I'm getting the urge to hibernate. Looking out as the rain lashes down outside, I really have no desire whatsoever to leave the house. It is a new phenomenon for me - I've always been one of those people happier out than in. During my school days, I used to force myself to meet my essay deadlines early - not because I was a particularly conscientious student, but just in case I had the opportunity to do something fun that I'd have to miss out on if I needed to stay home and get my work done.
But as I get older, I find myself more content to be at home. Unfortunately, I also find myself putting things off more. Particularly those things without a firm deadline. Like the Aran sweater that has been on the back burner for too long. My Mum brought it to me. She volunteers in a charity shop, but the shop is uber-strict about what it will sell, and a hand-knit aran jumper didn't make the cut. She thought I might like to have it instead.
So it sat in my study for a while. A little snug for me to wear and rather bulky and itchy too. I thought about unravelling it to re-use the wool. Then I looked at the other wool on the shelf, already making me feel guilty in its unknitted state and decided to felt it instead. Into a hot wash it went and out again, smaller, shrunken and felted beautifully.
It had cushion cover written all over it. I found a cushion pad - the size looked smack on. But so thick and sumptuous was the felt, that there was no way my little sewing machine was going to cope with it. The sweater sat a while longer. Then one evening, while supervising bath-time, I took some heavy white sashiko thread and stitched up the gaps where the arms and neck holes had been in the original sweater. Three sides of my cushion complete.
But how to finish it off? There wasn't enough sweater for an envelope back. A zipper, installed by hand would not look good. Ditto hand sewn buttonholes. Blanket stitch seemed the logical answer. Blanket stitch. My nemesis.
The cushion sat a while longer, its guts exposed. Until quite suddenly I decided I must finish something. Anything. And armed with some scrap wool and a huge needle, I sewed it up, lickety-split.
And now it is on my sofa, inviting me to sit with it a while. And I am left thinking that putting things off is not a good trait to have acquired, but that enjoying being at home definitely is.