two knits of ivory

Two Months, Schmunths

2011-11-14T14:45:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about you blog. My SHE did take Best in Show at the Topsfield Fair on September 30th. My love of this project and the handy capture of the ribbon has left me querulous. Where is my knitting heading?

(Isn't that A Really Pretty Ribbon! Squee!)

Where do I want to take my knitting? I need something more than what I have. Last week my instincts were made flesh and shall be known henceforth as the Great Fall 2011 Knitting Purge. I definitively retired six projects.

Project Eins (1) ~ Flowers in the Attic

A lovely stranded Sundara sock knit. I really loved how the corrugated ribbing looked, but for the main pattern, a grunted "eh" sums up all subsequent emotions.

Project Zwei (2) ~ Summer Quilt Scarf

This project was inspired by a lovely antique quilt I have. I spent the summer pondering a way to translate my love of simple, early American quilts into a knitted form. Then the viral success of the Beekeeper's Quilt scared me something silly. I won't be knitting thousands of sock yarn hexagons, but dog bless those poor souls unable resist its siren's call.

For the record the two squares I did knit together were left intact and stored with love in my ever growing swatch bag.

Project Drei (3) ~ Steel Blue and Black

Another sock yarn project, using Sundara and Madelinetosh. I may have finished this one day, but the urge to purge knew no bounds, so off the needles it went. The respective yarns were recaked and returned to the yarn closet.

Project Vier (4)~ I am

This was my first go at the Rambling Rows afghan. The Knit Picks city tweed yarn was a lovely choice for the project. Unfortunately, when I got about 40% done with the pattern it became painfully obvious I was knitting a table covering, not a lap blanket. I had a hard time letting go, but nothing much was escaping the Great Fall 2011 Knitting Purge.

I only frogged the last tiny section I was working on. The remainder found its way into the swatch bin.

Project Funf (5)~ Ropes and Grey Cardigan

This was my first attempt at a real sweater pattern after a longstanding self-imposed hiatus, the Ropes and Picot Cardigan. I wasn't loving my gauge with this tweedy yarn. I'll revisit this pattern some day I think. Some very far away day.

The yarn was recaked and stored away.

Project Sechs (6)~ No name, my first Neibling

This, my first Herbert Neibling pattern, was doomed by yarn choice. The pattern is a doily, a doily to be knit with cotton thread. I don't knit with cotton anymore, much less cotton thread. I used a merino lace weight, some Knit Picks Bare lace my dad's wife gave me for Christmas a few years back.

Once again, I received confirmation that merino lace weight yarn isn't my game. The pattern is only 300 yards, so I thought I just might stick it out. Nein, the whirlwind force of the Great Fall 2011 Knitting Purge took its sixth victim.

I expect two more WIPS will fall to the purge urge. This will give me a near clean slate to entertain my new knitting urges, one of which is embarking on TKGA's Master Knitting Program.

That and a few other things...

SHE

2011-09-14T10:00:00.003-04:00

SHE really needs a new name but nothing is coming to me.

I shot a buncha photos of her this weekend but none turned out to be that money shot, the shot that captures her verve.

She goes to the judges this weekend. It'll be hard to part with her.

Project Stats:

I cast on December 2, 2011. I cast off August 18, 2011. According to the scale, weighing the leftover yarn, the project used approximately 1,778 yards of the sport weight Madelinetosh Pashmina yarn in the colorway Filigree.

I used size US8s/5.00mm Knit Picks harmony wood needles for the project, with the exception of first few rows after casting on. With that I used US4s/3.5mm.

The yarn is a dream to knit, the pattern was super easy to follow. The pattern is Evenstar from designer Susan Pandorf. I used the charted sections mainly and don't recall having a problem at any point other than when deciding which Evenstar motif to use. She provides a swatching sample in the pattern that I found very useful.

The only mod to the pattern I made was reducing the number of rows in the beginning PI sequences. I think the PI formula is that you double the number of work even rows in between the increase rows. Aesthetically, I wasn't too fond of those wide concentric stockinette rings. Psychologically, I just couldn't wait to begin the lace pattern.

The question still remains on whether I will knit this again. Right now the answer seems like a Hell Yeah! But, we'll see.

A half skip of crazeh...

2011-09-13T14:00:00.001-04:00

Sitting right next to me are five delightful skeins of Madelinetosh's Pashmina in a new colorway, Magnolia Leaf.

It is my 9/11 balm. Well, technically, the balm amounts to a great deal more than just the madtosh. Hubby and I took a last minute trip out to Webs on Saturday and I partook in a hearty round of retail therapy.

Theres's enough madtosh Pashmina for another Evenstar, as well as enough Ultra Alpaca for a long fall sweater or cardi. Plus there's new sock blockers for my stranded sock habit, gorgeous stitch markers made of little brown glass leaves, a sheepy mug, etc. etc.

Sometimes I just gotta let my impulses run the show. Doing so did help melt some of that 9/11 tension away.

----

OMG! Can I just say that this new madtosh colorway is fantabulous.

There are pinks and reds and ochres and limes and browns and oranges. It's exactly what I need right now. The world is a unhappy place, but where there is yarn there is comfort and love and home.

Yarn is my home. Crazeh but true.

Gettin' by...

2011-09-09T13:00:00.000-04:00

So my sense of humor is MIA. I speak or write and try to be humorful but all that comes out is a blob of bile. The best I can do in times like this is to ride it out like a bout of bad weather.

What's helping at the moment is a voiceover in my head of Gandalf bellowing, "This Too Shall Pass." This must mean my sense of humor is returning. Right?

There is something good and new happening at Chez Yarn. I am knitting a sweater from a pattern. A real bonafide pattern. There's relief that I've actually started the knitting because the act of deciding on ONE single pattern among all the millions of gorgeous sweater patterns out there is a daunting friggin' task. I went through four or so years worth of Interweave Knits mags.

As much as I want to knit a winged cardigan, I decided the stash I have on hand would work best on a fairly traditional cardigan, the Ropes and Picot Cardigan from Interweave's Winter 2008 (rav link). This project stood out from the moment I saw the picture in the mag.

What SHE taught me is that sometimes I just wanna be told what to knit. I kinda tired of having to improvise everything. This is definitely one of the things my recent foray into stranded sock knitting has reinforced. Learning new things has it's place. That place is down the road and to the left at the moment.

I won't forget to wave when I drive by.

Hubris and Humility

2011-09-06T15:00:00.014-04:00

A little over four months ago a sprightly, optimistic knitter posted this WIP photo.

Yes ladies and gentlemen that there is four stranded sock projects. Four. The hubris of said optimism has faded, but it was a lovely, blissful thing. The memory of it is made all the more sweet whilst I've had to digest the following crow pie.

The narrower of the two grey/black socks was frogged not long after the photo was taken. It seemed nonsensical to have two nearly identical projects. The remaining three projects have suffered some indignations.

Sock one, named Fire on the Mountain, is knit from regular Wollmeise sock yarn, Schwarz and Kurbis colorways.

What did we learn (or relearn) knitting Sock One?

Knitting stranded socks is fun!
Wollmeise sock yarn is a friggin' twisty twisty twisty yarn
Wollmeise sock yarn is gorgeously dyed
Unlike single yarn socks, you must knit every stitch of the heel flap. The edge stitches (bottom sock, not visible in pic) will be flabby if you pass over them. This "airy" gusset seems unstable. Only the test of time and wear will confirm this suspicion.
If you knit every stitch of a heel flap, your gusset will be ridiculously GINORMOUS (top sock, very visible in pic.) I need to find a way to get around this.
For socks with alternating sections of plain knitting, the "intuitive" -ly designed and knit heel looks crappy.

Sock Two, named White Ribbon, is knit in a pale limey yellow madelinetosh sock yarn, colorway Ivy, and a lovely magenta Malabrigo Sock yarn, colorway Tiziano Red. The Malabrigo is definitely thinner than the madtosh. Conventional wisdom has it that the yarns used should have the same WPI (wraps per inch) but my hubris extends to yarn choice, as well. Sue me.

What did we learn (or relearn) knitting Sock Two?

Knitting stranded socks in fabulous yarn is fabulous.
As much as I think I prefer the flabby fabric I get when I use 2.75mm/US2s, I don't. Use 2.50mm/US1.5s needles for conventionally sized sock yarn.
I don't like the look of provisionally cast on heels.
Don't knit the provisional cast on in pattern. I don't yet have the chops (and patience) to pick up stitches cast in two different colors (see below).
Adding stitches to the picked up heel area, in order to hide the systemic holes heels generate, is not a good idea. The subsequent gusset looks ridiculous.

On Left: provisional cast on in pattern / On Right: provisional cast on in one color

Sock Three may never be a sock. Sock Three is knit in madelinetosh sock, colorway Denim, and Sundara sock, colorway black. Sock three will either be frogged or be redesigned as fingerless mitts. The jury is still out. I picked this project up yesterday and knit a row or two. The project limitations are clear.

What are we learning (or relearning) knitting Sock Three?

The vain pride knitting stranded socks on size 2.00mm/US0s generates is fleeting.
The fabric made knitting stranded circularly on the 2.00mm needles is very dense, leaving the fabric gorgeous to look at but with absolutely no give.
Usable socks need considerable give.
Lack of give means more stitches are needed to make sock fit, knitting socks with rows in excess of 75 stitches creates a psychological knitting impediment, thus this project may have to be frogged.
Stranded sock knitting is fun!

Summary
Was it a good idea to finish these socks with all their flaws? Am a good-for-nothing lazy bum-of-a-knitter? Am I a grade-A moron for wasting perfectly perfect sock yarn? Yes, yes, and Yes. No, no, and no. The answer is yes if my inner judgmental Prissy Mcprissypants has her say. The answer is no if I assert that knitting is my hobby, not Prissy Mcprissypants. She should STFU and go find another sandbox to play in. I'm allowed to make bad decisions about my hobby. I'm allowed not to feel bad when I make foolish decisions. Life is too short, let's have more foolish knitting and less Prissy Mcprissypanting.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

On the Road to Setting an Agenda

2011-08-22T14:00:00.000-04:00

Some time in the spring I affixed metaphorical blinders on to keep me in the proper robo-knitter mode needed to finish the behemoth SHE. Now that all 1,790-ish yards of SHE is off my plate there is no harm to looking deep into the abyss(es) of my knitting bin(s). I have the bandwidth to face the knitting crazy I have or have had going on.

About 10 days ago I frogged the Bayerische socks:

Madtosh sock
My flickr info informs me I took this photo three years ago, in August 2008. My desire to knit twisted cable stitches on size 2.00mm needles has not returned since the time I took the photo. It's time to accept the desire may never ever return. The pattern shall be waiting in it's own cellophane sleeve when, and if, it ever does.

After finishing up a recent FO which I have yet to showcase here I began a more ambitious version. The pattern was for an elbow length fingerless glove. I started the project at the beginning of June and frogged it at the beginning of this month:

Sundara's fingering merino cashmere in Ruby Port

At the end of June I binged on a new yarn, Acadia by The Fiber Company. I had a colorwork project in mind for which I put together this sample thingy:

I proceeded to cast on a sweater sleeve cuff with absolutely no idea of where I was going, and knowing I already had two design-as-I-knit sweaters on needles. I never entered the project on Ravelry. I'm pretty sure I frogged the cuff the same day or evening I frogged the Bayerische socks:

Right now I am overwhelmed by vivacious and myriad design impulses. Frogging hastily cast-on projects seems my best defense at the moment. I think it's working as I made significant headway on a sweater I started last January and one of the few stranded sock projects I have going.

My ambition is bigger than my brain capacity. I'm gonna slow 'er down and see what happens.

Sigmund's gonna need a new name!

2011-08-19T10:00:00.000-04:00

She no longer looks like a Sigmund the Sea Monster.

on the wires and loving it!

That, and she's now definitely a SHE. (I am wearing SHE as I type this. I think I will only take SHE off to shower and to place in such a position so that SHE may be worshiped formally.) I shall never be cold again!

damp, lain out right before blocking

I'm in the "block the helloutta it" camp.

I am having a pseudo-religious experience with this FO. I have never ever felt anything like this in recent memory. I am so enamored of SHE I don't think I can muster the will to put her up for judging at the fair because I CANNOT part with her.

I took her off the wires last night. When I lay on my bed with her covering me I felt blessed, as if swathed in pure grace. This feeling is pretty unknown to me. It's as if the sense of magic we so easily conjure as children escaped it's musty, dusty prison confine and is washing over me as joy and love.

For this blessing I am thankful.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

2011-08-10T11:00:00.000-04:00

Heheheh. My life is filled with little sayings like that. Family sayings. My family is pretty far away from me physically, as well as psychologically. These phrases bring me back into their fold for a moment.

It is a very sweet moment.

Sundara Sock August 2011 LE

I just looked up the word "aphorism," as that was what came to mind first when I opened the "new post" window on Blogger. I'm feeling very partial to Merriam Websters #2 definition:

2 : a terse formulation of a truth or sentiment : adage

In my book the value of an aphorism is in it's sentimental brevity. And speaking of brevity, one of my favorite Dorothy 'Dot' Parker quotes is "Brevity is the soul of lingerie." Fuck, what a line that is.

Shibui Knits Staccato in the Kitchen colorway

So I downloaded a free PDF program and I think I know how to use it. It's only a matter of time, albeit maybe a long time, but just time in and of itself, nonetheless, before I dip my fat big toe into the waters of pattern self-publishing.

time keeps on slippin'... into the future

2011-08-09T17:00:00.001-04:00

Whoa, tastycakes! It's August?

I am rounding the corner on my Evenstar, recently renamed Sigmund the Sea Monster:

You see what I mean with the name, right? Gawd.

Thanks to the statistics kept by my camera, and Flickr, I can say with complete confidence that I started the knit on border on or around July 31, 2011. And after parannoying for a week that I'd never get it done by the end of August, I passed the halfway mark yesterday evening. That's over 10,000 stitches in eight days (560 rows x an average of 18 stitches). (How is that even possible?!?) Booyah!

Anything can happen between now and August 31. I've had more than a few months without a stitch knit on this, but the craving to block this suckah is driving me onward. It's a primal urge. And if the past nine days has informed me of anything, a weekend or two is all I'll need to finish her up.

With that said, my point in having it done by August 31 may be a moot one. That deadline is for me to be able to enter Sigmund into my local county fair's competition. The thing is, I have come to realize that I personally don't feel this is Best in Show material.

Not Good Enough Reasons:
1. I never should have used a yarn that has such a high certitude for skein to skein variation. I knew the Madtosh Pashmina had a lot of variation, but I thought my "technique" would put this problem to bed. Duh! The technique I've used, which is knitting every other, or every other two, rows with a different skein has provided some measure of repair, but having the occasional yarn overlay must disqualify this project from being a master product.

2. I used inconsistent new yarn joins. This is also due to the yarn. I spit spliced where I was able, but started new yarn with ends that need to be woven in in other places. Second duh! A master product should be 100% consistent in technique.

3. I should have used a more neutral color.

So the sum of my problem is inconsistency. It is a valuable lesson to keep in mind with my future pursuits. With all of this said, what I feel and how the judging actually works, are two separate things. It all depends upon the entries of my fellow knitters, and the proclivities of the judges. So if it's done, I will enter it. Yes, I will. But I am the most important judge and I know I can do better.

So for my next master project I will
1) use a more conventional yarn to insure technique consistency;
2) use a more neutral colorway to help insure the project item is judged for the handiwork and not for the unconventional color choice;
3) use a well established pattern and/or designer to minimize pattern problems; and
4) use a new-to-me pattern because I want the master project to be one that I get right the first time.

Big Thoughts...

2011-06-28T15:30:00.001-04:00

Barn Booster mitts, in process

I'm having big thoughts this afternoon. They are too big for me. But here I am trying to make sense of them.

Thought 1
I am, by nature, a pedagogue.

Thought 2
I want to write patterns.

Thought 3
I have no interest in making money from writing patterns.

Thought 4
Giving away intellectual property for free cheapens the market for other creators.

Thought 5
I believe our economic society should be mix of capitalism and socialism. We need capitalism to spur innovation, but socialism to check the insatiably voracious nature of capitalism.

Thought 6
Money does not motivate me.

Thought 7
The lack of money cripples me.

Barn Booster mitts, in process

Carry on.

Yarn makes the world go round, AKA Morti's guide to festival yarn buying

2011-06-21T13:10:00.000-04:00

Last month I mentioned I went to the annual sheep fest in New Hampshire. This and the Vermont sheep fest are the only two I've been interested in hitting for the past few years. (Just the thought of all that human traffic at Rhinebeck gives me the heebie jeebies, which is too bad since it is an extensive festival.)

I also mentioned last month the lesson I learned regarding sheep fests. Now everyone is different and shops and stashes differently. Ergo this lesson may only be mine to learn, but be_that_as_it_may, I'm going to share it here 'cuz that's how I roll.

Well, now that I ponder on this subject there are several lessons I have learned over the years. So here they are, with no importance implied by their ranking:

1. At any given time, I have a tendency to be in love with a narrow field of colors. So I must remember not to buy more than one yarn in the same hue and intensity. Do not do this, Morti.

Why, you ask? Well when you get home and you lay the stash out on the nearest surface to oogle and breathe in those special festival yarn fumes you will look down and be like, geesh? I thought I bought more yarn than this. I mean I spent $___. Where did it go? Buying yarn in the same color family makes your haul look small.

And not that a small haul is bad, because that's not the point I'm driving at. The point is that a festival is a one day a year event. I want it to be memorable, as well as filled with rainbows and unicorns. If I look down at a stash in a narrow paletted range, I'm gonna feel I didn't take advantage of the festival. I'm gonna feel I failed that festival, and the yarn gods, themselves. And regret is on my list of feelings never to feel ever ever again.

2. If you want specific books or specific issues of knitting mags write down the names and titles and, where appropriate, author names. You think you are going to remember that title, or that author, or the cover of the magazine you are looking for but you won't. You will be overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and completely lose your focus.

3. Don't lose piece of paper with info for #2.

4. Really, don't lose piece of paper with info for #2.

5. (See how I'm padding this list, like I know what I'm talking about and have important expertise to impart? )

6. Try not to buy commercially available yarns. Specifically, if you can buy a yarn at your LYS, don't buy it at the festival. Save this business for your LYS.

Yes, festival participants are paying for a booth, too. They're just as good as your LYS, but that's not the point. Your local LYS needs your business. She is most likely a small business owner making a go of it in a really tough economic climate. She is a priceless resource that you may only need rarely, but when you do you want her there, so make sure to spend money at her store even if all you like is indie, artisanally dyed yarns.

You need conventional yarns sometimes, and you want your LYS to sell them to you when you need them. Otherwise, if she goes out of business, you'll printing out all the locations of nearby Michaels and A.C. Moores and spending an entire weekend tooling around trying to find an acceptable substitute. Your LYS has the yarn for you in a pinch. Support her. (Now, get off soapbox.)

7. If you're at Rhinebeck, or by default any large festival like Maryland Sheep & Wool, you should buy a yarn you love when you see it. You may regret it, but you can easily rectify this by selling it on Ravelry. You probably won't lose much, festival yarn has a cache that some rav buyers crave.

Now, if you don't buy that yarn, you can never rectify anything and you will die a lonely death with a large, but diffuse air of defeat about you knowing you failed to buy the perfect skein of yarn. You know that skein I'm talking about. That skein would have made all of your knitting perfect, because it was perfect. You'll never ever find a yarn as good as that again. Go get a tattoo of Festival FAIL on your forehead. You suck.

At smaller festivals, you don't have to worry about this worry. You can spy that perfect skein and then come back to it some time later to make sure it is the perfect skein and not a transfigured Peter Pettigrew of a rodent. A stasher needs perspective to zero in on the perfect festival yarn. Smaller festivals allow you this perspective. Since I am an anti-socialite and don't go to festivals for the people this makes small festivals the best places to find the perfectest, one-of-a-kind yarn.

The perfectest, one-of-a-kind yarn is what makes a festival full of rainbows and unicorns people. If you learn nothing, learn this.

8. And lastly, but not leastly, and probably not even lastly but it has to be for now because I've run outta steam, break the bank if you really need to. Short term banking problems are nothing compared to regretsy. Remember? There is nothing worse than yarn regret. Nothing.

