There is a story of a shawl. I started it near to the beginning of my knitting career, then frogged it in dissatisfaction at my meager skills. The yarn waited. Time passed. The recipient mentioned owning a notable lack of items I'd created with my fiber art. I looked at the yarn. I did not use it. Then, the holiday approached and I had the skills, the time, the art, and the beginnings of the yarn. The shawl was re-born. I worked diligently, choosing the right yarns, the right stitch and pattern and gauge for each yarn. I built the stripes. The holiday closed in and I worked harder and faster. I knit like a madwoman. Then my elbow started to holler, and finally gave out when my shoulder joined in. I had injured myself knitting.
