A thing of the moment: I knitted a wrap. I love the idea of wraps, but the reality had always eluded me, for they seemed more statement than practicality. They are for the movies, for fashionistas, for the opulently eccentric. But I am a short, middle-aged suburbanite, and I had my mundane worries. About shawl pins ruining the yarn, edges getting caught, extravagant folds sliding into limp messiness . . . .
Then a tiny revelation. That heavy, bulky, hand-dyed, wool-silk-mohair blend yarn I bought on impulse five years ago because it was on sale and I loved the colors (dark green, purple, lavender) – that was the perfect yarn for a perfect impracticality. It was all wrong – bulky and heavy and variegated and hairy – and for five years, it defied all my attempts to work with it. Then a week ago, a brainstorm! A simple rectangle in open mesh, knitted on the fattest needles I own. It now rests serenely across the back of my office chair. It is in fact quite beautiful, and in the morning sun, the silk fibers gleam with secret glamour.
So I decided to knit another wrap. I had yet another “orphan” yarn, this time a thick-and-thin cotton with flakes like blisters strung on a string – but there was a real possibility that I could go blind from endless miles of garter stitch. Enter The On-Line Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences, a compendium of – yup! – integer sequences. I am charmed by the geekiness of this website. Everyone has heard of the Fibonacci sequence, but how many people know about this one: 0, 1, 2, 3, 9, 11, 1, 7, 15, 19 . . . . ? It was submitted by Floor van Lamoen, and while I have no idea what “real world” applications it has, I know it to be a cool sequence for growing my wrap.
Today I sit in a coffee shop, typing on a laptop from a Japanese company, drinking coffee grown in Costa Rica and roasted in Denver, knitting with yarn from Egypt and spun in Norway, on needles made in England, using a sequence devised by a Dutch mathematician. A sequence, connections, buoys on a string.