Condescension, how I know thee

2011-06-20T13:20:00.000-04:00

madelinetosh sock in Creme de Menthe

So I worried half the weekend about a lot of things. And yet I still had a wonderfully decadent weekend doing very, very little.

One of the things I worried upon is whether or not my last post comes across as condescending. You see, one of the things I'm really starting to be able to see in myself is that my snarky temperament comes across as condescending. The way I think and express myself does not comply to easy, modern social discourse.

Most people don't want as much information about things as I seem to feel the need to express on any host of topics. If there is something being discussed, and I am partaking in said discussion, I operate under the assumption a decided opinion on the matter is my obligation as a participant.

I know now that this is not true. Furthermore, I think the aforementioned belief is a byproduct of my previously unharnessed narcissism. Further furthermore, I am currently convinced that shame has been the byproduct of realizing my opinion/my contribution is unwanted.

Sometimes I cringe when I read the Austen quote in my blog's header. I think to myself who the fuck am I to compare my musings to the genius of Jane Austen. I can't help that this viewpoint exists in me and maybe in people who cruise through here misled by teh Google that there are scrap knitting suggestions here.

What I can work on is the cringing. I exist in a world that could give two shits about my opinion, my thought processes, my everyday struggles with being the happiest mofo there ever was. And I identify so completely with the snarky complaint about the diminutive product that results from all of my verbal and crafty striving. The quote is a mission statement housed in snark. I'm a micromanaging toiler of my inner psychological framework, as well as with basic knitting using artisanal yarn.

I feel Jane's pain.

DIC Classy in Shiny Moss

Scrap + Yarn + Knitting, then an FO!

2011-06-16T16:10:00.001-04:00

As a blogger I must come clean. There is really no scrap yarn knitting here. I am so sorry Google keeps bringing you here.

Years ago I installed google analytics on this blog so that I could monitor the traffic to see how many people stop by and from where they hail. One of the things the analystics details are the keyword searches that get people to your blog. Almost all of the searches that bring people here are a variation of scrap + yarn + knitting.

Oopsie! In these modest times I envision hardworking folk with not a lot of money trying to find ways to make their dollar stretch by knitting with yarn scraps and whoop! here they come to my blog full of expensive indie yarn pinny porn where I wax moronic about insipid things to which only women of privilege have the time and inclination.

And because I expect everyone to be a bitter 'ol bitch like myself, I believe I hear them grumbling about my undeserving good fortune and the unfairness of it all. Well, something like that.

One never forgets what it feels like to have one's nose pressed up to the window looking in on all the things you don't have, nor never will. Somehow my 'never' evolved into a unforetold prosperity. All of these feelings about the scrap yarn searchers comes from what seems to be a congenital prosperity guilt. And also guilt about the guilt, too. Seriously, how dare I wallow in guilt when I have so many blessings in my life?

Okay so with that crazy thought train out of the way, let's get to an FO, the first of what I hope will be many iterations of a simple pattern I have named "A Fir to Remember."

"A Fir to Remember" was borne out of repeated viewings of a Peicework magazine ad that featured what looked to be a garter knit edged scarf featuring the fir cone motif in a lovely peridot laceweight yarn. My love of the fir cone is evidenced by the many Shetland Triangles shawls I have knit. Only now, I have nearly outgrown my prior interest in the triangular shawl shape. So it seemed only natural to convert the motif to a new shape, the rectangular stole.

It's such an easy peasy project. I think it boils down to the 1-2-3, 1-2-3 rhythm of the pattern; it's lively enough to keep you wanting to knit and simple enough not to need your full attention.

This particular project was gifted to a fellow crafter, my Aunt. She asked for a shawl and pointed toward some yarn she saw on this here blog and well, mix in a little bit (or a lot) of time and voila.

On the blocking wires, the shawl measured 25" wide by 67" long. I expect it contracted some once off, but I never found the time to remeasure.

I totally forgot I bought the foam interlocking squares I picked up for larger projects like this, so this was blocked out to fit on a twin sized, spare bed.

The yarn is madelintosh's Pashmina, a wool/cashmere/silk blend, in the Norway Spruce colorway. My photo's don't capture the vibrancy of the color very well, although this last photo captures some of the color's ins and outs. Bleh, I'm a poor photographic scholar.

And finally, the obligatory confession on how one day I am going to write a pattern and publish it here and on rav (for free). I've eaten these words so many times, but I can't help putting them back out there. I'm nearly halfway through with the second shawl (as seen in my prior post). I'm thinking of adding on knitted border, practice for the Evenstar shawl border I'll be knitting sometime this summer.

Well, I'm not giving up on me and my pattern publishing prognosticating. I'll do it. Someday. Someday. Just not today.

More on what I want out of photography, pinny porn, the universe and everything...

2011-06-14T10:45:00.001-04:00

I think part of the problem with the terms "pinny" and "domestic" porn and the whole miasmic hoopla over that book I mentioned yesterday, "The Gentle Art of Domesticity," is that said hoopla falls easily into the diodic (a word I derive from diode) war on feminism.

De wimmin' ahza fightin' amongst themselves again.

I fall easily into the condescension of the women's war. I'm trying not to, as if whatever plan I devise to be respectful of every stage on the continuum of the female experience will be the answer to the perpetual infighting among women. (I'm nothing if not full of myself. LOL. Yeah, that's me.) Add in that I am a woman who doesn't maintain a friendship with a single female person not related to me by blood. Being a bundle of contradictions is fun. Heheheh.

So I took some pictures this morning. And I thought about pinny porn in another light than the feminist muck above. What I want out of my art is reality. As for the art of painting, I have always been drawn to traditional portraiture, landscapes, and still life subjects. In my photography, I also want the stylization to be "real-time, real-looking." So my pinny porn obsession starts there. It is a snapshot of reality. A pretty, bland, sanitary, and mostly decorous reality to offset life's perpetual grays.

Life is so full of the greys, life is hard. Maybe the condescension I seem to be bucking against in being a collector and purveyor of fine pinny porn, is moot. It's me letting superficial, societal judgements interfere with what I enjoy.

Hmm...well I think that's enough free association on pinny porn for the day. I'll come back to it another day and see if I made any sense. I've reached that critical point where I want to stop mulling about crap and start gorging on actual domestic photography. Yum.

This is my relief...

Pattern: A Fir to Remember, by me
Yarn: the last of that festival I love and talked about a few posts ago.

I hope this means I'm finally growing a pair. Which pisses me off as a statement, because it indicates that one is getting stronger by becoming more male. I want something that says that but is more along the line of "Fight like a Girl!" my new favorite saying.

P.S. Bitch! Today is my fourth bloggerversary (and the first one I've ever mentioned publicly.)

Pinny Porn and other needs...

2011-06-13T14:00:00.005-04:00

A train of my thoughts this weekend...

1) I used to wish the world looked like pinny porn. (75% true today)
2) I only blog because I love to showcase my own pinny porn. (65% true today)
2) I read blogs because I love looking at pinny porn. (150% true every time actually I read blogs.)

What do these thoughts mean? First what does pinny porn mean?

Pinny porn, aka Domestic Porn, is defined on Urban Dictionary.com as "Magazines or shows that feature cooking, home decorating, or other issues of interest to women (usually yuppies), who get addicted to it the same way men do to porn." Somehow it all relates to the publication of The Gentle Art of Domesticity. But that is not a digression I wish to fluff.

Pinny porn to me is the photos. Specifically, the style of photography that is indigenous to craft blogs (like mine) and a great deal of women's fiction book art. The first Twilight book cover is a good example of of pinny porn:

But why, what makes it "pinny?" And what the fuck is pinny? A quick jfgi search informs me pinny is a derivative of the word pinafore. Logic goes pinafore --> apron --> housewife --> domestic. Okay I get this.

So, the soft focus photos, often macro images of "domestic" things. What is it about this photographic style makes me want to mimic it, to be a slovenly adherent? I am really drawn to this sentimental art.

It is dramatic. Small details writ large imbues the image with drama. I'm all about drama. And Meaning with a capital M. But there really is no meaning, just a porous canvas onto which I slather meaning where only emotional vacuity resides? Is this true? It could be true, and most likely is almost always true. And what does that mean? I don't know.

What I do know is of recent I sometimes wish my photography was different, grittier. I wish it was more emblematic of who I am. I don't want to proffer the world the sanitary, decorous, modest version of me that seems to be the sole purpose of pinny porn.

What else? I can't help but wonder what pinny porn will look like to world denizens in 100 years. 100 years ago it was memento mori, or post-mortem photography, that was de rigueur (pun intended!) If pinny porn is as foreign to our progeny as memento mori is to me now, color me amused.

sweater (in progress) knit in madelinetosh DK, colorway burnished

Around my mind in 15,452 days...

2011-06-03T10:40:00.001-04:00

I'm not pregnant.

Those words used to be grade A surgical instrument sharp.

I've been oddly near mopey lately. And I've been getting down on myself for it. Concurrently, I'm having some of the greatest work days I've had in years. Maybe it's the contrast between the euphoria of the latter and the lack of enthusiasm in the former that is making me conclude I'm mopey, when I'm just not anything in particular. Food for thought...

But back to the pregnancy thing. I was out walking the dogs on my spare suburban street this morning. The sky was so blue and clear, the sun and the wind competingly fierce. (Spell check is telling me competingly isn't a word, but it is the perfect word for that thought.)

My chin instinctively reached up for more sun. There was plenty of sky and it felt delicious. It dawned on me that I could be pregnant. I feel different. I am so tired, but suffering from insomnia again. I could be pregnant.

Before I got to the end of the thought an acknowledgment washed over me, as only bliss can: warm and calming. I'm not pregnant, but until my friend visits, I can pretend. I can fantasize. I have been granted the luxury of fantasy, where once a tin drum of pressurized jealously laid seige. It is liberating. And I am blessed in this way. I should give thanks for this gift.

Thank you.

Maybe my baby is a girl and her name will be Minnie Ursalina Maria. (Hahahah! That is the name of my car, I couldn't do such a thing to my child as saddle her with that mouthful of a name. But this is a fantasy right? So M.U.M. it is. Or just plain ol' Minnie Lee, or Minli for short.)

So why haven't I been blogging again? Well, I lost interest in the yarn I bought at the New Hampshire Sheep and Wool, just as suredly as I lost interest in a lot of my yarn. Out of sight out of mind. My imagination is pretty weak - if I didn't have PMS, I'd have nothing. LOL.

But something quietly is happening in my coasting. I'm learning to live without FO's and I'm learning to take my projects one day at a time. Right now, I've made a mental commitment to my Evenstar project.

When each row is 616 stitches, commitment is a necessity for me. The picture above is one of two decent, but color deficient, photos I took of the project (poorly) dry blocked last December. Here is the second:

If this project is to be ready by September, I need to get a move on. I've been on the last chart for a while now. Like I said, 616 stitches per friggin' row! But truly the 30 or so more rows I have of chart 3 are not what concerns me most. It is the knit on border. I've never knit a knit on border. Now I can't imagine it will be difficult, it's just prospect of the border being 616 rows long that tugs at me. That future is one of seemingly monstrous proportions of tedium. I hate tedium.

That doesn't mean it will be tedious. The engine of my imagination has no problem finding things to fear. Learning to cut the power to that engine? Priceless.

Long Ridge Farm
DK - bombyx silk & CVM/Romeldale wool breed blend
NH Sheep & Wool 5/14/11

Yelllloooooooooooooo! (or what I have been doing all month Part 1)

2011-05-23T15:30:00.000-04:00

Madelinetosh sock in Ivy
My Dad says yello instead of hello sometimes. He's a country ham that way. Sometimes I totally take after him.

So. blogging. Not such a good idea.*

Pfshawww! Blogging is a great idea! It just is so much work to organize all the knitting crap that goes on inside my head AND take and edit pictures in a timely fashion to enunciate said knitting crap. I want to catalog my progressions. I'm a knitter and a narcissist. What else could I possible want to do but consider my ideas and actions ad nauseaum? Absolutely, or almost absolutely, nothing!**

So where was I? Last time I was talking about another stranded sock pattern I began and how I needed to try out a provisional cast on heel. Well I did just that on May 1 (according to my rav notes).

Ugugugugugllllyyyyyyyyy!

I think I can improve upon this, this which is my first attempt and 100% allowable to be crap on a stick. But improve upon it is not something I have felt like doing over the past three weeks. No, I feel like doing anything but.

Yarn stashing? Totally felt like that:

Madelinetosh Sock in Iceberg

Ball and Skein Sophia (an MCN yarn!) in an unknown colorway

The latter I picked up on my annual pilgrimage to the New Hampshire Sheep and Wool fest on May 14, 2011. MCN yarns and fingering silky merino yarns were all over the festival. Last year I had a hard time finding the latter, and don't think I even saw a single example of the former. And spinning wheels. There were spinning wheels for sale in every building. A marked increase in vendors from when I was on the prowl two festivals ago.

The semi solid MCN and merino style yarns I associate with Plucky Knitter, Sundara, Mama Blue, and a whole host of other indie dyers that made waves two or three years ago, have finally made their mark on festival vendors, Ball and Skein, specifically. Although this yarn hits my sweet spot, with exception of that MCN from B&S, I walked away from a lot of gorgeous specimens.

My goal was to only purchase yarn that was festival-unique, yarn that one doesn't see being sold by the indie dyer's I like, or at my local LYSes. I found a couple that fit this restriction on point, one a cotton merino fingering weight blend, and the second, a light DK silk and wool blend. They are one of kind yarns that may never cross my path again, as a favorite festival yarn reminds me of continually.

My first two festival outings were at the NH Sheep and Wool in May 2008 and the TKCG show in July of the same year. I was a festival virign at that point and by some miracle I found a yarn I would still love to be knitting with today, three years later. It is/was a merino cotton and spun in a way that I consider rustic: it is primarily fingering weight, but has sections that veer near to laceweight, as well as the opposite spectrum, a slubby worsted or Aran weight.

NH S&W 2008 purchase

TKCG 2008 purchase

When I purchased the second set of skeins in July, the vendor informed me she was no longer dyeing the yarn, as the mill was no longer providing it. It never dawned on me that no other vendor would sell a yarn like this ever. If ever there was a rationalization to stash excessively, the vacuum this yarn leaves in my heart is a grade A doozy of a rationalization.

Heheheh. Mildly excessive stashing up next, same bat channel, different bat time.

* "So. Dancing. Not such a good idea." - B. Swan, Twilight - the movie. Could the serendipitous comparison between me and my dad open up the excessive, stored references of Isabella Marie Swan? Mebbe.

** Wow! See how I whine here? It's just like Bella throughout the entire beloved Twilight series. It's as if the task of living an easy middle class life is wheelly wheelly hard. Count your blessings beyotch. Do I need to be smacked upside the head or what? Uh, yes. Lol.

Anarchy 2.a, an Epistemophiliac's POV

2011-04-29T09:30:00.002-04:00

Definition of ANARCHY
1
a : absence of government
b : a state of lawlessness or political disorder due to the absence of governmental authority
c : a utopian society of individuals who enjoy complete freedom without government

2
a : absence or denial of any authority or established order
b : absence of order : disorder

Origin of ANARCHY
Medieval Latin anarchia, from Greek, from anarchos having no ruler, from an- + archos ruler — more at arch-
First Known Use: 1539

Related to ANARCHY
Synonyms: lawlessness, misrule

Chez Yarn Example:

I'd like to think my recent sock knitting represents a denial of established order, that it is my own choice that I have become a process knitter. Oh, yes, I am giddy with the knowledge that no more do myriad sock projects give me the heebie jeebies, leading to the restraint of one sock on the needles at any given time. I must needs acknowledge this didn't arise by conscious choice. My nature has evolved. Yes, I desired the change, but I am not foolish enough to think I'm in control of my brain. [Cue melancholy chuckle]

The project I am in most in love with right now?

I started these Wednesday night I think? The yarn is Malabrigo sock in Tiziano Red and Madelinetosh sock in Ivy.

What I am still struggling with is knitting stranded sock heels. Two weekends ago I knit and frogged the Fire on the Mountain heel a couple of times, including two unsatisfactory tries at a short row heel.

Last weekend I flat-swatched four short row techniques looking for the least clunky and holey. My instinct is telling me to abandon the idea of a short row heel and provisionally cast-on stitches to knit the heel like I knit my toes. Now I just have to get off my duff and do it.

HEEEYELLP!

2011-04-20T08:50:00.001-04:00

Ahhh!!!

I don't need more yarn!!

So why did I just put like eleventy billion different yarns on my Loopy Ewe wishlist?

Okay, I've gotta step away from the innerwebs. Now. Pray for me.

Equilibrium...

2011-04-19T15:15:00.002-04:00

I haven't polished off a project in eons. I wrapped up an earflap hat design this weekend, but the project really isn't done. It doesn't fit me, much less it's intended recipient, my hubby, so I didn't weave in the ends or add tassel pulls to the ear flaps.

The pattern I devised uses poached motifs from a handful of sources, including a subverted bastardization of the aspen tree motif on the ear flaps. Heheheh.

There seems to be a disapprovingly waggy, disembodied finger following me around because of the aspen tree motif. It's accompanied by a husky voice informing me I am despicable for not knitting a traditional motif traditionally.

Bleh. It's me disapproving me. A story older than dirt.

Otherwise, I think I did a fine job designing the hat. The next time I hope to have mastered the shape, as well as the design. And speaking of mastering? I can't seem to stop thinking about my knitting ambitions. I have been trying out different, "proper," methods of knitting fair isle. And I have been thinking of joining the local guild and beginning the process of getting certified as a master knitter.

And in completely unrelated news, the brick and mortar WEBS/yarn.com store now carries Blue Moon Fiber Art yarns! Very cool.

Tortured Ahhhhtist...

2011-04-12T15:20:00.008-04:00

At the risk of willfully belittling mental illness, I think I'm a bit of a tortured artist. That's artist with a little "a," folks - we're not talking van Gogh here. Hahahahah! I crack myself up.

Now that I gained a bit of perspective on my particular brand of ~~heroin~~ crazy, it's obvious that my creative energy is dysfunctional at least 50% of the time. When it's not working a large ball of electrostatic tension builds in my chest, shoulders and neck. I can't think straight and my mind and body crave a place where all my senses are suspended. For many years I interpreted this love of sensory deprivation as an indication of my being an Aspie.

Strictly speaking I was wrong; I'm not an Aspie. I just experience things like they do. A lot.

Well, this whole stranded knitting obsession has been taking a toll on me. LOL. Fer feck sake, you'd think I was homeless and starving, I get so twisted and turned ¹. Each day I'm trying to keep myself raveled and I fail a great deal.

But the knitting? The knitting is OMG! friggin' fantastic! My latest project may be 14 stitches to the inch and I'm enjoying it immensely.

(I haven't actually measured the stitches. This piece fits snugly on my fleshy, five inch wrist and well, 70 stitches divided by 5 is 14.)

How's your stomach? Did you just throw up a little in your mouth at the latest dose of my self congratulatory adulation? Forgive me, if you can. Conceit "must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure.²"

It may translate as conceit, but it's genuine joy. I love tiny little stitches. And being able to enjoy knitting them makes me smile ear to ear. I think back to how I grew to loath knitting my favorite sock yarn on size 2.25 and 2.00mm needles two years ago and I'm thankful. Stranded knitting has given me my sock joy back.

But for a couple of hours there on Saturday, I must admit, I lost my mojo. The hubby got me a few books on stranded knitting and I spent a couple of hours reading Ann Feitelson's The Art of Fair Isle Knitting. I really enjoyed reading the history and the technique info. I'm pretty sure it's going to be a book I reference time and again, but...but...but. Like I said, for a couple hours there, a waggin' finger of disapprobation spread from her words into my tender and malleable self-esteem.

Whether Ann means to or doesn't, her proselytizing gives great weight to knitting at great speed. Speedy knitting seems just as important to her as choosing the right colors. Now, to be clear, maybe she doesn't mean to give speed the weight I took from my reading. So, let's first say this is my perception.

As far as speed and technique, I've got neither. I can't even maneuver a chop stick. I knit in a way that would be considered long handed at best. I knit English, throwing my yarn with my index or middle finger and THUMB. And I enjoy the way I knit. I do, but for those few hours on Saturday, the part of me that believes that I am on the yellow brick road of becoming a master at this craft was knocked about. Jarred.

