I have not done much any knitting for the past week or so, hence no posts, although I could have kept you informed of my non-progress; no knitting until this past Thursday that is.
Thursday we had tickets for our last symphony concert of the season at Avery Fisher Hall and I planned to knit on the train. Knit I did, in fact much longer than expected. The train stalled at Cortland and we were delayed for an hour. That meant I had THREE WHOLE HOURS of knitting time. I can honestly say this is the longest period of time I have ever spent in Cortland in my life, and I still haven't seen anything other than the train station.
When they got us down to Croton Harmon, the half-way point, we were transferred to one of the new trains, which neither of us had ever been on before. I think these are reserved for the Westchester commuters, not us lowly Dutchess County Residents.
I knitted up to the bind off for the underarm shaping on the front of Bettina:
As you will note I am only a little beyond that point now. I was, as is often the case, too tired to knit much on the trip back. We just barely made the 10:00 train and didn't want to wait another hour. We ran into Grand Central with 5 minutes to spare and I had to buy a new 10 trip pass (the power was out at the Poughkeepsie Station when we left so I couldn't buy it then, and when we arrived in NY we were rushing to Lincoln Center)
But it was all worthwhile. The concert was spectacular. Gil Shaham played the Sibelius Violin Concerto very very well. It was really marvelously lush and intense. The concert ended with Stravinsky's Firebird and it was also a fantastic, fiery performance. I'm obviously not a music critic 'cause I can't think of anything more to say.
I did knit a paltry 8 rows on the train, not much but better than nothing I suppose. I dozed. I fidgeted a great deal. I was terribly thirsty since I spent my only spare time buying a ticket, not a bottle of water, and was still looking for a seat when the train left the station. The man in the row across the aisle from us left a half drunk bottle of beer under his seat when he got off the train and I kept staring at it, my eyes glazing over, dreaming of the taste of that beer, of anything liquid flowing down my throat. This didn't help. The yarn felt scratchy and dry in my hands, my throat felt more dry with every stitch, it seemed better to try to sleep.
The sweater will be done soon.
Comments