The ripple blanket grows and grows. Rows by rows. It got a little fugly in the middle — lots of random, insipid pastels — but then some raisin brown and deep charcoal showed up on the list and saved things. I was holding my breath there for a minute, thinking I'd wrecked to whole thing. But I soldiered on and was rewarded.
The depths to which I am able to both appreciate and indulge myself while making this blanket are beyond the pale.
For instance, the hide-a-bed. I pulled it out, in the living room; right in the middle of Saturday afternoon my ripple blanket and I got on it. Andy walked in (as well as he could, as the pulled-out hide-a-bed takes up almost the whole room) after walking the dog and actually looked amazed, as if he were some sort of amateur and not a 73-time gold-medal winner in the Crazy-Alicia Olympics. Honestly. I remained resolute in my obliviousness. He snorted: "Is this what you're doing now?" I said, "Yeah. I think so," as if still considering, sitting in the middle of the bed, happily holding the clicker and patting down the covers around me. I find the best way of dealing with scoffing or apparent sarcasm is to pretend you aren't getting it, somehow, and act even more . . . forward. I flapped my hand toward the foot of the bed. "Honey, can you move your wrapping paper off my bed here? It's touching my leg and bugging me" [wink]. He sat wrapping a birthday present on an ottoman, trying to ignore me. I was all like, "Oh crap, now where am I going to put my pop," because, you know, when you're sitting in a double bed in the middle of the living room there aren't many flat, hard surfaces within reach. "Wow. I don't know. You've got problems," said he. "I know, it sucks!" I said, "I'll have to hold it!" and on and on with this nonsense for hours and rows. At 9 or 10 p.m. I stood up, folded my ripple blanket, stretched exhaustedly and said, "Welp! Time to go to bed!" and headed upstairs. To the regular bed. Wow is right. Make that 74-time winner.
The thing is, though, that if you are trying to figure out if your chart is right, or if you need to add a different color to the whole, a ripple blanket that is three weeks on is BIG and difficult to see in its entirety. But it fits a hide-a-bed perfectly. And then you can bring your computer, all your yarn, snacks, cats, magazines, a whole lot of stuff. Don't knock it til you try it baby. I'm telling you.
By the way, as noted by Jane, who I blame completely for getting me into this ripple fugue, the blanket is based on the Soft Waves pattern in Jan Eaton's book 200 Ripple Stitches. I used mostly Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmerino and other nice DK-weight yarns, but I don't know which brands, which colors, or exactly how much (a lot), as many people have written and asked. It really doesn't matter. It's truly a stash blanket, so I frogged a bunch of old prototypes for old things, threw in half an unfinished dog sweater, used whatever else was in the bucket, and bought a few skeins that I knew would help all that pastel. Don't worry about it too much. Just go with your instincts, stack them all up, and they'll look just fine, I promise. This is all double crochet, over and over and over again, so if you can do that, you can make it. Just pull out the hide-a-bed, ignore the laundry, groceries, and your family, and get going.
Ohmigosh, look, she's even doing it again. I totally understand.