Ann wrote that you can knit fair isle with the yarn in any hand you want to hold it in, but when you knit stranded the one thing you can't do is drop your yarn.

What? Dropping the yarn is the only way I seem to enjoy knitting. LOL. Damn. I'm knitting it wRONG. Boo. What else is new?

Well, because I'm a fool, I did try to knit stranded the proper-er way. And maybe if I was going to be a master knitter someday I'd coerce myself into learning to knit this way. But I'm just me and I just like to knit and I'm not interested in doing it the right way, so go feck yourself. I'm a low rent knitter and that's just the way I feel like crumblin' that cookie.

That is the beauty of being self-taught. I don't have to absorb the belief system of a teacher. I can find my own way, and enjoy the travelling, as well as the destination. In the end, a master knitter makes beautiful product. And that really is what matters to me, making better knits.

As long as I feel like I'm on the path of making better knits, I am happy. And I do feel like I'm becoming a better knitter, still lazy and and still happy, but better is important to me. LOL.

And learning the hard way as I do, I'm about to embark on a whole new world and give up the gusset heel. I think on the gray and black sock first pictured above I'm going to get out of the safety zone and try a short row heel, or if I'm really ambitious, EZ's afterthought heel. Whoopedidoo, I'm excited. (Knowing this sock is never going to fit my foot has given me a sense of liberty to testing out new techniques. That and I'm using fairly cheap yarn.)

The one thing I haven't mentioned is that I believe I have finally settled upon a preferred tool for knitting stranded socks and that is the 4" DPN from Knit Picks. Single yarn socks I knit most comfortable with two 16" circulars. In learning stranded, two color knitting, I finally taught myself the magic loop method. After a half of sock or so I begin to feel comfortable knitting stranded, but I was not able to manage the puckering that occurs where I switched to the other needle side.

Instead of working harder on my technique, I gave up the one long needle for three traditional 6" DPNs. The DPN's helped me regain my sense of rhythm instantly, but puckering issues remained, so I ratcheted up to four needles. This did the trick but for the puckering, but messed with my rhythm, and I then tried the 4" DPN's, and like Goldilocks, I found they were just right.

Viva la knitting and before I go, I wanted to spread a little gossip. I wish I had the balls to open up a thread on BID³, but I'm a weak little chicken so I'm gonna whisper it here. Some people may find it distasteful to disseminate this kind of info, but I mean no disrespect, I just want to share my awe and also share the wealth, so to speak, about it. What does one do with knowledge like this, I don't know.

Okay, so here we go. In the Art of Fair Isle Knitting Ann includes pictures of authentic, early 20th century hand knit fair isle sweaters by a pair of sisters. She includes them, I believe, because the sweaters are beautiful examples of the craft and because they won top prizes in their time. The thing is, though, one of the recurring motifs the sisters use is the swastika. Oh yes, that swastika. Holy inappropriate sample use Batman. I'm like a eight year old kid, unable to hold a secret, I am.

ttfn...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1. I actually spent time homeless and hungry. I am very blessed that this was a long, long, long time ago.

2. As spoken by the character Mary Crawford in Jane Austen's novel Mansfield Park. Although the original quote is "Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure," I couldn't help but take the liberty. Forgive me Jane.

3. BID is the Big Issues Debate forum on Ravelry.

Jazz Hands

2011-03-21T14:15:00.002-04:00

If my latest project were a body part, it would be Jazz Hands. (That's directly from the creative loin of my muse. What the fuck does that mean? And is she right? LOL.)

I finished the German Fish socks yesterday and by last night I had given birth to these new socks. The yarn is Wollmeise. Oh, yes kiddies. The one, the only (colorways Kurbis and Schwarz), the no longer selling for $90 so I can feel safe to use it, Wollmeise.

I lost hours of sleep stashing this yarn. It was the beginning of the end in the aught-not madness, very much like Tulip Mania, but with less men. You know I sometimes wonder how many indie dyer's reputations and businesses were built on the toxic assets of the aughts. (I totally have a little person complex, so forgive my haughtiness in advance.)

I am perversely proud my husband and I kept sane when it seemed the whole world was refinancing their house, or flipping houses, in order to make fast cash that was turned into tropical isle cruises and/or stainless steel dream kitchens. We live in a grubby little grandma home and I love it just the way it is. Sure I'd love a brand new kitchen and some new floors, but the cost! I'm not ready to pay the price.

When the yarn stashing craze hit me I was spending a lot of time on Ravelry ogling the yarn stashes of my fellow crafters. I spent hours in the Wollmeise chat thread reading the same handful of posters wax erotic about their hauls. I wondered how someone could afford to buy so much Wollmeise, much less have the time to stalk it at 3:00 and 4:00 in the morning, Eastern Standard Time, week after week.

I remember clicking on a Wollmeise or Sundara skein in someone's stash and seeing the neverending list on the left hand of the screen indicating how excessive their stash of the yarn actually was. I remember how that jealousy tasted.

Something awful, it was. Toxic, toxic stuff.

I also remember the snark around it when someone would whine about how newbies couldn't get their hands on any because of those stashers, those stashers whose list of the yarn went on and on down the page until the drool made a pool in your empty lap. Laughing at the whiners was fun. It helped me to see my own foolishness.

But don't you think I didn't wax moronic when my own stash list began to grow. Oh was I ecstatic. I was one of the cool kids. I could have what they have. Or as much as I could get into my cart before each weekly posting was bought up.

And then something crazy happened. I tried to knit with my Wollmeise. And it was, um, kinda cardboardy and cottony. LOL. Wasn't I the tulip fool? I considered that I was. For a while. Then I looked on my mania from a different angle. The yarn is (was?) a collector's item and I realized I was a collector. Not a hoarder, or usually not a hoarder. A collector.

Yes, a connoisseur of finely made string. There are worse things.

Fast forward a few years and well, this yarn seems a great deal softer than I remember it. The sock above is knit fairly densely on size 2.25mms (US1s). The fabric is lovely, not how I remember it being when I knit the hubby some socks in the Paul colorway. Those washed up beautifully, but knitting that yarn was tough. I wonder if it has to do with the cleansing agent? Or the maybe the dye? Is it possible for age to reduce the abrasiveness of these additives?

Who knows. I'm a full-time crackpot full of crazy ideas. I am thankful that my crackpotheadedness started these socks. They give me joy.

The fair isle pattern I using is a derivation of a basic four row peerie chart from the reissue of Alice Starmore's Fair Isle book.

Viva das Wollmeise! Viva la yarn. And knit on beyotches, for tomorrow we may die...

This week in everyday-crazy...

2011-03-14T00:15:00.005-04:00

So, how are you darlings? I'm fine; even very well, thank you. I had some splendiferous knitting time this weekend, turning a knitting frown upside down. (I love that original corny saying!)

A couple of weeks ago I broke down and splurged on a tub of Cascade 220 (mostly heathers).

I felt an instant, but short-lived relief. On it's heels came the compulsion to begin knitting the yarn fair isle. It ran so hot, I wound a few balls at work during my down time.

I was possessed and it wasn't entirely pleasant. In under 48 hours I had picked out a color chart I like, chose my palette and began knitting something. Will it be a swatch? Or an afghan panel? Or a Sweater? All I know is that whatever it is, I'm not knitting on it now. The palette I chose is a mirror of the German Fish Socks and it wasn't long before my jagged passion bled out of me like the pulp of a crushed grape. Pffft...blech.

The pattern I chose is Eunny Jang's Ivy League Vest from Interweave Knit's Winter 2007. (If you follow the link, turns out it is a free pattern on their site.) I really really love the pattern, but the colors are all wrong for me.

So I panicked. And then I panicked some more. And then I grabbed for my hibernating Evenstar project.

The bright rusty golds, turquoise, and olive greens are the perfect antidote to the chilly palette the German Fish Socks and vest. Humina humina humina.

I began chart 3 of the pattern and now have 560 friggin' stitches on the needle. And I'm faced with 67 more rounds of these 560 stitches. Holy cowshit, Batman! Will this FO survive my congenital caprice? Tune in next year, kiddies. Same Bat time, same Bat channel.

German Fish Socks, a Pseudo-Etymological Study, AKA Happy Wednesday!

2011-03-02T11:40:00.001-05:00

For the lovely German Fish socks I am working on I am using some fine, but sturdy, coarse 75% wool/25% nylon yarn from a German dyer, Tausendschön. I got this and two other colorways from a rav trade a year or so ago. I loved the colors, but wasn't particularly impressed with the texture.

The German Socks natural base color is a fingering weight yarn of the same material mix from (gasp!!!) Red Heart, called Red Heart & Sole. It's got aloe in it. LOL. But red heart? Oh yes, my stranded fascination knows NO bounds. I had to start another stranded project, and it had to be the fish pattern, and I had no other base yarn. I never rav'd this yarn, so it was by accident I found it hidden in my yarn scrap bin when I went scrounging there in desperation.

Really, I feel no shame knitting with Red Heart. A year or two ago that may have been the case, but no more. I mean I love my Sundara socks, but they are knit at a gauge (maybe 6 or 7 stitches to the inch) which insures they are not that sturdy, as far as socks go. This conflict, my liking to knit socks in soft, two-ply merino at a loose gauge, and my liking to knit socks to last forever, has been percolating in the back of my mind for about eight or so months. The last pair of socks I knit for myself took eight months.

Yes, eight months!?!?! I thought it was the color that was stalling the project. That may have contributed to my ennui, but really, my inner utilitarian was stamping her gargantuan, impatient foot to a rhythmic, impatient beat that would only be ignored for so long before it asserted it's rightful place at the front of my consciousness.

My inner utilitarian found a great and happy solution in stranded socks. And it's a serendipitous perk I enjoy knitting them at a tighter gauge than my plain Sundara socks. The other joy is that I can mix all the fanciful multicolored yarn I love to own with a solid base. Stranded knitting gives them the perfect frame within which they can be showcased properly and are made useful. Win-win.

Does the fear that my new-found stranded love is but diaphanous and soon to be a victim of my capriciously evaporative nature come through in my prose?

LOL, gurgley purple prose. I just had to, I had to. Now I'm done. LOL.

Stranded Knitteh I lovez ye, let me count the wayz

2011-03-01T11:20:00.000-05:00

Finding I have acquired the patience, the quieted soul, the inner peace, the karma, the whateverthefuck it is that I have now that allows me to really enjoy stranded knitting is an extraordinary milestone.

I love knitting stranded so much, I'm enjoying knitting these socks on size US 0/2.00mm needles. Oh, yes, this is a vibrant infatuation.

Infatuation? Or real abiding love? Only hindsight will confirm. But I'm so enjoying this knitting. LOL As if I really needed another reason to stash sock yarn. As if I really needed to get the new Knit Picks catalog with all of their cheap, rainbow colored yarns begging me to knit a fair isle sampler afghan.

I'm still holding out. But it won't be for long. Their yarn is cheap. And colorful. And I have Alice Starmore's fair isle book. The future is bright!

Makin' Hay

2011-02-23T11:00:00.000-05:00

We interrupt your normal broadcast to opine on some crazeh.

Sundara Sock, Wood Studies #?

Now, I don't know about you, but I am prone to outlandish thoughts. (I used to berate myself on this tendency, feeling it a necessary postmortem. I embrace it now, letting my fancy go where it may and then marveling at its produce). For reasons I won't bore you with, my mind always assumes the worst, fulling the details where needed.

Ever since I invested in my second Elizabeth Zimmerman book and saw the same biological material reiterated alongside just one pearl of her wisdom I was after, only to find I needed another one of her books to get another one of her pearls of wisdom, and pay for another iteration of her "I am a knitting heretic" biography, well, I've grown a little bit ornery towards the old dame.

Oh, yes, I thought the biographical material was fabulous. The first time. But the second and third and fourth time, I felt violated by an unctuous substance. I cogitated on this emotional response for some time. I thought it was me, as I'm a narcissist, and when I'm reading an EZ book, it is obvious I am not the only one in the room with me. And well, there is only room for one narcissist in any room.

But then, something else began to happen...

I subscribe to Vogue Knitting and Interweave Knits. Every time I open up one of these magazines I see the same biological material on EZ regurgitated. And let's be honest, figuratively speaking I throw up a little in my mouth. (Bad knitter. Bad!)

Every single issue needs an article on Elizabeth Zimmerman? Is that really necessary? She is a knit-scene rock star. Yes, she is. But the bald-faced facts are that she is deceased, not making any more patterns, and the author of patterns modern to 1965 that are not user friendly to a 21st century audience.

Am I the only one noticing and thinking the veneration is excessive? The only one that thinks this veneration a tiny, a wee bit, obscene? Also, is Meg Swanson, EZ's rock star knitter daughter, a one woman NYC PR firm? Or is the industry itself mining Zimmerman ad nauseam? Why, why, why?

And if you are going to worship at the EZ alter, make it fresh, make it new. Gosh knows her genius could be explored (and probably has been by knitters in their own bubbles for 40 some odd years) in so many novel ways. Why are we treated to the same old, same old again and again?

Now I could go on Ravelry and ask these crazeh questions and get some reasonable answers why these two magazines lay themselves prostrate to Meg and her mom's genius every single issue, but I'm not interested in the real answer. I prefer to marinate in my crazeh conspiracy theories, thankyouverymuch.

Plus, any seasoned forum reader (fora, fuck you) knows the drama that would ensue would be hearty and well, I'm just not up for it. I like my bubble. And it's a fantasy to think a reasonable person would answer that type of question on Ravelry. LOL. Are you kiddin' me? But seriously, I haven't been keeping up with the forums in some time so maybe I'm wrong, maybe there are reasonable people there who would answer those explosive questions.

Lolololol...

Hypocriping...

2011-02-22T13:00:00.001-05:00

Hypocriping - the act of discussing a state of being as a constant, because it is, only to be overtaken, as a constant, by the opposite state once the state of being is consciously considered.

Now that I got that crazeh out of my brain, lemme get to the point.

Yummeh yummeh yummeh. What a difference a week makes.

For a few weeks now I've been cleaning up my knitting. I've reorganized my yarn and gone through my works in progress. This mojo started to coalesce right about the time I wrote my last entry about how I wasn't knitting that much. Shortly after that was written I kicked the pernicious Facebook gaming habit that developed over the heat wave last summer. (Yes. It was that addictive!)

My knitting ennui all but disappeared when I took up stranded sock knitting last week. Now all I can think about is stranded knitting and buying more yarn for stranded knitting projects. As the tendency to hypocripe is strong in me, I've got the irrepressible desire to buy 50,000 colors of some cascade 220 securely reined (for now, can anyone say fair isle sampler afghan?!?) Who knows if this compulsion will truly take hold. (Yes! Yes! Yes!) I have limited space for additional yarn, so a wait and see approach seems best.

The Green Oyster Peel sockettes were knit in Sundara and Madelinetosh sock yarns. I designed them on the fly to practice stranded knitting, as well as to knit a toeless sock to wear with my snowboarding boots. They don't exactly match, but that doesn't take much away from their utter decadence. I would have still loved them even if they hadn't worked fantabulously last night.

Bibbidy Bobbity Boo

2011-01-31T00:30:00.021-05:00

The congealed mess that is my mind and craft desires sieving. Can sieving be a verb? It can. It says so much more than sift. Sift is for feathery, weightless, white powder flour. Sieved feels more appropriate for the act of clarifying the chunky monkey that is my congealessence.

Don't forget to breathe, the latter is not a word.

I'm not knitting during the week anymore. Or barely. I don't have the time and I mourn it's absence.

I finished the little project I started a week ago Sunday:

It's a flat swatch of the in-the-round Rivendell pattern by Susan Pandorf (rav link has better pics). The top half has some mods. I tried out a few borders, starting with five stitches of moss, and ending with two six-stitch cable variations.

It is a gloriously architectural pattern. Aptly named. I bought the yarn specifically for this project, which I envisioned being a large, wide, rectangular scarf rather than the cowl of the original pattern. This was the replacement yarn, as the Sundara Storm Studies was my original choice.

This yarn, however, has now been repurposed with the desire to knit this as a rectangular scarf remaining vibrantly intact. Even having to twist some purls on the purl side isn't a deterrent. This yarn wants to be a sweater and who am I to tell it no?

The yarn is Berocco's Ultra Alpaca. I absolutely adore the heathery shades in which it comes. If the sweater works out I think I may have found a new manna for my finicky sweater habit.

Congealed...

2011-01-24T11:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon I bought yarn, came home, organized it and some other yarn I purchased over the last month, bagged it, caked some of it, and finally took a moment's rest on the couch.

Five hours later I woke up. Surprisingly, I wasn't too cranky. Really. Not too cranky. It was a small miracle. Hubby went upstairs early to bed, taking the animals with him, giving me space and time to commune with my knitting in a way that has not happened in a good long time.

My knitting life is backed up. It needs to be aired. Without momentum it's devolving into a congealed mess, a failed alchemical trial that is clogging my subconscious, caking up the gears of my existence. I wish this wasn't just 10 to 25 per cent hyperbole.

One mystery has finally been solved. Eight billion left. Lemme share this one, as it may effect some knitters. I purchased seven skeins of some beautiful limited edition sock yarn (Storm Studies #35) from Sundara a couple of weeks ago and once again the product that showed up had none of the charm of the original photo. As has happened repeatedly, the photos on the web are bleached out compared to what I eventually receive. When for a brief moment my photo editing mojo returned I inadvertently generated evidence to give my theory weight. The first photo below has much of soul of what I was looking for, a pale blue/pale steel variegation:

That was what I wanted. What came in the mail last Thursday was predominately charcoal grey, with only minor blue hints:

There's not much for a knitter to do but live and learn. Luckily, Sundara takes back LE yarn. I will of course keep a couple skeins for stashing and was lucky to have found a better yarn for the project I had in mind for the Sundara.

Viva la yarn, viva la knitting.

Rabbit Hole

2011-01-16T16:07:00.000-05:00

I'm behind. Behind. Waaayyyy behind.

S'okay. Right?

I'm an adult and there is no one but me to berate myself. Lol.

My photos suck. My knitting slow. Who am I letting down? Me. Why?

Why?

Elena got her socks in time. Score one for the home team.

Why is this a competition?

December 23rd

2010-12-23T10:50:00.002-05:00

It's December 23rd and I know where my happiness is. I've got 178 days to the longest day of the year and the beginning of the heat. Yeehaw!

The sky was pretty gray this morning as I walked the dogs and cat. Yet it was awesome not wearing socks and needing only a light jacket. I look forward to this time of year when the days start to get longer and the ground freezes so that the animals don't track in muck.

Oh, here's to the simple pleasures in life: a little less muck.

Malabrigo Worsted in the Applewood Colorway

It won't be long until I'm despairing the lack of vibrancy and color in the outside world. Until then I will extol the freedoms that winter brings:

Remarkably less feelings of guilt while sitting indoors watching movies/knitting/playing video games. The 45 minutes it now takes to blow my hair out will be wasted 5%, rather than 95% of the time. Woolly socks and sweaters every day if I want!

Yeah! And Christmas. It's almost Christmas.

Malabrigo Rios in the Agua Colorway

I've had a pretty fantastic Christmas. December has always been a magical time. My birthday is in the middle of the month, always the week for finals testing when I was in school, and now that I'm a working lady, always when my quarterly numbers need to be in. Oh, and I have a nephew born two days after me.

I've taken 35 years of this on the chin. I have not begrudged it. I was blessed with a love of Christmas. This year I took stock of this blessing and I came to the conclusion that my birthday was the entire month, or at least the first 25 days of it and this made it even more special.

One Sunday we went out to dinner at a fancy schmancy restaurant. Another weekend hubby and I took our first (hopefully not last!) snowboarding lesson. In between we were able to spoil my nephew who, like me and the hubby, is coming to intimate terms with how us Decemberists don't really get the birthday that other kids (and adults!) do.

Hubby's birthday is next week. Much worse off than the middle of the monther's. Now that I'm just about all done being Christmas genie extraordinaire, it will be time to spoil him. Here's to hoping I do a smashing job.

Evenstar. Part 2 of ??

2010-12-07T13:20:00.001-05:00

(Me and the swift and winder aren't on the best of terms.)

Several variables of the Evenstar project have fallen effortlessly (cough, cough) into place. One of these is the yarn I have chosen to use, Madelinetosh's Pashmina. Pashmina is a fingering weight yarn in an intoxicating concoction of 75% superwash wool, 15% silk, and 10% cashmere. I am using the Filigree colorway.

