the warmer weather arrived, I put it at the back of the drawer and hoped she'd forget about it by the next year.
She did, and I did too. At least, I forgot about it until a few years later, when I was at university. I was sitting up in bed late one chilly winter's night reading a text book. My arms were cold, but when I put a jumper on, it was too long and bunched up round my middle. If only I had a cropped bed jacket, I thought, and suddenly, lightbulb! I did have one. I dug out the cream cardigan and it turned out to be just the ticket.
And you know what? It still is. I wear it as a bed jacket for reading every winter. I was looking at it earlier hanging over the back of a chair, and thought it's probably time to wash it and put it away for summer, when I realised that it's nearly twenty-five years old and must be the oldest garment I own. Which is unexpected.