But, alas, I Digress

Knit 1, purl 1, knit 4, decrease 2, cable motif; k1, p1, k4, dcr2, cb; k1...

The kids all have their jobs in the kitchen following dinner - table and sweeping, trash bag and outside to the garbage and recycling, washing and drying and putting away.

(Thematically action packed mood music from Dragnet)...da da dum dum - The kitchen sink. da da dum dum dum - the scene of the crime.

I just need the facts ma'am, just the facts. What we have here is a voluntary washcloth-i-cide.

These past two weeks have seen this series of chores take an enormous chunk out of my dishcloth stockpile.

While washing dishes, and everything that goes into that task, invariably the garbage disposal needs to be run. Poised to use the switch - no hands anywhere near the opening, no silverware or such lodged within the disposal, the countdown is issued..."5,4,3,2,1,...WHRRRR." It can be great fun, that is unless it is the end of a life, a useful, necessary life of servitude and compliance ended by a merciless appliance.

Four times in 12 days, down that animated hole, that cavern of gnashing of teeth and man-eating secrets have been one of my handknit washcloths. The machine doesn't prevent its movement when it detects a foreign object in its midst, it fulfills its lifelong mission - to emulsify, grind to a pulp anything which has the audacity to exist within its presence. And what happened to be there along with tiny slices of cooked carrot, chicken noodles and fluffy biscuit (oh man were those biscuits good that night. With cinnamon butter and a schmear of honey...oh, so sorry, I digress. Hmmm, back to the story...) Down there with the bits and pieces of minuscule remainders from the division of dinner for six were one my washcloths.

Knit 1, purl 1, cable over the next 6 in repeated motive to the last 4 stitches...

Orange. Red. Yellow. Blue. Each gave their time on this earth as a servant to the slavish task of keeping these counters clean, the dishes prepared for the next meal and the stove, range and sink free of grease and grime and the dirty facts of life.

The dishcloths who withstood washing the vans everytime they got dirty, tumbled in the washing machine and dryer only to be reached for from tumble heaven of 200 degrees and fabric softness to be plunged into scalding water and bubbles to remove the baked on remainders of teriyaki sauce and chicken thighs. (Whoa, that dinner was exceptional, with sugar snap pea pods and baby corn, spinach and broccoli served over nutted rice...oops, again, I digress.)

The strength they maintained, their shape and definition came from their handknit quality. It takes about 20 minutes to knit one of these wonders, but I have had some for three or four years before they needed to be discarded. And literally, the only reason they had been discarded was not because of any faulty design they may have maintained, any raveling or shredding they pronounced. Not these babies: they needed tossed because someone (who will remain nameless) used them to sop up an unexpected puddle of oil-based exterior door paint during a household chore and they were left stained beyond correction.

These handknit jewels have long life expectancy, I only need to make one or two a year. (That is until this year: 2007, the year that will be held within the annuls of time as the High Noon of the Rootin', Tootin', Expert Shootin', High Fallutin' Teddy Bear Rustlin' Gang and the Dishcloth Brothers. Yikes, another digression, so sorry, my imagination just got the best of me...returning the train to her track, yes.)

Though only making two a year, I do treasure making them. I love the feeling of the yarn gently gliding through my continental-style grasp (versus the european style grasp, which is most easily described as backwards...and yet again I digress =) ) and the gauge of the stitch being held temperately within my pointer and tallman fingers. (Will I ever grow up after being a mommy, will I ever call things by their "for real" names and places? Or will I always be captured by little piggies, Ringman, Easy-peasie-lemon-squeezie and mareseatoats and someone's chinney-chin chin? Ummmm...another tangent, apologies, please.)

After meeting the garbage disposal, these dishcloths cannot be repaired, with their giant holes. So as I reach for my handy dandy bag of yarn, I discern that all I have for the moment is red. Not bad. Today I will be using the pattern with cables. I do so enjoy using cables with my small containable projects, a chance to reinforce this perishable skill so that when I find the red merino wool I desire for this cardigan with cabled sleeves and slashed pockets, I will have a defined cable I can reach for in my bag of skills. Sharpened by the repeated fashion of washcloths and baby hats, these cables with turn out fine.

So I sit tonight, with yarn entwined through my fingers, and 12 rows completed of this project (how many will I need to do? If we are going through a garbage disposal accident every 36 hours which shreds a dishcloth at the rate of 18" per second, then I will require...uh...oh...um..alas, I digress...)

Good night on this warmth-filled first day of spring.