How I became the owner of six skeins of this yarn is a tale as old as Christmas. I purchased a crapload of Pashmina from Kaleidescope Yarns - the most excessive being three skeins of the Filigree - on September 5, 2010. On September 11 I began an Ishbel with a skein of the Filigree and became so intoxicated with the yarn and the colorway I was moved to buy the three remaining skeins they had in this colorway.

Now was three all they had left? I think so, but my memory is shit. I just remember thinking that I had to have enough of this yarn and 1080 yards wasn't enough. Not enough. 2160 yards seemed the more appropriate yardage. :/

Is it anyone wonder that I never added this addition to my rav stash? (Still haven't...better get crackin'.) I accepted the fact that I had been bamboozled by yarn fumes and didn't need any recorded proof of the crazeh. It was easy enough to hide this in my stash closet and pretend I did not have a yarn stashing problem.

So last week sometime I became obsessed with starting this pattern and I crawled the net vendors of fingering merino/silk yarns. I found nothing to inspire. Some yarn was almost purchased, but I held firm, kept looking until I gave up. And then I remembered the Filigree and didn't I purchase more of that yarn than I actually needed? OhyesIdid! OMG!!!! I have the perfect amount. Except

Except
Except
Except.

There is one itty bitty witty problem. This is an indie dyed yarn and the chances that my five plus skeins will vary considerably are near 100%. This project has no room for modesty. I am knitting an heirloom. (I wasn't able to provide real, live, human heirs, lol, but sure as heck I'm going to birth something goshdarnit!) It's gonna be hard to knit an heirloom with mismatching skeins.

Should I even try?

Of course I should. Boundaries are there to crossed. I am ready to cross them. I am up to the task. And if I don't succeed I can always try again. That, or I can check myself into a posh retreat for a few weeks "rest." It's only yarn.

Yarn...

So I took the yarn to work and used my lunch hour to open the skeins, spread 'em out, and pick an order to knit them. The picture below indicates the order I chose. And having the genius foresight to cake them all up to make sure this order worked, well, foresight is a good thing:

I found a lot more red in skeins I had deemed conforming. In fact I found the kind of red that outrages knitters who buy expensive, indie dyed yarns. In the picture below consider the center dark spot to be the center of a clock. The red spot is around 4 O'clock.

I caked these up in the wee hours of last Saturday morning. As I wound and wound and fought (successfully!) with my winder and swift, I pondered. Am I making the right choice using a yarn that may be significantly flawed?

I may not be acquiescing to loving a vampire who is nearly too cold to touch, hard as rock, and, preposterously enough, SPARKLES like glitter in sunlight, but I am not immune to liking things others would find defective or technically flawed.

I love this yarn and I love it's red spots. If I wanted the dull symmetry of matching skeins I would have bought a commercially prepared yarn. I don't want that. That isn't me. That type of yarn will not keep my inspiration on yard 1798 of 1800 of this project.

Evenstar. Part I of ??

2010-12-06T14:05:00.024-05:00

So I'm finally doing some "real" knitting (pronounced like the real part of realpolitik). And I think I'm going to do some "real" knit blogging about it.

I'm challenging myself after a long, long period of comfort knitting. I have begun my Evenstar and it has returned my Christmas joy.

In the past week I have

a) chosen the pattern I hope to enter into the 2011 Topsfield Fair
b) knit two (read it and weep lazy knittahs! not one but two!) swatches of the star pattern
c) found the perfect yarn in my stash!!! (Ergo, I'm frugal AND I can start on the project while my excitement burns brightest!)
d) analyzed my yarn for the optimal order in which to knit the skeins
e) begun project; and finally
f) continue to bask in the glow of my accomplishments to date!

So first up in this "real" blogging event: the swatches.

Swatch 1:

The swatches are knit in spare Lana Grossa Meilenweit 50 Seta/Cashmere, leftovers from my first pair of La Digitessas. I had two 48 gram balls leftover from the original skeins and they knit up perfectly into the two swatches.

My main thought on this fingering weight yarn while knitting the swatches is how friggin' splitty the yarn is. I can't even imagine how I got through the sixty thousand twisted and a bazillian gillian twisted CABLED stitches of the Digitessa pattern. Using much larger needles than the yarn calls for, it was splitting like it's life depended on it. Imagine using US0s, which is the size I began the Digitessa's on? Madness. Twisted, splitty madness.

So the above is an in-progress shot of the first swatch, knit using US7s. The swatch was dry blocked. The Evenstar stitch is knitted in the first suggested version of what the author, Susan Pandorf, calls the INCR7 K3tog stitch. It's like a tiny little fist, tense and ready for action.

Swatch 1 was knit lightening fast, with little problem. Swatch 2? Notsomuch.

Swatch 2:

I knit a second swatch to try out the two alternate methods of the Evenstar stitch. The swatch was knit on US8s and was soaked before blocking. The center version I butchered and did not go back and fix b/c I knew I had two more tries. Here are close ups of the designers version 2 and version 3, respectively, of the Evenstar stitch pattern.

For once luck was on my side. I really prefer the look of version 3, the one that doesn't look like a fist, and version 3 is the easiest of the three to knit.

With that done I was chomping at the bit to begin!

But that's a whole 'nother story.

See ya next time Kiddies! Remember, the best way to spread Christmas cheer is to sing very loud for all to hear.

Talkin' Smack, Baby

2010-12-02T00:20:00.022-05:00

Madelinetosh Vintage in the Fragrant Colorway

You know I've been dying to talk smack about Elizabeth Zimmerman. I have such a well of resentment towards the Zimmerman-industrial-knitting-sycophant-complex, it overfloweth. I need to drain it. But.

But.
But.
But.

It's not ready. Not yet.

But I'm hoping to be. Some day. Either that or I'll get over my desire. And I'm kinda positive that either prospect will work for me.

What I'd rather talk about is the opposite end of the spectrum, a knit designer worth underwriting. I don't read her blog or follow her on ravelry or elsewhere, but I've been drawn to her patterns time and again and this week I finally got off my duff and purchased three. The designer is Susan Pandorf. That patterns I purchased are Evenstar, Rivendell, and Snowdrift.

Temperamentally, I am more like the matter-of-fact Zimmerman than the unicorn and rainbows Pandorf, but when it comes to getting you're money's worth, Pandorf's designs involve actual designing.

Manos del Uruguay Silky Merino

I have dealt with some guilt in the past for poaching the "designs" of working knitters. I have also dealt with some uncharitable feelings towards designers charging money for commonplace patterns. Case in point, I love the Shetland Triangle, but for a newbie it will cost you $8.95 for a pattern straight out of a stitchionary. It is not a very original design, it is a popular design. It is not a very difficult lace pattern and it is deliciously addictive pattern. So yes, it is worth $8.95 in that sense.

And knit designers aren't philanthropists, yadda yadda yadda. I know. I've read the rav drama. I've gotten perverse enjoyment out of it heheheh. But still a little voice inside of me thinks people who buy the pattern are getting ripped off. Hey, that's my gut feeling. I understand the contrary opinion, too.

And Pandorf isn't immune either, she's offering a pattern that looks structurally similar to the Shetland Triangle for $8.00. Ripoff.

For the same $8.00 you can get her pièce de résistance, the Evenstar. I've been eyeballing this pattern since the end of the mystery KAL. It's a lifetime achievement knit. It's the pattern that will deserve the Best in Show ribbon from my county fair, whether or not I actually win it.

Now I won't know if I'm up to it until I try it, but there is such a happiness in my heart knowing that this pattern is worth it.

my half-knitted Evenstar swatch

True to my punk rock spirit, I am going to go with a heavier weight yarn and think of the end product as an afghan. A round, lace, shawl has no use in my world. Now all I have to do is find the puuuurrrrfect yarn.

Life's tough, eh? Hahahah!

Every Rose Has A Thorn

2010-11-06T15:00:00.001-04:00

Ishbel of the Sea
Madtosh Pashmina in Filigree

Somewhere along the line I learned how to feel superior to things. A long time before that I learned being superior was superior. Somewhere in between I learned that feeling superior is bad for my soul. It's only been the past few years that I even questioned whether or not it is bad for everyone's soul. I assumed it was. ASSuME.

And knowing this I feel superior. It's a fucking labyrinth. Where's the exit?

The Periwinkle Sheep
Watercolors Worsted Superwash in Truffle

I am lucky. I could have fuckin' lupus. I'm lucky. I found out I had Lime Disease because the tick was still attached to my arm and my arm had the tell tale physical symptoms, a nasty infection and a rash. I am lucky. Two weeks of antibiotics and I will be cured and maybe even now immune to Lime Disease. The CDC isn't 100% sure about the latter, but the former? Fuck yeah. I am lucky.

If it's one think I hate. HATE. It's having an undiagnosable ailment. And Lime Disease is a poster child of undiagnosable ailments.

But why? Why am I lucky? Will it end if I keep questioning why?

Single Ply Handspun
100% Superwash Merino from Woolen Rabbit

You know why I feel lucky right this moment? I rewatched the most wonderful film. The film is Timer. A perfect movie awakens something magical in me. I feel happy and content and crazy-in-the-mood to spread it around like air.

This movie makes me happy because it loves women. I'm not a critic so I don't know if it's the script (definitely) or the director (could be, too) or just my imagination, but it is a romantic comedy for the overthinking woman.

It is not a romantic comedy about an unassuming woman-child, standing wistfully on a street corner waiting for the bus with an angled hip and perfectly pigeon-toed toes.

It's about a woman who knows what she wants, who is occasionally shrill, but not shrill from a imperfect nature, but from a place of intellect, in an imperfect world.

Do I make sense? Lemme reread that rant.

Yeah. It makes sense to me. It doesn't convey all I want, but I am not perfect. I know what I like and this movie hits numerous single sweet buttons:

1) snarky women? check

2) intelligent women? check

3) imperfect women who get what I feel they deserve? check

4) raw passion? check

5) class and race consciousness? check

6) a sense of community? and hope? and a whopping melodramatic sentimentality. check. check. check.

I waited two months to rewatch it. Not two months specifically, but I did not rewatch it right away and overdose on it like I usually do with movies I love. I let it simmer in my mind. And Frankly? I was afraid my love for it was a fantasy. I couldn't believe I could love a movie this much. (Again!) I am lucky to love this movie and to love all the movies I loved.

Malabrigo Rios
100% Merino in the Playa colorway

Love. Love. Love.

All you need is love.

Yarn Whore and More (Yahn whohah en Mohah)

2010-11-05T15:24:00.000-04:00

It seems like I've stopped treading water and am know swimming somewhere. Where, I don't know, but a place other than where I am at. Metaphysically speaking.

(I just looked up metaphysically and metaphysics on www.m-w.com and I'm not sure it's the right word. It feels right, though, so I'm sticking with it.)

I feel impelled to blog, to take hold of the moment, to remain someone who is doing something, rather than someone who is weathering something.

Above is a lovely skein of Madtosh sock in the Fragrant colorway. (One of my WEBS purchases.) I picked up a couple of skeins of the colorway in her Vintage line that just screamed my name. Unfortunately my photos do not capture their magic.

A few weeks ago I saw a photo of a WIP in a fellow knit blogger's Flickr photostream, Peaknit. OMG! To die for project in such a beautiful medley of pea and teal greens and blues. Her rav project page noted she was undecided if the WIP was for her or to be Christmas gifted. I added my two cents (selfish knitting all-the-way!)

There was a note of wistful forlorn in her response to my directive that struck a chord with me. Her response:

"p.s. I agree - for me :) Who else do I know, on my list, that would appreciate a knitted gift? I have no knitters on my list :( "

"I have no knitters on my list :(" This can be both a good thing and a bad thing, a figurative double edged sword. If I had knitters on my list I might be impelled to knit for them in a competitive fashion. And I would loathe that just a tiny percentage more than I would enjoy it. Yet, being a lone star knitter is lonely. No matter how much I enjoy being a bubble unto myself, when I spend a few, rare moments sharing my interest in knitting and yarn with a like-minded person, it is awesomesauce.

Life is a rose with thorns. But still! A rose? A rose.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? (en chorus)

2010-10-25T11:26:00.005-04:00

I'm embarrassed. I used the Joe DiMaggio title twice of recent. Today's three times a charm is intentional.

Is that something you remember as a child, adults repeating the same thing, and you looking up at them in impatience wondering how one could forget they've already said that umpteen times?

I remember having a sharp mind as a child. I have a vague and consistent memory of thinking forlornly about losing said sharpness of mind around age 16 and onwards. These days I am on theory number three or four or five of why this happened. I think, now, it happens primarily because older folks have more memories the more we age. More traumas, more joys, more people we've met, more jobs mastered and forgotten. More detritus, to be blunt.

Life is overstimulating. Maybe holding on to the core things is how our brain stabilizes us in time and place. So the title to this post has some significance to my own mythology. One that I fall back on in comfort.

Comfort is good. October has been good. It's been a month of yarn gorging. There was Vermont Sheep & Wool, and then there was a last minute trip to Webs two days ago. No Rhinebeck again this year, but c'est la vie. I'm sure one less body in the stalls was a comfort to someone in Dutchess County, New York.

We drove out to Webs to purchase a new colorway of Madelinetosh's, Nectar, in the DK line. Turns out the color was the wrong pink for me. And without seeing the back room once again, I walked away with some new to me yarns from Malabrigo and Madelinetosh, as well as lines I've already begun to stash.

I am fascinated by pale grays kissed with color (see banner!) I thought Nectar would be such, but I found this lovely new Malabrigo Twist that maintains that spirit more faithfully. Fucking "A" yum.

There's more. Much much more. I'm a yarn whore.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

2010-10-18T12:40:00.000-04:00

Another musically inspired title.

It's been a month? Life spins me right 'round baby right 'round. (I remember loving to hate that song. My best friend loved it. I loved the send-up to the singer, and the era's fashion, in The Wedding Singer. Great movie.)

But this har joint is a knitting blog. Knitting. Yes, I have been knitting. Not as much, not as often, but with great enjoyment.

And I have a little photographic proof. (Just a little.)

Above is my Rambling Rows afghan, or should I say lapghan. It will be pretty small, and that's okay.

I've been meaning to knit this for a couple of years and well, now I am.

I bought the yarn as an impulse buy from Knitpicks this summer. I'm a sucker for tweeds. I had no plan for it, and then the yarn arrived and the colors weren't as dynamic as I had envisioned.

After the initial disappointment, I realized the yarn would be a natural fit for this mosaic tiled afghan. In August, I used MSExcel to finalize the color scheme. As I only purchased four different colors of this merino/alpaca mix, I decided to use some leftover Cascade 220 to fill in the gap.

It is the perfect coloring for a fall project, although I am darn sure I'll be knitting this for some time to come; On Ravelry I named the project "Will she or won't she," to express my fear I was going to abandon the project altogether. It's now called "i am."

My problem is with the yarn. I have a visual disinclination to knit Alpaca. A few tiles in, and I'm loving the Alpaca and begrudging the Cascades' coarse touch. Perception is everything. It took me a month to tip the scale of dissing to inclining.

What also came back to me this summer? My gift knitting mojo.

Hubby's redacted M'Gonigle/Ellipti'gle

As my rav notes indicate, the M'Gonigle pattern inspired the hat. I did not use the pattern, just kinda stole the cable motif for a generically structured hat.

So, what revelations have I had? Lots. I finally realized one of the reasons I love knitting lace. I love loose knitting. D'oh.

I love the look of tight little knit stitches, am absolutely am head-over-heels for it. But I do not enjoy it. At all. Whatsover. No. Never. Ever. Well, never say never, almost never.

Another revelation? I have no problem not being a perfect knitter. That hat above, knit for my hubby for our 11th wedding anniversary a few weeks ago, is riddled with errors. R.I.D.D.L.E.D. And I still love it. I'm still proud of it.

I had to learn to allow myself to love imperfection. It may have been hard, I'm not yet sure, but I think it's comprehensively achieved. The inner voice of disapprobation has been foiled again. Farg you, icehole! Woot!

Yes, Mary Jane, there is a Santa Claus!

2010-09-15T11:59:00.001-04:00

Here's an oldie but goodie. 100% Superwash Merino fiber in the Day Tripper colorway. I purchased this from the Woolen Rabbit how many years ago? A smattering of a single has been wound dolefully, (because fiber can be doleful, it can), on the active bobbin of my neglected wheel for a long, long while.

Monday and Tuesday I spun up the remainder of this braid. Lighting fast. A note stashed in the bag indicates I spun somewhere in the vicinity of 28 grams. Has my spinning mojo returned, or is this a fluke?

Details at 11.

Last Friday the Madelinetosh Pashmina purchases arrove (proper English - arrived). It is gorgeous, fantabulous, stuff.

Norway Spruce

Terrarium

Filigree

The Shetland Triangle I had begun in the Sundara ASM was tossed aside (and later, frogged) in favor of knitting up another Ishbel with the Filigree. The name of this project? Ishbel of the Sea.

The colors of this yarn are so beautifully dyed, the yarn shimmers iridescent like the scales of a fish, or if there were magic in the world, a mermaid.

I've got yarn that jingle jangle jingles...

2010-09-08T14:20:00.000-04:00

Madtosh DK in Logwood

Okay, so yarn can't jingle or jangle. But these are the words that my muse calls forth. She speaks, I write. "So sue me," as we used to say back in the day.

I've started my ninth Shetland Triangle...in Sundara ASM.

Sundara ASM in Marina over Icicles

Yum Yummity Yum Yum, Yum Yum Yum Yum.

I didn't get any conventional shots of the last two shawls I finished, my Fjording Shetland and the Mint Chocolate Chip Ishbel. Here's a pic of the latter taken by muse:

I bought this ridiculously expensive purse back in June or July and so I've spent the summer saving my pennies up again, with nary a skein stashed in e.o.n.s. After finishing up this merino/cashmere blend Ishbel I fell off the wagon and bought a six pack of Madelinetosh's Pashima, which is merino, silk, and cashmere. Ooh la la.

I've got a motif design bonging around in my brain. It refuses to coalesce. That's why I started the Shetland. I need some knitting peace to offset the crazeh. I don't know when or if I will learn to make my ideas flesh.

Getting new yarn this week will help soothe the inner beast.

Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio?

2010-09-06T11:23:00.000-04:00

My thoughts come to me in song.

Why is that?

Lots of bibble babble (w)rankling around in my noggin'.

The irony of Keanu Reeves in the Matrix trilogy, starting from the first moment of the first movie, is that his character, Neo, has a preternatural love connection to mankind. Yet Keanu, the actor, has a notoriously blank visage. I guess that allows the viewer to project their own selves onto the screen. Is that genius or accident?

Watched The Runaways. Not sure if I like it yet - opinion still in the computational phase.

I lurv when I knit a hole in my cake:

I knit an Ishbel in eight days. Eight days. Booyah.

Hubby offhandedly commented on the fact that I have a lot of shawls, as if to say "umm, do you need more shawls?"

What I see that is different about me is that I like to do the same thing over and over again. Knit the same pattern, listen to the same soundtrack, rewatch a season of a TV show, reread/relisten to the Twilight series. My interests have seasons, not days or weeks.

Some even have years.

I think I'm realizing that is how I learn. I do not learn by taking lots of classes on lots of subjects. I learn by watching the same documentary over and over again. I need to hear concepts over and over again in order to think critically about them and all the ideas digesting them generates.

Once I get it, I get it.

First pic, Madtosh DK in the Burnished colorway. Second pic, Sundara fingering merino cashmere in a limited edition colorway.

Having Opinions, and other Societal Faux Pas

2010-08-31T13:34:00.000-04:00

We're still on old pictures here at Chez Yarn. This one is an oldie but goody from last winter. Three skeins of Sundara Sock. Yum.

So what has me blogging the day after I blogged? Timer. Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Scarlett Johansson.

Wikipedia has just informed me that Scarlett Johansson is Jewish. I knew my Jewdar was failing, but this is not the product of diaspora. I loved Scarlett in Manny & Lo when she was just a child, but I never would have guessed she was Jewish. (Technically she is only half Jewish, but it's the "important"* half, her mother's half.)

And why should it matter? Because that is what I grew up doing, the age old conversation filler of "is she/he Jewish, or isn't she/he?" I rarely think on this, because I am so culturally removed from where I grew up (Long Island), I come in contact with so few Jews, and the climate of political correctness has changed.

