Does one ever get to the point, when it comes to knitting, where you pick up a new pattern involving something kinda new and not quietly freak out about how impossibly hard it looks, and not be able to begin to fathom ever being able to make the project yourself? Does that ever stop?! 

By this point I'd say I'm a comfortable beginner knitter - I have a few basic techniques and simple projects under my belt now and the fire in my belly is roaring enough that I have a number of aspirational 'one-day' goals tucked away in my head. 

And yet 90% of knitting patterns that I look up online still look to me like some kind of magical spell has been performed - the yarn conjured and enchanted my spirits to weave and wind themselves into these intricate, textural, spiderwebs. I look at them and think HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE WITH JUST STICKS AND TWINE (for some reason my brain also goes all folk-horror at this point and defaults to 'sticks and twine', rather then 'needles and yarn' - this is the spell it casts over me!).

And yet, each time, I am proved wrong and I proceed to make the said thing! WOW! 

Which is what happened with my latest completed project - the Aiki Seeded Rib Scarf from Tara-Lynn Morrison's Good Night, Day collection. 

As soon as I embarked upon my journey to learn to knit, I became aware that shawls were a Very Big Thing in the community. In fact, they are their entire own thing. Knitters, it seemed, were very passionate about shawls, with some making them their sole focus of the craft. 

And I'll be honest with you - I didn't get it. 

It's not that I don't like shawls, but for most of us, they're simply not things that we wear, use or ever bother think about on the day to day. We grow up associating shawls with a caricature grandma with a grey bun and little round glasses, or with downtrodden Cinderella before the fairy godmother came and did her makeover. 

But more involved I become in the knitting world, the longer I spend browsing Ravelry, and the more Instagram knitting accounts I follow- the more I realise that I was very wrong. 

Shawls can be intricate, versatile, works of art and examples of impeccable, eye-wateringly beautiful design. And I can see why they are the focus of so much passion! 

In the past week winter has fully descend upon Ōtautahi.

I finally got to take my big woollen coat out of hibernation, as well as my scarves, merino tops, densest tights and also...hang on...wait...where are my gloves?

WHERE THE HECK ARE MY GLOVES?

It's been a full eight days and the mystery of my missing fingerless gloves is still very much unsolved. I've pulled out the entire contents of my wardrobe, searched my big box full of scarves and hats several times, tipped out my satchel (no luck, though I did find 578 different lipsticks and balms that I thought I'd lost) and checked every pocket in every coat, robe, jacket, kimono and blazer that I own - and no joy. 

I'm reluctantly having to accept that my beloved mitts are gone - and I'm feeling a little lost. 

As I’m sure you have picked up in my previous posts about my making the Kingston Sweater, Tara-Lynn Morrison’s Good Night, Day has been my knitting awakening. 

These are patterns that are designed to be simple, minimalistic, accessible, size-inclusive and take a more holistic approach to the creative process in the way they are designed to be like a meditation, a launch point for your own ideas and creativity - leaving you free to express yourself with colour schemes, customised sizing, length and proportion, and optional embellishments.