To tell you the truth, I am really uncomfortable talking about this. Cultural sensitivity is not my strong suit. I grew up in what I believed was an environment that embraced all religions, all races. The only bias I can recall was against the XY's, as I grew up in an all female household with a distant, divorcee father. Naming peoples visually defining characteristic (black, Asian, Jewish, Puerto Rican, etc.) without there being any sense of judgment was commonplace in that world.

But that world is gone from me now. I am uncomfortable, but fuck it. I am trying to understand my place in Jewish culture, in Jewish life. So long I was a partial, cultural Jew with spotty matrilineal Jewish heritage. If you were going to marry an educated boy, chances are he was going to be Jewish.

I left that world when I moved to Boston for College.

The mother of my last boyfriend, the man-boy I was seeing right before I met my husband, actually contacted her Rabbi to get confirmation on my Jew status. Turns out I was not Jewish. I'm so glad the Rabbi three states over cleared that up for me.

In Boston, Jews were other. I met people who didn't know any Jews. I didn't comprehend the cultural divide I existed in. Now, looking back over 20 years ago I can see I was a Jew unknowingly left among gentiles. But now that it's 23 years later, who am I now?

I think Jews I grew up with would say I am a gentile. Their clannishness is not easily forgotten. I don't feel like a gentile, but I do feel less like a Jew as the years flutter away. Yet, when I opened up my soul this past year, what I saw inside is a Jew. She is a godless Jew, but a Jew all the same...

Wow, that makes me think of that wonderful conversation between Neo and the Oracle in Matrix Reloaded. I, like Neo, have made the decision, now I just have to understand it.

*According to traditional Jewish Law, a Jew is anyone born of a Jewish mother or converted to Judaism in accord with Jewish Law. If the same child was born to a Jewish father and gentile mother, he would not be considered a Jew. Reform Judaism considers children with either patrilineal or matrilineal heritage Jews.

For those about to rock - we salute you.

2010-08-30T12:11:00.000-04:00

I finished my eighth(!) Shetland Triangle this weekend. No, that picture above is not the Shetland Triangle.

I don't have any recent pictures. I'm not motivated to take pictures of anything lately, even the record number of yarn skeins I wound into cakes on Saturday. Instead of bemoaning my creative paucity, I've decided to fill in the blanks with an unblogged project from last year's deadspot.

Last spring I knit a lovely Serenity baby blanket for my husband's best friend's first child, a baby girl. Did I mention this is a free pattern? It is a free pattern, and from the charts at least, an error free, free pattern.

I really enjoyed knitting this project. And the reason's why are, what? What did I like about this project? Do I even know? Hmmm.

1) The lace was challenging but not fussy.

2) The occasional cabling was easy, and eye pleasing.

3) The yarn is Dream in Color's Classy, in the Chinatown Apple colorway. I took a big gamble on this yarn and it payed off. DIC Classy is a lofty, worsted weight yarn that is kettle dyed. A knitter should expect variation in each skein; there are no dye lots. If you love color with dimension, rather than a flat, single hued yarn, DIC has much to offer.

I used four of the five skeins I bought. I opened each skein, compared the tones, and numbered them. The fifth skein was the only to differ significantly in color and luckily it wasn't needed.

The superwash merino yarn, itself, is not spun as some luxury yarns are in this price range. It's a commercial spin, with a commercial worsted touch. After washing it's soft as can be air dried. I gather from Ravelry, that it's even softer if you throw it in the dryer.

I didn't see the record growth some raveller's have with this yarn, but that may be because this is a lace pattern and subject to significant growth to begin with.

I remember this project so fondly, that I kinda want to knit one for myself. Now's not the time though. I already have one high maintenance project on the needles, a second one would just set me up for some full time disapprobation.

I'm more content to reknit favorite patterns these days. Saturday evening I started an Ishbel with my one and only skein of Sundara's fingering merino cashmere:

Monday Mornin' Quarterbackin'

2010-08-23T10:12:00.000-04:00

Thoughts for the day...

1) I've only knit one gift this calender year, a ribbed hat for my niece Meaghan.

2) Be careful what you wish for.

I wished for a day doing nothing on the couch yesterday and that's what I received. I couldn't get out of my own way; I was molasstic inertia. The list of what I didn't do with all those voluptuous hours of freedom is long and sad and whah whah whah all the way home.

It really pisses me off when the precious hours and days of my life are squandered. What some people wouldn't give for the leisure and bounty of my small life and I don't take advantage of it. I am unable to take advantage of it.

What causes this paralysis? What makes me inert? Is it guilt or trauma or stupidity? Maybe that's why I've always been unsympathetic to the travails of Hamlet. I don't like what I see, because I see it in me.

No matter how bitter the above tone, I am not really miserable, just exasperated with myself; a cutaneous forlorn.

On the bright side it is rainy and in the 60's.

Healing...

2010-08-18T11:49:00.000-04:00

So I decided I'm taking tomorrow off to get some things done that went undone last weekend and the weekend before. This way, this weekend coming up I might be more apt to get motivated to work on a couple of overdue projects, instead of attempt to play catch up and whine at my failure.

Did I mention I was cranky? Well, I thought it was worth mentioning again. I always think it's worth mentioning. And this, really, is why I find being alone preferable. I wouldn't want to listen to anyone tell me they are cranky, but I have a congenital urge to share this information myself. So I blog it.

Hopefully it doesn't do any damage out there in the cyberspacial innertubes. That's a cool word, cyberspatial. Yes, I made it up just now. That's what words are for, to communicate exactly what one is thinking or feeling. If there isn't a word to do that, I say, make it up. Language is the clay of communication. Molding it is one of my life's greatest entertainments. (Fuck the cool kids. Lulz.)

So, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. I am cranky. I'm cranky and I have some lovely pets. I took a few photos of my eldest cat, Hunter, this weekend.

Poor Hunter took years to live up to his name. In his first year he was severely injured. Regardless of our brokedom, kitty got a bionic leg. What wasn't easily sewn up was his psyche. He's been a scaredy cat ever since. Living in this less dense part of Greater Boston has been good for him. He has found his inner Hunter, he goes on walks with me with the dogs. He is even getting a little used the vacuum cleaner. Now that's a big one for him.

I'm obsessed with quality mental health, even in my pets.

Portrait of a Shawl

2010-08-17T15:28:00.000-04:00

So I'm back to comfort knitting.

This is only the second skein of my Malabrigo sock stash that I have caked, but the first skein to be knit. It's a Shetland Triangle.

My seventh.

I've started an eighth.

I was sick all weekend and I took it like a sport Monday morning. It's frustrating to have a body so heavily influenced by my brain. If it's possible to have one's hormones give one a fever, than that is what I think happened to me. And then Sunday I experienced some enervating bowel distress. Sweet baby jesus, that was fun.

This morning I was thinking of Mary Baker Eddy. In simple terms, her development of the Church of Christ Scientist may be wholly attributable to her own experiences with somatoform disorder.

Mit Gegenüber, or where I get in touch with my Inner Bitter.

2010-08-12T13:01:00.000-04:00

I was looking for some fantastic German word or phrase to encapsulate the anarchy in my mind. Mit Gegunuber are two words I put together. It may not be proper German grammar, but I make the rules on this har blog. It means, to me, "with opposite" or maybe it should mean "opposite with." Oppositional. You know they have personality disorders based around oppositionalism. I feel oppositional right this moment. Like a petulant two year old.

Gimme gimme now now.

Our crick has dried up. First time in the four years we've been here that it has run dry. I'm ornery, the weather's ornery, who isn't ornery? They should stay away whoever they are. I'm ready to spread the wealth on any unsuspecting passerby. Poor, poor passerbys.

Yeah, so a few weeks ago I rewatched The White Ribbon. It was a foolish mistake on my part. The critical press couldn't get out of their way on this one. I have nothing nice to say about most of the reviews I read parroting the narrators own postulation that the society presented may explain the fascism that overtook Germany during her national socialism period (1925 to 1945).

Anyone who wrote that in a review should be mocked. Says, me, of course, unqualified me. We all look back to our past and with the clear vision of hindsight apply crisp, soothing platitudes to raw, burnt memories.

I can't get my head around all my thoughts but here's a summary.

1) The little boys are coddled. They are soft and sweet and full of love and compassion, and most importantly, naivete: The doctors young son trying to grasp death, the pastors' son wanting to nurse the bird back to health, and the yeoman's son aching for the loss of his mother.

2) The pastor's oldest son is filmed glaring at the camera with the short blonde hair and hollowed out eyes reminiscent of Mia Farrow in Rosemary's baby (during the first trimester of the pregnancy where Farrow is in pain 24-7). He has been visited by his first nocturnal emission and this new biological fascination has him losing sleep.

3) Women are chess pieces. Only the rich Baroness has any pretense of autonomy. The young nanny is stopped by the school teacher. It is her day off, probably her first and last for a good week or so, and the teacher stops her. She is polite and waits for him to finish his nonsense conversation.

I can't help but wonder if she was disallowed from breaking off the conversation altogether. Did society require she give him attention as long as he sought it out? He knew she was on her way home, and yet in his attraction to her, he ignored her obvious desire to be off on her holiday, and kept her close with his flabby conversation.

Air

2010-07-30T09:23:00.000-04:00

I've heard through the grapevine the weather may be turning. I've been a prisoner of the heat and humidity for about a month. One month of freon filtered air can make a woman batty. So yeah, a few weeks of staying late in bed on Saturday and Sunday have been fun, but I am more than ready for the next phase of life: Fall.

The name of this Malabrigo sock colorway is Primavera, which according to Merriam Websters derives from the Italian as "in the style of springtime." Me, I see the colors of Fall. (Even though I have named the project I'm knitting with it "Shetland Printemps," I think my subconscious has determined it is a bastardization of the word Printemps, which means Spring in French. What it's bastardizing I have no clue; the muse hasn't let me in on this secret.)

The only plans I have for the weekend are building my KOC kingdom, knitting, sitting and breathing natural-ish air, and finally, but not leastly, becoming intimately acquainted with this year's favorite movie, The White Ribbon.

Odd, unnecessary fact: This was the first movie I have seen alone in 10 years. It is the first movie I went to all by my self in maybe 15 or 20 years.

Aht

2010-07-29T14:16:00.002-04:00

What do you call a man with no arms and no legs who happens to be hanging on the wall?

Art.

Or as we say in the patois of my adopted homeland, aht.

What I do know, and have known, for a long, long while is that I don't know my aht from my elbow. What is aht? No friggin' clue. I only know what I like to look at. And what I like to look at is photos I take of my knitting.

Or to be more accurate, photographs of things I have knit at some point this summer. I've since tucked these sleeves, knit in my favorite Jo Shark DK tweed, away in favor of some really mindless knitting: A Shetland triangle in Malabrigo sock, Primavera colorway:

But to be perfectly honest I have been sucked into the vortex known as Facebook gaming, specifically Kingdoms of Camelot. Oh woe betide my knitting life.

summer saturday morning...

2010-07-17T10:40:00.001-04:00

One good thing about being childless is that I get to be a restless adolescent for as many Saturdays as I can muster. I'm in bed, with the Ripplestillskin, playing Facebook games, and thinking deep thoughts about federalism and republicanism, and this can go on for as long as I like.

That is until the day ends and it's Sunday.

For the first summer in a long while I feel absolutely entitled to do nothing of import. I'm enjoying my second childhood. And I'm done with thinking about republicanism for a bit.

I'm thinking about other things too.

A couple of nights ago an interwebs friendship was rekindled. The hubster and I met Knitting Kris and her engaging family for dinner at the Olive Garden in South Bay Thursday night. Friendship is not my forte, but there seems to be such an urgency the two times we've met in person. Like I'm trying to fit an entire friendship into a couple of hours.

But then it's quiet and I'm back in my bubble of solitude.

I can no longer imagine what it would be like to be a mother. My mind doesn't allow it. A sheltering scab has grown up in that part of my mind. Meeting with Kris, I feel I'm seeing what would be my life in an alternate universe, if I had grown up in Crown Point, instead of Long Beach, if I had two feisty daughters, one snarkily proud she defiled hallowed red sox territory, as she's a Phillies phan, and the other, a bundle of caged electricity, instead of none.

Gosh I thought I knew where this was going, but I don't. I will leave that non-sentence as is. And moving right along, in light of one of the things we discussed, and the fact that all posts at chez yarn must be accompanied by a photo, here's one from a couple of months ago of knits I had to darn for the hubster.

If darning wollmeise socks isn't a sign of my love for him, I don't know what is.

What I don't like...

2010-07-16T14:24:00.000-04:00

I've recently (maybe April or May) realized that I don't seem to enjoy knitting stockinette with lace, which is different than knitting stockinette, then lace, which I really love. An example of a great stockinette and lace combo is the Ishbel pattern (Sundara FSM in caramel apple):

What I find mind achingly dull to knit is a lace project that couples plain knitting with lace on each row. Current proof of this malaise inducing phenomena maybe found in my knitting basket, a Saroyan scarf:

I want one of these scarves; the pattern is absolutely lovely. My body just doesn't want to knit it. Why I don't really know. I first got an inkling into this inclination when I attempted to design a wide scarf using the day lily lace motif:

This project turned out to only be a swatch. Even though the day lily lace pattern is engaging, and this madelinetosh DK yarn in the violin colorway is deadly scrumptious, I just couldn't find the will to continue knitting the project. So I bound it off and eventually blocked it.

As ill feeling as I am about immodesty, I have to be honest, the swatch is gorgeous. I ADORE the sloping edge I designed (by accident). The swatch is gorgeous to look at, gorgeous to touch. Me the hater of all that is clutter have this laying out in the living room, ends unwoven, just laying about, basking in its own glory. And yet I know I have absolutely no interest in knitting it.

So that's that. I've gotta accept the things I cannot change.

a road split in two....

2010-07-12T08:50:00.000-04:00

My mind wants to talk about two different things simultaneously, feminism and my latest FO.

My latest FO, the Tea Leaves Cardigan aka It Felt Good to Get Out of the Rain:

I think I've finally mastered a good armpit seam:

The sweater is hip length with short sleeves. It took about 700 yards of madtosh DK in Terrarium and was knit primarily on size US 6 circular needles.

I loved knitting the ruching.

Decadence...

2010-07-01T08:40:00.001-04:00

Decadence was, for me, yesterday, sleeping in a beach chair in the shade and privacy of my back yard.

I have a memory as old as dirt. It was from my toddler years, when I lived, briefly, in rural NY. There is such a warm happy feeling associated with this vague memory. I am lain out in the sunny, grassy, back yard in a sandwich of cotton quilts. And there was an egg salad sandwich somewhere in there too, but the connection between the two is hazy.

It is the sheer ability to relax and sleep during the day of which I am in awe. To exist. To be therefore you are. Not to be an object in motion, beholden to some chore or responsibility. That is what my mind thinks is bliss. With Mrs. Norris running the main game, it's no wonder this is what I dream of.

I am pretty ignorant of what most folks dream of. Is it fancy clothes, fancy cars, trips to Europe, being famous? Me, I just want the luxury to relax and sleep in the warmth of the outdoor air - preferably in the shade.

MIA: Funneh

2010-06-28T10:29:00.000-04:00

The funneh is missing in action at chez yarn.

At least we have yarn, though. I bought some new-to-me yarn from a couple of Ravelers last week: Bugga.

The dusty coloring reminds me of Dream in Color's yarn. In fact, the top skein, Orchid Mantis, is near identical to a skein I have of Smooshy in the Butter Peeps colorway.

The Bugga, being 20% cashmere, is deadly soft. It is going to make some fabulous scarves.

So where the heck is the funneh? Well, a weekful of documentaries on American industry, and my continued ignorance of the BP situation, have been leaching all of my joy. I'm back to morose seriousness as I come to terms with some conflicting beliefs.

The theme this month can be summed up in dialogue from Cold Mountain (the movie, I never read the book). Renee Zellweger's character, Ruby, is up to her eyeballs in the hellhole of a life of a woman in a rural mountain town during the Civil War:

"They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say 'Shit, it's raining!'"

In regard to the laughable, cynical, partisan outrage at the gulf oil disaster, the cold rationalist in me falls back on the indefatigable belief that one reaps what one sows.

We are at the limits of man's engineering abilities. Humanity is failing; not BP, not Obama, not our government. All governments and all private corporations fail given enough time and opportunity. It is a given, as they are human institutions. Redundancy.

When you play with the big guns, you have to be prepared for the great benefits you sow, such as the marvel of our modern American life, as well as be able to acknowledge our culpability when a monumental failure greets us. We tapped the oil, without the ability to cap the torrent, so who the fuck are we to complain about the uncontrollable oil slick raining down on us?

It felt good to get out of the rain...

2010-06-22T11:00:00.000-04:00

I don't know about the rest of the raglan sweater knitters out there, but when I knit a top down sweater, there is always a lull in the knitting when I get near the point at which a) I want to take the armholes off the needles or b) the armholes need to be removed from the needles.

After stewing in my knit bin for a month, I finally got up the chutzpah to go forward, knitting a few more rows before taking the arms off. After that the knitting has been full steam ahead.

I love this Madtosh DK colorway, Terrarium - even more than I love her DK colorway, Cove.

The yarn itself has a wonderful, plushy texture, preferable to Sundara's much sturdier, more tightly spun, sport weight. But for colors both companies have stolen equal parts of my heart.

Even though Neil Young is heading into the desert (on a horse with no name) when he sings "It felt good to get out of the rain...," the phrase has married itself to this project. The colorway name, Terrarium, reached into the creaky corners of my memory, to one of the short stories showcased in the Ray Bradbury Illustrated Man movie, The Long Rain. A few astronauts are stranded in a jungle on Venus in a constant rain. It drives them batty as they seek the refuge of a sun dome.

Instead of the 3/4 sleeve of the original Tea Leaves Cardigan pattern, I think I'm going to go with a puffed short sleeve. All I have to do is figure out how to knit a puffed sleeve.

The sound of silence

2010-06-21T08:12:00.002-04:00

is much preferable to the sound of me whining about my failure to mitigate my stress. Blah blah blah. It goes on and on in my head. Blech.

I have my health, food on my table, a wonderful husbeast, a tidy roof over my head. I need to get over the rest.

No, Mrs. Norris, the world will not implode.

2010-06-11T10:17:00.002-04:00

When I was a young'un I was entranced by multiple personality disorders. Where most children spend their time learning gender and societal normative behaviors, I was drawn to all that was non-normative. Now that I've come to see my past and present through the prism of post-trauma, I am realizing that multiple personalities are the sign of a healthy mind, not just a mental illness caused by abuse, as immortalized in popular culture by the books and movies about Sybil and Eve.

I think I shall call my inner berator Mrs. Norris, after Jane's uber-bossy, illiberal, and admirably indefatigable Mansfield Park character. She thinks she knows what is best for me and up until this year, I've ceded to her all too often.

When Mrs. Norris says "Complete this knitting project; you started it - now finish it." I have the good sense to question her admonition. No longer do I obey, meekly and miserably, or rebel, just as miserably. Case in point, I began a new sock pattern with a skein of Blue Moon Fiber Arts STR that I have been stashing lovingly for several years.

This pale "Blue Moonstone" colorway is my manna. But when I began to knit the sock up, my speshul anjel snowflake fingers weren't so happy. I've been so friggin' spoiled by the super-soft-fairy-fart sundara sock yarn, that the tight twist of the STR was feelin' a little brillo-esqe. And part of that isn't the yarn, it's the texture of the lace and cable. STR's tight twist is a wonderful canvas for cables and other textured knitting, but it's touch is much coarser than the Sundara's sock yarn I've been knitting with over the passed six months.

Upon noticing my dislike for the knitted fabric texture, Mrs. Norris's response was loud and clear: "Suffer bitch, you started the project, you finish it." Once upon a time that is what I would do, with misery and self loathing magnifying with the knitting of each and every stitch. Now, notsomuch. I think I've outsmarted the crazeh when I decide on a happy, middle road option; I will knit anklets. Anklets are a much smaller project, i.e, less brillo knitting, but with an eye towards an FO to satisfy Mrs. Norris. In the end, Mrs. Norris is still me.

Knitting? Hello, knitting, are you there? It's me Morticcia.

2010-06-08T09:29:00.001-04:00

I think my subconscious is telling me to pick up some old Judy Blume books. That's the second time this spring my muse called forth a title punned from "Are you there God, it's me Margaret."

So I bought more yarn. Who'd a thunk? This most recent acquisition is filed under retail therapy. I was in need and it did the trick.

Five months ago I darkened my hair considerably.

When I was going more natural with the color, my clothes color range was as narrow as my palate: green to blue to beige to white. These colors have been my steady companion for at least 10 years. A couple of years ago I bought my first non-blue coat, and it's just been chaos at chez yarn. Absolute chaos. Now I'm wearing PINK. Me in pink.

But you know, I think pink goes great with my hair. So, I'm trying not to let ms. inner kool kat laugh in that snide, condescending way she has, making me feel 12 and inadequate, and clutching for the fortification of an all black wardrobe. I'm through with her, but she's still got some mojo left and since she's me, she won't give up until it is all spent.

So I've been starting to stash pink yarns to go with all the pink clothes I bought last month. I need to knit some scarf-y type shawlettes to ward off the onslaught of my work's A/C. I keep buying yarns but they turn out to be just barely not right for the patterns I want to knit or of too little yardage for the patterns I want to knit. My luck finally showed up when I hit Butterfly Yarns for retail therapy last Friday. I found some perfectly pink skeins of a lovely silk and cotton blend from Classic Elite Yarns. As I noted on my rav stash page the colorway should be called Molly Ringwald, as it is her pink, to a T.

I'm knitting a Saroyan and my knitting has been pretty imperfect but I'm not giving this failing any bandwidth. This month is my biggest stress time and I'm not interested in having my sole comfort (knitting) bite back.

In fact, it's been a great place to experiment with different ssks/k2togs. No one around me will see the differences, or mistakes, that are obvious to me, and I'm finding it very easy to not see them either. That's a nice relief.

The Jewels of the World...

2010-06-03T11:36:00.000-04:00

In the flush of first love my husband told me he would bring me the jewels of the world. He's fabulously corny like that. He means it from the depths of his unironic, romantic soul. Of course, I'm a cynic. I smiled at him, most likely batting my eyes, and thought to myself, oh yeah, I'll hold my breath for that. Not.

Other than requiring a big fat engagement ring to satisfy the poor girl chip on my shoulder, I have very little interest in jewels or jewelry. This weekend, though, I realized that my husband has been keeping his word.

The skein of yarn above is Sundara sock in the Candle to the Sun colorway. (I'm not sure if it was a limited edition or one-off colorway). When I was sick a few weeks ago, my hunny offered to buy me yarn to help me feel better. This skein was one of three colorways I purchased under this directive.

Almost all the yarn I've been stashing lately has been purchased by the hubster. Who knew when he promised me the jewels of the world that the jewels would come in the form of squishy, superwash merino goodness from the goddesses of yarn, Sundara and Madtosh. The two dyers were probably in diapers when he made that promise. Okay, so I exaggerate, but still.

And if there is a God, he or she is definitely looking over my shoulder because that lovely skein of yarn is sitting right on top of that Jane text that threw me for a loop. Look at the pic closely, the bottom right hand corner of the picture. I hadn't yet realized how these words shocked my system when I took that picture a week and a half ago.

I still haven't picked up Mansfield Park again. Too many undefined thoughts still stewing about in my subconscious. I spent time yesterday on Librivox listening to Wharton's minor novel, Custom of the Country.

I read this book twice, back to back, a few years ago. There was something so irresistible about it, but I was a little ashamed of my taste. It is only a minor work. I had no confidence in my taste then. This is changing. It may not be a major work, but it is a very tasty, tasty morsel, with it's own set of superlative charms.

Who you are. Really.

2010-05-29T08:24:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I'm mortified by what I write here.

Mortification. Shame. Self-loathing.

Part of me tells me that's the lesson. Be you. Expose yourself. It's the only way to build armor against a world that is designed to dislike you. Or should I say a species built entirely different than you and designed to dislike you.

The snark is just armor too. Yeah it's learning to be funny and quick and highly intellectualized, but it's still fucking armor. I was beginning to fool myself that it was something else. And I'm scared and proud to have derailed that subterfuge.

So what interesting thing has derailed me this week? Jane fuckin' Austen. Last week I read a few chapters of Mansfield Park and the world was right again. Light, crisp snark. Every sentence a gem. As I read I let the precise perfection of her prose envelope me. Until it abruptly stopped and I was unwittingly unmoored (why is this not an antonym of moored?), untethered, disjointed, jarred.

"Admiral Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining his niece, to bring his mistress under his own roof; " ~ Chapter 4, Mansfield Park.

Out of nowhere, amidst the cynical, bright, bird's eye view of the human drama, Jane got personal, and she took me with her. And I have nowhere to turn with this information. I am alone again.

I've been here. Always. But it's when I have these ideas that I feel it and am disheartened. You can't have your cake and eat it too. I vow to prove that wrong.

fuck you fattie!

2010-05-20T08:12:00.000-04:00

OMG do I need to get that self important drama llama ding dong from Tuesday off the top shelf! It hurts to look at it, but look at I do and do and do. I'm obsessed with my own experiences. I'm obsessed with squeezing every fucking drop of meaning out of every gosh darn thing.

Hello, calling Mrs. M. Umm, that's how you roll. So deal.

And deal I do. But today (yeah!) I am beginning to grasp at the fringes of self mockery and it feels awesomesauce. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.S.A.U.C.E. Ring around the drama llama.

I've decided to blame Wharton for this recent setback. I finally took out a book and used my eyes to read it and it wasn't about Bella fuckin' Swan. Miracle of miracles! (OMG! what's that song?!? - "vanity of vanities the
whole thing is a vain parade" - Hand of God, Soundgarten.) (Yes, welcome to two knits, the home of the vain parade. Snerk.)

I haven't picked up Wharton in many years and my perspective on her writings has changed. I love that. Someone always suffers greatly in the works I've read of hers. And her snark is subtle. Not like Jane. Jane bites you in the ass and then let's you get married to the man of your dreams.

I love Jane but I haven't been able to read her in over a year and a half. I miss her terribly, but I'm not ready yet. (Or am I? I think I just felt a hankering for the first chapter of Mansfield Park.)

And I may have finally grasped at Jane's chronic need to deposit erectile functional happy endings amid so much acidic social commentary. I don't have the words yet. It's probably best I keep my clumsy fumblings to myself.

I now leave you with another set of beautiful skeins dyed by Sundara:

Drama Llama Central...

2010-05-18T09:33:00.000-04:00

It is the fate of a sarcastic bitch to be, well, considered just a plain old coldhearted bitch. Our humor is dark and oftentimes inappropriate; inappropriate in pitch and inappropriate in content.

I've changed a great deal in the past year. I feel I am both a better me to me and a more selfish me to everyone else. And I'm happy about that. But there remains a part of me that feels responsible for everyone and everything. If someone hurts, I need to make that hurt go away. Even if it is my enemies' hurt.

I want to snark and cut things down to size but then I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Politically correct and snark spells o.x.y.m.o.r.o.n. Or just plain moron.

This morning I followed my heart down a road it's been too timid to travel for two decades or more.. I drove past a cat that had been run over and I did not keep driving. I sated my impulse to care and to be responsible for this helpless creature. I cried at the trauma drama this event stoked in me. I cried for the loss of this kitty's life. I felt compassion and love and acted upon those feelings.

Fuck work. Fuck responsibility. Life is made of these tiny choices. So long I have made choices against my heart. It hurt like a mother fucker but I still feel so much better that I took that cat to our vet and made sure he was no longer suffering. And I'm lucky to have a vet that has a protocol in place to deal with these situations.

They told me I was very kind to do what I did. No one ever does that, so I must be a wonderful and great person. My one coworker who I told and swore to secrecy echoed this sentiment. And though I think these folks mean their words very kindly, I know they are not true about me. And I've learned not to throw these kind words back at their owners. I accepted their praise, thanked them, and moved on.

I don't believe in altruism. Ever since I devoured, and purged, the works of Ayn Rand at around age 20 I formulated a theory on altruism that has wavered very little in the intervening decades. I don't believe in the goodness of people in general. I do believe people can and do do good.

What I did today is not because I am a good person. It was not a selfless act. I saw that cat and I hurt. I needed to help the cat to help my hurt. Helping that cat made me feel like I was doing the right thing at the right moment. And now that cat will be a part of me forever. I did it for him, but I did it for the me that was once him, metaphorically speaking, of course.

I could not stand by and allow this life form to be flattened by the tires of rush hour. And I didn't. And if this cat has an owner, maybe my small act will reunite him with them. That is my last hope.

After I had shared my experience with my coworker, crying and hugging, and letting loose the pain, I could laugh and make sick comments about how beautiful the cat was, as long as you looked at him from an angle that hid his flattened skull. She probably thinks I'm a freak for bawling like a baby one moment and mocking the physical shape of this poor creature, in another breath.

Hopefully someday I may be a good enough satirist to no longer offend but enlighten. Atruism smaltruism.

not so ready for prime time // robin hood spoilers...

2010-05-16T00:19:00.001-04:00

New interim look. Not finished but at this point so preferable to the old look.

Went to the movies, saw Ridley Scott's Robin Hood. WTF was Scott thinking with this reimagining of the Robin Hood myth? I haven't wanted to walk out of a movie since 1999.

The penultimate mis en scène: It's aproximately 1199 AD and it been hours since the movie started and Robin has yet to take to the wood. That's because:

1) The French are storming the cliffs of Dover in transport boats, a la Omaha Beach, aka D-Day. Look at the picture in the link and then watch the movie. I am not shitting you. It was D-Day in the theatre tonight!

2) ~~William Wallace~~ Robin preHood, a commoner, and an archer in the crusades, (an infantry position that lacks swordsmanship and horse riding skills) astride deceased King Richard the Lionhearted's snow white steed (which he has been in possession of for at least an hour and yet no one seems to notice the horse is bedecked in ye Plantagenet tack royale)(WTFBBQ?!) takes 10.5 seconds to rally the troops to take on the invading Freedom Fries.

3) ~~Eowyn~~ Maid Marion shows up to the battle. This feisty impoverished aristocrat wants her fair share of French scalp, and she brought along the Lord of the Flies castaways who conveniently have ponies and impeccable swordsmanship, too.

4)Robin preHood gets stuck in the water between two colliding landing boats. Will R2D2 be able to save him in time?

5)Oh yes he does, Jason rises again!

6)Because the Frenchies surrender to ~~Maximus Decimus Meridius~~ Robin preHood instead of Ole King John "Lackland" Plantagenet, in the blink of an eye he is public enemy #1. Now all the good folk of Nottingham retreat to the woods so they can finally create one of those classless Utopian communes (you know the ones that were tres chic in pre middle ages Christendom) while someone polishes up the script for the sequel.

The end.

Gratuitous yarn pic! Now in a bigger size!!!

The hills are alive with the sound of ...

2010-05-10T10:52:00.001-04:00

Does fiber have a sound? No, but I swear it vibrates. Hmmm...now that I ponder on this, it's me that vibrates, not the yarn. The yarn just sits there all stuck up and aloof and perfect and je ne sais quoi. I turn to mush and worship at its feet.

I went to the NH Sheep & Wool fest on Saturday and I bought only three skeins of yarn and three buttons. I was good. Very good. And not in a deprivation kinda way at all. In fact, I have become such a narrowly oriented yarn stasher, there were very few things there that sang to me. (Oh yes, I went to Volterra this weekend, why do you ask?)

For yarn only one vendor stopped my breath, Mocha's Fiber Connection. She had a lovely two plied fingering silky merino, as well as some worsted or aran singles, in the same vein as Sundara's FSM and ASM. The pic above is the one purchase I made of the FSM in a colorway called Ashes of Roses. The yarn base on the tag says Kizzie's Toes/sock. This base of theirs isn't yet listed on Rav yet.

I caked it up within hours.

I also found some buttons for my Tea Leaves Cardigan. They're animal bone and a little heavy, but absolutely simpatico.

Auf wiedersehen...

Change is Work.

2010-05-07T08:57:00.000-04:00

There are changes afoot at Two Knits. Usually change is very difficult for me. In fact learning how to make the upcoming changes has been difficult, but when the change happens, it should be easy as pie for me to acclimate.

You see I've been trying to teach myself a little html in order to redesign my blog. Every few weeks or months I get wholly absorbed in the project, pore all of my time, and 110% of my mental energy, into learning this trade and then before I know it I become super saturated and loath everything I just learned. Time passes. Rinse. Repeat.

But I haven't given up. So maybe it'll be this weekend, or maybe this summer or fall. Who knows, but the cyber home of chez Yarn is getting a facelift.

yarn yarn yarn yarn yarn yarn yarn...

2010-05-06T08:52:00.002-04:00

That's seven yarns. Seven iterations to express my joy, my love of my yarn, and my love of my current project (no matter how bad it turns out).

I am knitting the Tea Leaves Cardigan (<--- rav link). Oh yes, you read correctly: I am knitting.From.A.Pattern. Moi. (Geesh of all the German I've ingested, I haven't learned how to say me? How can that be? Is it mir?) Mir!

But true to form I am hacking my way through it already. My first hack was to replace the garter stitch with seed stitch. I love the way garter stitch feels, but I'm not that into how it looks. Garter stitch is bold, where I prefer seed stitches' coyness. I prefer to project dainty and demure rather than what I am in actuality, loud and brash. 'Tis my prerogative.

I tried something new. I cable cast on in ribbing and I absolutely adore the x o x o look of this trim. On the neckline. I'll probably do a basic bind off on the wrists and body. Someday I hope to garner the patience to learn and use the tubular bind off. Hope is good.

And I end this by sharing the yarn I thought I should be knitting with now. It is the wisteria colorway of tosh DK. So fuckin' yum:

This week in self discovery...

2010-05-04T08:48:00.004-04:00

Many, many, many moons ago I went through a Herman Hesse phase. I devoured, rather than savored, each book of his I read. So it is no wonder that I remember very little.

Only one idea I came across in his writings took root in my chaotic mind and this was the supposition by a character that the act of biological reproduction is a necessary psychological step, or evolution, for man. The narcissism of youth must make way for the selfless devotion, an all important transformative experience, of parenthood.

Now that I am an adult, and a little less naive, I can plainly see all around me that birthing babies doesn't cure narcissism. My birth sure as heck didn't cure it in my family. But that doesn't mean there is no truth to Hesse's belief. I still believe in his theory even though I was never able to test it out myself. By the time I was healed enough to embrace motherhood my body no longer could provide for me. I am both proud and angry about the four years I endured fertility treatments, where I subjected my body to the legal maximum dosages of drugs and tapped into a will of steel that subjugated fear and, good sense, to this all consuming goal. Four years of relentless bodily and psychological torture. Me. The whiniest weakling of them all. I did it willingly, with nary a second thought.

So it is with myriad emotions I embrace my narcissism and wade through the wax and wane of envy that surfaces when I turn my eye to women around me, both in the real world and on line. I don't fit and I'm no longer unhappy about it. Wistful, on occasion, yes, but on the whole happy to explore me and my inner landscape. Instead of wanting to steal other women's babies, I can be happy for their good fortune. I've come a long way, baby. LOL.

This brings me to the next thing I've been musing. My muse. My muse and how there are always obstacles between me and she. I've spent so much time wondering where my square peg can fit in this round world, I wound up not exploring me, but exploring how to make me more palatable to the world so that I can make a living and support myself and not get my freak flag noticed.

The tools to make myself happy weren't cultivated, or so I'm learning. And not making myself happy made me a resentful, covetous, bitter bitch. And not in a good, Dolores Claiborne, way. (Seriously, Dolores Claiborne has been one of my favorite role models.)

And in clear Dolores fashion, let's not wallow in self pity, but turn my mind to what I need to do next to get through the current manic mood I'm in. I now understand the frantic crazy that builds when my Muse is blocked.

Last night I cleared out my WIPS bin. I finished up three projects, one of which was very, very outstanding. This brisk spring cleaning left me rejuvenated at first, but then empty and doom filled shortly thereafter. I have no active comfort knitting and no inspiration for any. I was so single minded in my desire to complete projects, I failed to anticipate the crazy that would come to squat in the void.

I'm lost with out an anchor project. LOST. LOST. LOST.

Oh yes, I have yarn. Lovely lovely yarn:

But this does not soothe the beast. Only productivity does.

And so I tossed and I turned in my bed until I realized what I wanted and why I was thwarting the desire. My rational mind is thinking, it's spring, it's time to knit light and airy things. But my muse is saying fuck that, I want to knit a sweater with this:

And so I shall. Why do I need to conform to the seasons? Uh? Hello? I don't. I don't have anything from stopping me from doing what I want but me. Now I've realized this, my brain went off happily on its way designing a tank cardigan.

I'm not sure I'll be successful, but wtf. That's not the point of life. Life is for living, not being cautious and conforming to arbitrary societal rules. Duh. Sometimes I'm such a dope.

So I brought my four skeins to work, alongside my swift and winder, and I'm gonna map out the skeins and wind them up during lunch. Thank you, Muse.

Where I prove once again that my willpower is an illusion...

2010-04-25T13:00:00.002-04:00

I think the serenity prayer is one of handiest affirmations out there.

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things that I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.

I am a woman of many compulsions. By the grace of fate, or god, whichever your inclination, substance abuse is not one of these many.

True to my promise I did not buy yarn last weekend. Wednesday, though? I didn't fall off the wagon, I fell off a cliff. Sideways. With leaden boots.

The first of my two transgressions are four different colorways of my newest love, Madtosh DK. (I haven't received the bounty of my second transgression, yet.) The colorway above is Burnished and is a reflection of my fascination with blue paired with myriad brown hues. My favorite in this family is the following, Terrarium:

Funny story. Yesterday afternoon I was out on my bridge taking photos when one of the skeins fell in the crick. I nearly lost it. Once I had ascertained that the water was clear and that the black peat of the shoreline where the skein lay wasn't that moist, my senses returned. The skein was most likey unharmed.

With my heart nestled back in my chest, I hastened to fish out the skein. A very dodgy undertaking which I took with the foolish abandon one succumbs to when just having escaped nuclear doom. So of course, as I was climbing out of the embankment I lost my footing, and with both feet on terra notso firma, I slid quickly into the crick. The crick is only a few inches deep currently, but my crocs were slushy with mud and my bum was as black as tar.

Intrinsically knowing the faster I got the skein washed, the more likely it would be safe as houses, I beckoned the hubster for help. His response was to nearly lose his cookies.

You see, the poor thing was enraged; I had kind of gotten him to underwrite the entire Madtosh purchase and all he saw was a laughing, blackened woman holding a dark mossy brown-green skein of yarn. He thought the crick made it that color, because who in their right mind would buy yarn that color? And he was sure the yarn was ruined.

But more salient to me was that I could plainly see he was in the throws of the voice of doom. I saw in him a part of myself and my heart lurched, a little in sadness and a little in relief. More than my good fortune of having a job, brand new yarn, and a marriage that is presently fantastic, I am lucky to be free from that voice of doom. The facet of my mind that had been certain for so very, very long that any and all errors are the product of a lazy, stupid, unworthy person has been integrated into my personality. She who believes in Perfection or Death is now just a part of me, not the only me I experience.

The yarn is dry and looks absolutely perfect.

When the moon is in the seventh house...

2010-04-19T12:19:00.001-04:00

Finally feeling like my orbit is back on track. Home for the Patriot's Day holiday. While Beantown is all about marathons and runners, I'm, as usual, all about me. I took some photos of a near ancient FO, Tidal Bloom, as well as some progress shots of my nearly finished raglan.

It'a still hard to tell if the pix stink on this laptop, but I'm pretty sure they do. [EDIT 4/21/10: posted better pix]

This quasi mistake rib scarf was knit with one of the first two skeins I picked up at the NH Sheep & Wool in 2008. And when I say first two skeins, I literally mean I walked into the fairgrounds saw this yarn and purchased it. It was my second festival ever, and I was still pretty green when it came to all yarn, and indie yarn in particular.

But you know, I'm remembering this wrong. The first ever skeins that I purchased up in NH were from Ball & Skein, I think. This is from the dyer French Twist. It was after I had met up with Chris that I bought them, later in the day.

Glad I nipped that false remembrance in the bud.

I tried a couple of projects with this yarn that didn't work out. The variegation always seemed to clash with my ideas. I think this scarf is a perfect foil for my love of flashy yarn.

Oh, April. Just a smidge betta than March.

2010-04-16T14:59:00.000-04:00

April? Just a smidge betta than March? Okay, that's laying it on thickly even for my drama llama tendencies. I'm doin' pretty darn good, all things considered. And there are considerable things iterating.

I haven't been knitting much. Once I birthed the two ideas, my knitting became fun again, with the demanding task master hibernating. All I've knit upon is my latest lace paneled raglan in the darker Cove colorway of the Tosh DK.

I am in no rush to finish this sweater. This is a new feeling for me. Usually I'm so sick of the sweater at this point I'm doing marathon runs to get it off the needles. What's different this time? Well, it's my latest love, this Tosh DK, and this colorway.

Depending on the light the color gives off a sun bleached hue, like so:

In other light (and with the vagaries of my photo editing skills) it looks to be emanating a mossy glow:

No matter what color it actually is, I don't want to stop knitting with it. At all. And it comes in different bases. No, I don't need anymore yarn. No, I don't...merinos sock and cashmere merino sock...and more tosh DK. This is my pledge: I won't buy any this weekend. I won't.

Unless I finish the sweater...then maybe. Maybe. WTFBBQ. C'est la vie.

ok. one more post and then I'm done with March

2010-04-05T07:00:00.012-04:00

So it's March. Again.

March came with a lot of tension and some of that tension was from a miasmic bout of creativity that manifested as a fulsomely clogged consciousness. A constipation of the mind, if you will. How else can I describe this? It's like I am mentally paralyzed until I start doing whatever it is that I am inspired to do.

The second of the two new projects is really new to me. I'm designing a lace scarf using the ever so intriguing Day Flower lace panel.

With the laptop I find it really easy to jot down ever step I make just in case I want to finally, finally, finally, maybe, make a pattern for public consumption. Public consumption? Interfacing with the publick? Maybe.

The pattern needs definite tweaking but she is lovely:

oh, I am so not done with you, March

2010-04-04T07:25:00.002-04:00

So back to March. March. Yeah. Hmmm.

In March I went to Vegas.

It's not my kinda town, but it gave me an opportunity to take a helicopter tour of Lake Mead, the Hoover Dam, and the Grand Canyon. I much prefer the majesty of the naked earth to the glitter and glam of Vegas, its air diffuse with schmaltz, smoke, and despair.

I don't know my Canyon geog, but I'm pretty sure we toured what is known as the west rim.

The desert landscape was awash in what looked like green mold. We oohed and aahed over the fact that Vegas recently received a whopping five inches of rain. Little did we know, our basement was filling up with 18 and one half inches of water. Maybe even at the exact moment I took the above picture.

18 and a half inches.

Oh March, first you murder Randy Rhoads when I was just a young bubelah, then you go and, well, you know what you've done over many, many years. Now this? March, you are so dead to me.

Or not. Oy.

goodbye March, it's me Morticcia

2010-04-03T08:45:00.003-04:00

March was a unique month in my life. I am not sad to see it leave.

We watched the first half an hour or so of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings on TV last night. It made me think of my attachment to size 2.00 - 2.50mm sock needles. I waxed so decisively on the lesson learned on January 17: I should stick to 2.75mms if I want to actually enjoy knitting a pair of socks. My ravelry project page indicates I started the Escape to Russet Moon Mountain socks on size 2.50mms on January 24. That is a mere seven days later.

WTF?

Are you there brain, it's me Morticcia?

I didn't even consciously realize they were 2.50mms until I had gotten halfway through the foot bed. I kept contemplating why I wasn't as attracted to this project when the luscious Sundara sock yarn I'm using electrifies my heart and mind.

And there is Bilbo, being mesmerized by the ring. But this is authorial fantasy. What, pray tell, is my excuse? My inner knitter has her own agenda? What could that possible be? I chuckle to myself and think: I need to keep a close eye on that beyotch!

A Life in Fugue

2010-03-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

I definitely view the world differently than other people.

Sometimes I view the world differently than myself.

For the first time in my life I am able to catch glimpses of the "real" world, as it stands apart from my world. And sometimes my mind and body go off on their own.

For at least a week one part of me has been mentally berating myself for not taking an interest in photographing my FOs and wips. Another part of me has been guffawing at miss berator, laughing at her rigidity (I need a better word here...).

Knitting and photography are my joys, fuck if I'm gonna do them when I am not going to enjoy them.

The pictures herein were taken by Focused me, but edited by Fugue me. (I definitely need to name my different mes. That's a project in and of itself.)

As I was saying, Fugue me edited the photos on my laptop. My laptop sucks for photo editing, but I love my laptop. How do I reconcile these things? I dunno. Yet.

Sweater, sweater, I knit a sweater!

Oh, and I've decided to learn German.

Auf Wiedersehen!

And what's going on with you?

2010-02-26T07:00:00.064-05:00

I am knitting. Not a lot, but some. I finished the laptop condom last week. It is nearly perfectly sized after two felting washes:

I haven't decided on whether I'm going to add a button, or some other closure device.

And though I feel the nascent pull of spring cleaning my knitting WIPS, I was compelled to cast on the new Madtosh I purchased in the lighter of the two shades of Cove:

The colors remind me of my hometown, Long Beach, NY. I don't usually look back fondly on Long Beach, as the dense congestion of it's streets is a poison to my constitution. But these colors? Herein lay the colors of the wet sand, the multifaceted Atlantic Ocean, and the earthy hues of the life-supporting jetties.

I loved playing on the jetties. Alone. Jumping from one boulder to the next, challenging my agility while imbibing freedom with each gulp of the salty air. Or I could crawl along the beach floor and look at the myriad life forms that called the jetty home. Would I talk to the starfish and mollusks? Probably. If not out loud, surely in my mind.

I was always frustrated by the return of the summer season and the lifeguards whose job was to keep me off the jetties. The resentment at their restrictions comes back to me, almost full force, after 30 years distance. I must have been an obnoxiously entitled kid if this still has the power to irritate me.

But I did really love those jetties...

I still do love those jetties.

I will gladly pay you tuesday for some sundara sport today...

2010-02-25T09:40:00.002-05:00

My mind is all over the place these days. One minute there's some funneh, the next there's national socialism. These are the daemons I can't control. And I have to remind myself I am not responsible for them or the repercussions of their crazeh.

But then there are the daemons I can control:

Sundara Sport in LE color Time Travels

Sundara Sport in Glacier

Two different intensities of Madtosh Sport in Cove

Madtosh Sport in Violin

There are as many opinions about stash as there are people. I have, in fact, two paradoxical opinions. The first opinion is that "one should only have the yarn one needs to knit now." The second opinion is "Pretty! Wowza! Pretty! I wanna, I wanna, here's my money give give give it to me now! NOW!"

The latter opinion has been the dominant one at chez yarn for over almost two years. I now have no more room for yarn. Or should I say, I don't want to make anymore room for yarn. The amount I have is obscene. It's vulgar to have so much yarn. It goes against my inner puritan or the unspoken rules of my Yiddish youth. Take your pick. There's just too much yarn.

And there's even more on the web. Pretty colors everywhere all yours for the handy price of blahdiddeblahblahbleh. I don't need more yarn. Yes it's pretty, so take a picture. Don't buy the skein. Or five. Just don't.

Now all that is well and fine to have clinking around your brain, but it's exhausting. I'm exhausted. And after buying eight skeins of the lovely Madtosh sport, captioned above, from Kaleidoscope Yarns I found a solution to my yarn battle: Bagged yarn.

I already eat a bagged lunch, sans bag. Why not pack a yarn cocktail, as well?

Brilliant!

For about a week now, I bring three fresh skeins of complimentary (to me) colors and place them prominently on my desk at work. A yarn salve. Weeeeeeeeee!

Today's cocktail:

1. Pfingstrose, 2. Ball and Skein Wetherfield, 3. Bronzed Forest Sock

It's foolish to call something a success after a week, but I feel the magic of it working and I want to shout it from the bell tower.

I think one of the problems for me, as a pet owner and being naturally fastidious, I am compelled to tuck my yarn away in a plastic bag, in a bin, in a closet. As soon as the yarn is photographed, catalogued, and secured safely away from the world, the emotional connection to it that drove me to purchase it in the first place decays.

Needing that connection, I find myself trolling yarn stores on the web. It only takes a heartbeat from viewing yarn to typing in my name and credit card number to own the yarn. And that is what I have been doing, especially with Sundara becoming so much more available over the past six months.

For beasts, it is music that is said to soothe. For me? It is yarn. Now when I'm frustrated or I just need a mental palate freshener, I look to my yarn cocktail and well, I am rejuvenated.

Life's carriage...

2010-02-09T08:05:00.003-05:00

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The Carriage held but just Ourselves
And Immortality. ~ Emily Dickinson

This is the thought that came to me as I opened the "new post" window. My muse speaks and I never understand her. 'S okay. I'm used to it.

I am growing more and more devoted each day to giving her free reign. Or, should I say, my capacity for indulging her is growing each and every day? Some days she takes on mythic proportions. Other days? Notsomuch.

There was a bit of a lull in knitting at chez yarn. 'S okay, too. I'm listening to my inner knitter agitate over the fact I haven't had an FO in forever and I've cast on a new project. She can suck an egg. Yeah. That's the ticket.

Wow, there's a tone change.

This project, another pair of Waving Lace socks with Sundara sock yarn, has been given the frothy name "Escape to Russet Moon Mountain." (If you're into Twilight snark, take a gander at Russet Moon on Fandom Wank. This is some of the stuff that sustained me when it got really dark last year.)

Something extraordinary has happened, which is absolutely ordinary for everyone else. Lady M has gotten herself her very first laptop. Oh yeah, welcome to 2010. Laptops, the wave of the future. I'm a real intrepid sort, aren't I?

I know everyone stopped being excited over laptops 15 years ago, but I never knew how happy it would make me to have my very own computer all to myself. Aside from the growing pains of learning Windows 7, it's is just fantabulous to have my own electronic space.

And yes, I'm haughty enough to be taking comfort in the fact that the tortoise wins the race. No modesty at chez yarn this bright and shining morn. Sasha Fierce is in 'da house.

So the new project? A laptop condom in this lovely shade of cloud blue.

I'm winging it. Again. Knitting with two strands of this Cascade Soft Spun on size 10 1/2 needles, I used Judy's magic cast on and cast on 110 stitches, 55 on each needle. I knit even one row, then made one increase on each needle end every other row, twice, for a total of 57 stitches on each needle, 114 total.

I introduced a pair of simple cables on each end, which tightened the project up some. I also intend on felting the FO. I'm about 1/4 of the way in.

color...

2010-01-23T19:00:00.004-05:00

When Ted and Sylvia Plath Hughes purchased their first home in North Tawton, Devon, England in the early sixties, Sylvia, the whirling dervish that she was, immediately set about making the house a home. She painted the walls, doors, woodwork, furniture, and probably even some of the floors. This part of her story is always guaranteed to make me feel like a sloth.

From the numerous biographical material I've read over the years, the house held a room on the second floor which was hers, and hers alone. A writing study. One of the room's most prominent features was a vivid red floor rug. Or was it walls (or both)? I'm pretty sure it was the carpet, but I'm far too focused on my thoughts to ferret the truth out of my bookcase.

Sylvia was invigorated by color, especially red. She believed it actively fed her creativity. As a knitter, I identify with this; color is my primary inspiration. What I realized last month is that the color of my projects can either inhibit or fuel my knitting.

When I didn't feel like knitting a pair of turquoise colored socks that needed to be done a week before Christmas, I panicked. Failure was not an option. I wracked my brain for way to trick my Id, for lack of a better metaphor, into sating the requirements of my Superego.

I felt the ennui in my bones. Eight days passed. Then, with less than a week left to finish and ship the socks my inner knitter came to the rescue with the idea that a new project, in a contrastingly colored yarn, might do the trick. The turquoise sock was the third project in a row in the blue family.

Although my favorite color, I had unwittingly reached my threshold for blue projects. I searched the stash, found an anti-serum to the blue and after a few hours knitting with the contrast project, my passion for the turquoise socks was reignited. The project was completed in four days and arrived at it's new home across the country with two days to spare.

When I need a short distraction at work I visit Sundara Yarn's web page. Ogling her yarn several times a week is one of my life's simple pleasures.

A week or so ago, some sport merino in the Glacier colorway sprung up:

It barely registered. Yes, it is one of my favorite blue shades: pale, steely, aloof, but at $28 bucks a pop, not a likely candidate for purchase. There are more vibrant colorways to capture my attention, fuel my imagination. I was finishing up my second candy colored pair of socks, pondering the wide open field I had for my next project.

Was it a day later, or two? It may have been three days, but it happened. I realized I wanted to knit a sweater in that glorious glacier yarn, and I wanted to knit it now! now! now! Yet, I can't justify the purchase of pricey, varying skein to skein Sundara yarn. Not for a sweater. My inner knitter has no doubts about this. She knows I have two sweater quantity stashes taking up room in my yarn closet. I must knit with this yarn first.

The first is some fabulous Jo Sharp DK Tweed. My new go-to sweater yarn

The second, some forest green Cascade 220 superwash. This opalescent yarn has been stewing in my stash for about 2 1/2 years. I've abandoned numerous sweater projects with it and have had a design swatching project sitting in my knitting basket vying, unsuccessfully, for my attention:

What I didn't know until that aforementioned moment is that neither of those colors were the right color for a sweater project now. I wasn't knitting a sweater because I was lazy, I wasn't knitting a sweater because the right and perfect color hadn't knocked my socks off yet.

Now that it had, I did what any self-respecting, fiber-obsessed knitter does. I hit a local LYS on my lunch break. I found the perfect color in a not so perfect yarn. I was hoping for some serviceable cascade 220, but my muse came to me in the form of some Patton's classic merino blend.

As I swatched, and I swatched, I felt some condescension towards this workhorse yarn. The haughty snobbery metamorphed into tension in my neck and shoulders and I grew crabby.

By last night it reached a point which I decided would be its zenith. I grasped, hopefully, for an antidote, a size US8 circular needle, and cast on with verve.

Success is the best revenge.

2009, a knitter's year in review

2010-01-21T07:45:00.001-05:00

1. 2009mosaic, 2. Strange Fruit Clothilde, 3. Cable Warshrags, 4. Indian Rib, 5. Dishcloth, 6. Midnight Moon Clothilde, 7. Flinstone Rib, 8. Febrillious, 9. Eire Shetland, 10. Pumpkin Waffle knitting, 11. Pumpkin Waffle knitting, 12. Sunday Ribalib, 13. Cranberry Forest, 14. Retro Rib Socks, 15. Cool Haas Luke, 16. EOS_2184b, 17. Spruce Baby Llama Shetland, 18. Cinnamon Toast Ishbel, 19. Jen's Gloves, 20. Limeade Warshrag, 21. Another Shetland, 22. Jellied Beans, 23. Leaf on the Wind, 24. Marina Waves Socks, 25. Woodland Embossed Leaves Socks, 26. Gold Hill Cable Rib Socks, 27. Shetland Triangle Hat, 28. Tweed Seed Rib Sweater, 29. Cocoa Lace Scarf, 30. Shetland Tweed Mitts, 31. Pink Granite Lace Hat, 32. Pink Granite Shetland Triangle

1 Baby Blanket
5 Dishcloths
1 pair of Gloves
4 Hats
2 pair of Mitts
1 Scarf
9 Shawls
7 pair of Socks
3 Sweaters

31 Projects, 33 Items, 17 (52%) were gifts. I've seriously pondered calculating the yardage, but laziness won out. For now.

Last year's summary and goals were as follows:

1) knit more socks for me - partial FAIL
Considering I barely knit for 1/4 of the year, my failure did render a "teachable moment" (phrase barf!).

2) harness my creativity and design patterns - partial FAIL
I did write one hat pattern, but I lost all interest in connecting to the world to disseminate it. I started a pattern at the request of Knitting Kris, but I'm allowing my difficulty with worded knitting instructions get the better of me.

3) Knit more sweaters - partial WIN
I did complete three sweaters, two large adult sized. I added interesting design elements to all. I just can't make myself enjoy knitting large projects and I think I realized why I haven't cast on more sweaters.

Last, but certainly not least:

4) Knit a shawl that takes the "Best in Show" ribbon at the Topsfield fair - FAIL
Didn't even attempt this, but the goal is still active on my (very open ended) to do list.

There's a lot of failure going on up in there, but I don't feel like a failure at all. I didn't do what I said I wanted to do on January 27, 2009, but yanno? so what. I did what I wanted to do on the days I wanted to do it. Or at least I tried. I truly enjoyed the knitting I finished and I gleefully frogged the knitting I didn't enjoy. That's one of the best lessons I learned in 2009.

Enjoy enjoy enjoy. Viva la yarn. And remember what blessings you have when you have the leisure and opportunity to buy and knit beautiful yarn. I'm a lucky mother fucker.

Envy and socks. I haz both.

2010-01-17T10:00:00.004-05:00

True to form at chez yarn, we are now on day who knows what of ignoring the suffering in Haiti. I am catching glimpses of it when the Hubster puts on the news here and there, catching the cover of a newspaper at the gas station, hearing an interview on NPR.

It seems like the world is really coming together to help Haiti and the pessimistic cockles of my heart are warming. What I am left with is my internal struggle. Because, ya know, the Haiti disaster is all about me.

You mean you didn't know? It's about how I am incapable of facing it. How I am incapable of being the person I should be/should have been on the one hand, and in the other hand, how the world is inadequate, deserving of my inert, self-righteous scorn.

I am as helpless in this as I am in my knitting. A mute passenger on the Morticcia express. Someday maybe I'll learn how to transmogrify my shortcomings into strengths, as I have begun to with my knitting.

Ginger Waves Socks

I spent a good portion of last year wanting to be the sock knitter I am not and found I was a lace knitter I never knew I could be. I so wanted to knit socks, and I so wanted to knit socks on tiny needles. The heel of my first attempt at Monkeys on US 1s/2.5mm stewed for four months before I realized I should move on.

I didn't enjoy it and why should I mold myself to some aesthetic I don't enjoy? Normal people learn these things in childhood. I missed that class. Too busy navel gazing.

Inside the four months it took to knit and frog one half of one sock, it took me two months to cast on and frog two Clothildes, as well as complete my first one.

Flickr Tag: Indecision

I accepted my limitations and moved on, and with that the knitter's block dissipated: I've begun the second sock, of my second pair of socks, all in less than three weeks.

Comfort knitting. Nothing fancy schmancy. (It's interesting seeing how the two patterns, knit on the same size needle, both with Sundara sock yarn, have considerably different gauges. Ponderosa.)

So there is hope that one day I may be able to effect change, help others in need, rather than lock myself away in a bell jar of flabby indignation.

blah blah blah

2010-01-15T17:05:00.002-05:00

My year in review post is languishing in the edits folder. I'm languishing in real life. Adrift. The agony of humanity has me in it's lurid possession. There's no funneh at chez yarn.

All I am capable of is mute rage. I am doing my best not to think of Haiti. I can successfully ignore the acute human suffering. I know I don't have the capacity to carry that burden so I keep it safely outside my heart. What I can't prevent penetrating and gnawing at the edges of my sympathy is the confidence that whichever multinational, for-profit organization(s) gets it's(their) dirty prongs on this crippled, destabilized country will be exploiting it for the next two generations or more.

Yarn?

More yarn...

green green green green

2010-01-03T14:20:00.005-05:00

I'll be sad when green goes out of fashion again making purchasing things in this evocative color elusive.

I luvs me some green.

The yarn is Sundara's fingering silky merino in the limited edition colorway of "The Tree I Climbed."

Dear reader, are you confused by my choice of reaction words?

2010-01-01T22:27:00.008-05:00

sparkly:

If you like, you like. Because who doesn't love vampires that sparkle? Definitely more bang for your buck than the snarkless shiny.

fuf:

Literally stands for fuck you fattie. It is a term of endearment with the rubberhoars, but should be used predominately to show disagreement or outrage at ideas or items presented by the blog author. Or if you feel like being contrary, please show your endearment by clicking. You only live once.

wtf:

Literally stands for what the fuck. Please use this when you think I've lost my marbles, or conversely, if you've lost yours and you need to hate on someone.

twu luv:

Show your love while simultaneously partaking in a gleeful dig at the absurdity of romantic fiction.

So you really wanna know?

2010-01-01T10:00:00.031-05:00

I'm back dating this post and dating all of the entries. It's my version of 100 things about me.

May 20, 2010
1) When I used to read blogs I LOVED.LOVED.LOVED reading the 100 things about me. I'm a nosy bitch, so I scarf up any personal detail I can.

2) I am presently 42 years old. Yes I am an old bitter bitch. And I'm finally learning to love it.

3) I am a speshul angul snowflake. So send me your Sundara yarn. Now.

4) My favorite Jane Austen books are Mansfield Park and Persuasion. Depends on my mood.

5) I'm pretty sure I fell in love with the Twilight book series when I read Midnight Sun. I identify with Edward, not Bella. No, I'm not beautiful and I don't sparkle(!), it's more like "I am so tortured by my own imagined superiority." Yes I am that laughable. Please laugh at me. I try to, and I am happiest when I am successful. Seriously though, read the first page of Midnight Sun. It is the most funnest Meyer book ever. Okay, that and Eclipse.

6) I live with C-PTSD. I even traumatize myself. I'm that talented. Edward eats my dirt.

7) I have one half brother and one sister. I love my family but we are all kinda lone wolves. We love each other in our minds but we don't actually talk or see each other very often.

8) I am married. 10 years, October 2009. We've had a lot of rough patches, but this year has been our best year yet. I don't love the way it seems other people do, but neither does he. Together we make sense.

9) It is very dangerous to be yourself on the internet. I blog because I want to record the crazeh in my head. Letting people know the crazeh in my head is stupid. I know. But I'm a narcissistic exhibitionist trapped in the psyche of a hermit. Parodoxes hurt, so here is where I try to list the hurts and then hopefully, eventually, laugh at the wounds.

May 22, 2010
10) I love furry living things; I have two dogs and two cats.

11) I hate being sick. I only operate well at full health, otherwise I am a whiny useless black hole of pity.

12) I have some seriously grandiose thoughts about myself, and they coexist quite scarily with all the especially noted and intractable imperfections.

13) I went to college and received a BA. I graduated cum laude, although my first quarter grade point average was something like 2.47. Looking back years later I think some in my family expected me to flunk out, but that never would have occurred to me, because...

14) I am tenacious (when I'm not wallowing in self pity). Once something is decided, it happens. My will is strong. Conversely,...

15) With the exception of keeping a roof over my head and food in my belly, I have spent most of my life goalless. The former took all of energy until this past year. The act of knitting has taught me many life lessons I wish I had learned 30 years ago.

16) I am no longer goalless.

17) If I tried to restrict what I eat my brain will malfunction. It takes about 36 to 48 hours of bending to my will until something in my brain tells my body that I must eat everything in sight at every moment. All I can think about is food and eating - 24/7. The only cure for this malfunction I have found is to not attempt to control what I eat. Once the malfunction takes hold it can take weeks or months to cease.

18) I have pituitary tumor. Because I was infertile at such a young age the fertility specialists assume it is a prolactinoma. But they have no fucking clue and I'm sick of catering to their prognostications...I know that sounds looney. Call me looney.

19) Do I think 17 and 18 are related? Absolutely. But I've had my fill of doctors for the moment...

20) From 2002 to 2006 I underwent fertility treatments. I can't even remember the number of IUI's I have had. Health insurance pays for 6 IVFS. All six failed. We even went as far as getting an egg donor, our seventh IVF. Her eggs sucked too. I can't begin to describe how cursed I felt the day I finally conceded she was as infertile as me and that I had to stop doing what I was doing to my body.

21) I have accepted I wasn't meant to have human kids. I have my whole life to be a great aunt. I'll do my best with that.

22) I totally miss SPY magazine. I knew I was in the presence of greatness, and it was painful realizing how puny and paltry my own intellect was in comparison to the minds that put that rag together. It was like Jon Stewart but mean. Dorothy Parker mean - "you can lead a horticulture but you can't make her think" - mean. Brilliant. My favorite part was the letters to the editors, or actually the editors making fun of the letters.

June 9, 2010
23) I wish I could be mean on purpose. Over the past decade, I have come to understand that my family's tendency for idiosyncratically abrupt, barrier-free, interpersonal communication actually comes across as pointedly barbed. Our sarcasm, unwittingly, has a little too much bite, is more often than not, precociously rude.

Another Lesson of the Day

2009-12-31T08:40:00.000-05:00

LOL. What a whiner. I've been concerned that my last post was a little too bitter in tone. I wanna keep things light around here, and this morning I found the humor in it: Me. This is one of the reasons I identify with the wall flower Bella, everything is do or die with this character and here I was whining about how boring she is as if it were do or die.

Me: "Mirror Mirror on the Wall, who's the whiniest of them all?"

Mirror: "Well Dear Knitter, you don't have to be bitter, as it is you the whiniest Drama Llama queenie pie pie."

I've been contemplating other things besides Twilight. No, really.

Watching myself knit my recent FO, the Strange Fruit Clothilde, an interesting thought occurred to me. When I knit, in particular, knit lace, my hands are actually graceful. It's like hand ballet and it makes me feel lovely inside. Being short and squat, in body and digits, and congenitally poor at most hand crafts such as drawing, painting, and sewing, it's a revelation to actually watch my hands knit and think they look graceful and pretty and deft.

Finally I feel like a craftsman. And as such I know the beauty of my finished objects comes from the raw materials, i.e. yarn and pattern. My Strange Fruit Clothilde is one such:

It's a great pattern. I used the charts and had not one problem. I'm glad I did a second repeat of the lace edging. The Dream in Color Smooshy yarn was a lovely yarn for the project. It's light and lofty and plays nicely with the architectural lines of the gull lace and stockinette.

This is my favorite picture

I knit four repeats of chart 2, the body chart, and repeat the second half of the edging chart. I used the K1, K1, K2tog bind off method, rather than referring to the pattern. I'm not sure what edging she actually does use.

Oh, and I love the cable cast on for the shawl. I may try to work that into other shawls.

Another thing, according to my scale, I only used about 300 yards of the light fingerweight Smooshy. Seems crazy so little yarn makes such a decent sized shawlette.

Could Bella Be More Perfect?

2009-12-29T20:38:00.000-05:00

I've been stuck on the 24 hours after Bella becomes immortal for dayzzzzzzzzzzzzz. OMEdward this part is so boring. Each and every time I force myself to read the section where she and OMEdward go hunting for the first time, I contemplate water torture instead. Some reason water torture loses. Why? Why? Why?

Seriuhsly. There's no humor in this, no drama. Bella's perfect, her love is perfect, she has expensive clothes, a perfect daughter, and her inlaws built her a cottage to make a lover of fairy tales beam. Her true shallow colors come shining through when she beholds her immortal beauty. But damn, I'm bored bored bored bored.

And yet I still read on. Just really more slowly. Well, I'm actually not reading this tripe, I'm back to listening to it. I am unable to force my eyes to suffer the torment. My ears, well my ears are accustomed to crap in a way I refuse to allow my visual field to be.

I'm shallow enough to look at this all day with delight:

I guess we all have different Achilles heels. Logic tells me mine is no more superior, but hot darn if I don't feel it is. Lesson for today: "To each his own."

color and texture...

2009-12-27T10:47:00.011-05:00

The remaining cake of a skein of Dream in Color Smooshy, in the Strange Harvest colorway. I still want to knit one more repeat of the Strange Fruit Clothilde and then I'll be done.

When I see/saw the name Strange Harvest my mind instantly connects the phrase to my emotional memory of the Billie Holiday version of the song Strange Fruit. I'd never read that wiki entry before, but I have known a long time of what type fruit Holiday sang. The song was always a favorite of mine. Once I learned of the meaning, it became part of the mythology of my life.

Was it only 40 years ago our country looked the other way when men of color were lynched without due process? Mankind is a shameful beast. I feel weak and ineffectual. It is a grandiose hope of mine to change the latter and be able to make a dent of improvement in the former.

The new year awaits...

Twu Luv

2009-12-23T14:20:00.001-05:00

It's almost Christmas, theoretically my favorite day of the year, and it's all I can do to not be reabsorbed into the Twilight saga. I haven't knit a stitch since Sunday. I'm reading it again, not listening to it. I'm at the windswept lee, on the cusp of the confrontation between Jacob and Bella wherein she realizes she is in love with Jacob, as well as Edward.

It's not monomania. Yet. I'm not concerned. Yet. (I thought I was querulous, but I'm actually) Just quizzical.

Last week it felt superfantabulous to 'fess up to my Twilight obsession. Shame is one of the demons I need to conquer. Like Neo, I am congenitally compelled to look for The Source. There are numerous signposts. I don't understand all the metaphors, but their gravitational pull is unmistakable.

One of these signposts is the Laurence Olivier/Merle Oberon Wuthering Heights. Even though I don't understand it yet, I just know this movie is one of the sources of my crooked childhood fantasies of love and health, of my learned dysamory. (Dysamory should totally be a word! And so it is, sez me.) The other source may be Janis Ian ("In the Winter," "Watercolours)".

When I was in my early 20's I went to a double feature at the Brattle Theatre, ostensibly billed as a Willie Wyler festival. I went to see Wuthering Heights. The Heiress was the first of the two shown movies shown.

I was all set for the catharsis of Healthcliffe and Cathy's twu luv when all of sudden people in the audience laughed. I couldn't tell you what scene they balked at, as this was 20 years ago, but I remember the sense of assault I felt. How dare they find twu luv funny! Or really HOW DARE THEY FIND TWU LUV FUNNY! FLOUNCITY FLOUNCE FLOUNCE.

Although I didn't know it at the time, nor can I be 100 percent sure due to time and self ignorance, but this may have been my first lesson in irony. Before the movie was over my naïveté was fursploded. I was simultaneously ashamed of my intellectual squalor and skipping to my lou my darling on the yellow brick road of condescension, undeservedly.

I wouldn't realize for another 10 or so years that irony does not come naturally to me. (Note to self: rabbit hole = not being able to stomach Jane. My one dimensional conceit would be a source of even more shame.

Sucks for me, but fear not; I'm so beyond ready to find some humor in it. I'm impatient to laugh at my specious moroseness. Really I am so impatient I'm resigned to counterfeit patience. (Would a google map help? Dude, I'm ovah heeyah! )

Maybe it's my way of coping with the fact that what I love about Christmas is in it's waning phase. Maybe the distraction of the improbable fantasy of the Twilight Saga is here to rescue me from the reality until I learn how to face it more productively. That sounds reasonable enough.

Quick! Look! Lovely, tiny, little stitches. Yum.

confessions...horn tooting...hyperbole...you name it

2009-12-18T11:45:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I was all gung ho on getting the Christmas package to my sister wrapped up and ready to mail, as well as putting a dent in the gift wrapping, in general. My guest bedroom is a wreck with the gift and wrapping overflow. And most importantly, my cat Grissom is not happy his lair has been taken over by a five foot long, pink, stuffed pony. (I should get a picture of that.)

If he doesn't get in 16 hours* of this...

OMG the dirty looks would make Edward Cullen look like the poster boy of happy.

Anyway, I carved out some time to devote to wrapping and shipping and when I got down to it I couldn't find my nieces' gift card.

I automatically assumed I lost it and in the third of a second it took to go from "Christmas wrapping FUNSIES!" to "FUCK! I lost a big fat gift card," my Christmas mojo evaporated. Like poof, gone. Like, I am a failure, I better just pack it in now, take a couple of Tylenol, chased with some Advil, a tension headache is coming. Oh hello! Here it is. Where's the couch? I suck.

But today, mysteriously, I don't. Suck, that is. Knitting Kris said something nice about a project of mine on Ravelry and it got me thinking about myself and well, I am the Goddess of Cables. Didn't you know?

It's all because of this:

This is a cable washcloth I knit as a gift out of some Peaches & Creme cotton. Well, it's not that I knit it, per se, just that all I needed for this project was the first couple of rows of the cable pattern. My mind somehow infers the rest of the pattern.

I will miss the most obvious metaphor, but for some strange reason knitting cables comes very easily to me. (Well, the FO has more than one error, but that's because my attention to detail has been sucking wind, not because I didn't know what I should have done. Seriously the more I look at that the more errors I see. Whatta dope.)

So little comes easy to me. I've spent about ten or so years feeling like crap about myself, about my mind, about my abilities, about my worth as a human being, and well, now someone says something nice and I'm swinging ecstatically out on the opposite pole. The mood vacillations are severe, I can scare myself. Maybe it's menopause.

Or maybe it's just too much Twilight.

I have always been a drama llama. But coming in contact with the overwrought, long winded, ridiculously improbable story lines of the Twilight series, has brought me back in touch with my unique brand of crazy. And yesterday I was in Volterra (via audiobook)(for the umpteenth time) with Bella not thinking Edward loved me even though every thought and gesture bespeaks otherwise, and we were almost killed, and it was hard. Very hard. Life is hard. Being in love with a literally stone, ice cold Dionysis is hard. (OMG! Not only did I make a pun, I realized I punned!)

Seriuhsly, though. Seriuhsly. As Cleoland has taught me, "Twilight means never having to say you're kidding." This advice works in real life too. I remind myself, life is short. If it's not feeling sweet, it's best to move on and quickly. It's more fun to spend one's time knitting, than sulking on the couch, wallowing in disapprobation. I am a speshul angel snowflake, I may not remember where I put things sometimes, but with the knitting? Iz haz mad skillz.**

*Hyperbole, as is most of this post. Drama llama = me. Remember?

**The lolspeak is annoying, but I just.can't.help.myself. I'd say escape while you can, but the post is over...

Never underestimate the power of a good whine...

2009-12-14T07:30:00.000-05:00

I am a narcissist. A real one, like textbook real. My narcissism doesn't conform to the textbook definition, as well it shouldn't; personality disorders aren't one size fits all.

So, with an "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" mentality, I do spend considerable time performing mental gymnastics to make said narcissism less, well, narcissistic.

It does make sense. It does.

So Friday and Saturday I had a ferocious need to finish up my first Clothilde. It came out beautiful in the last of my Sundara Sport. I told myself that as soon as this was done I'd finish up the last bit of my Christmas knitting.

Midnight Moon Clothilde

This is what happened after I finished washing and blocking the Clothilde:

Strange Fruit Clothilde

And I did it with a chuckle, instead of disapprobation.

A woman's gotta knit what a woman's gotta knit.

I think part of my problem is that there is too much blue in my knitting basket. The original Clothilde and the Christmas socks are both blues. I chose the warmly edible hues of Strange Fruit for contrast. I think it worked because sometime yesterday afternoon, I had the urge to put the Clothilde down and take up the Christmas knitting. No longer am I a toe short of one sock as I was in the morning when I took progress shots:

I began the second sock last night and I feel I just may be focused enough to finish it up this week.

My whiny selfishness has been foiled, once again. (Hopefully I won't be eating these words in a day....)

Procrastin Eschewing Knits

2009-12-13T05:46:00.019-05:00

I was all gangbusters on my Christmas knitting.

Until I wasn't.

You know how it is, don't you? I'm trying not to paint myself into the "selfish hoar" corner, but depending on the moment, I'm either successful or I'm not. My mind knows I've been working on gift socks since October, and thinking and stashing for them as early as September. I'm on my last pair and I know I could do them if I just stick my mind to it but I donna wanna.

"Selfish hoar."

"Awwww, shutuppayouface."

All I can think about is that I haven't knit myself a pair of socks since May.

Waving Lace Socks
Sundara sock, Marina over Icicles.

And what good are buckets full of sock yarn if they're not being knit into socks for memememememe?

"None" would be the answer, but that would be incorrect. Sock yarn is good in and of itself; it doesn't need to be anything, it just needs to be.

"But still" she whines forevermore.

Comfort Knitting

2009-11-30T10:30:00.001-05:00

I'm pretty sure I've found my knitting sweet spot: the Shetland Triangle. I finished my 6th last week:

Febrillious

I finished my 5th a week or so before that:

Eire Shetland

Knitting this pattern smooths out all of life's rough edges.

It kinda bothered me at little that I wanted to knit this pattern again and again. There was a seven month gap between my second and third shawl. Real knitters knit new patterns, real knitters try new, more challenging projects. I felt the capital K in my knitting persona slip to it's lower case cousin, like a kid eating their sandwich in a bathroom stall after a month sitting at the cool kid's table.

Once I realized what I was allowing to happen, I wised up. It felt good facing up to my knitting superego and asking her to kindly shut her high falutin' trap.

1. Febrillious, 2. Eire Shetland, 3. Spruce Baby Llama Shetland, 4. Another Shetland, 5. Pink Granite Shetland Triangle, 6. Shetland Triangle

Viva la Shetland Triangle!

Fangirl, schmangirl...

2009-11-16T07:39:00.020-05:00

I have become such a fangirl of Sundara, I'm kinda making myself sick rereading some of these posts. Could I plug her yarns even more?

The answer to that would be yes.

(Surfer's Wave ASM reshot)

If I can't be a slavish fangirl in my own small crevice of cyberspace, then I ought to hang up my blogging shingle now. I'm back blogging with the sole purpose of being honest and open and true, to wax melodic or moronic, as my fancy strikes. So, yes, I love her colors, and her yarn bases. They inspire me to knit nicer things, to be a better photographer.

My husband and sister's family chipped in to buy me a nice camera last Christmas and I still don't know half of what it can do. Everything I've coaxed out of that baby was with the intention of taking better pictures of yarn.

I can't help musing that is pretty darn odd. Not that I didn't know I was odd.

Still, to learn something new about oneself at my age is a blessing. I've entered what I hope to be the longer second half of my life. Knowing I'll never have the blessing of children and grandchildren, nor the comfort of a god, the future can sometimes feel turbid. Having a passion, an ambition to nourish, generates some clarity.

(Western Landscapes ASM reshot)

Comme Ci, Comme Ça

2009-11-13T09:15:00.001-05:00

Not my best week, but not my worst either. I had a day off for Veteran's day on Wednesday and my mood didn't cooperate at all. The glory of a day off in the middle of the week escaped my grubby, chubby grasp, like a child digging for sand crabs.

I woke up discombobulated. I promptly became irritated, always being best at making things worse.

Ever since my seventh grade science and home room teacher, Mr. Longo, tried to teach us relaxation techniques in class, I have successfully failed at all types of meditation at least two handfuls of times. I just don't have a happy place and I just don't have the ability to keep the focus needed to relax my body.

In the past year, after attempting and failing once again at finding that mythical happy "place," it dawned on me that I have a happy "thing." Sometimes on Saturday mornings, when I lay in bed luxuriating in the fact I don't have to get up and take a shower and vacuum and do all the other irritating work week activities of daily living, I am happiest when I'm thinking about designing knits, or the visually stimulating colors of my stash, or the soft touch of one of my completed projects.

So now when I get into a bad place, I think about my stash, particularly my recently acquired Sundara stash, and specifically this poorly captured skein:

This yarn can scare away all save the most pernicious stress arousal. I really need to take a few more shots to better capture the colors, and do this glorious yarn the justice it deserves.

Getting back to my whine, here I am Wednesday morning, faced with a free day stretched before me like a wanderer's open road, I wallowed, and then I considered a little fiber therapy would do me good.

I got up, vacuumed the spare bedroom floor, took out my three cubes of Sundara stash, and did a little ogling and a little fondling.

I took out my camera too, thinking I'd take a picture. But "it" didn't work. I felt better, but still not aright. Bleh.

So I cleared out my knitting basket and decided a fresh start would be a better place to start. Clean basket, clear mind. And wouldn't you know it, it kinda worked. Last night I cast on my umpteenth Shetland Triangle in this effulgent colorway of Sundara's sport merino:

And once again, all seems right in the world.

All about the gifts...

2009-11-06T08:50:00.006-05:00

It's been a roller coaster week. The good news is that it seems to be ending on a sweeter note than it began.

I'm working on gift knitting, mostly. I expect to knit at least three pair of socks and one dishcloth for Christmas gifts. I would prefer if I could up the sock ante by two and the dishcloth ante by three, but I refuse to set myself up to fail. As long as I get the former amount done, any part of the latter finished will be gray-vay.

So far I have one pair done:

And a second pair on the needles (progress is from the weekend):

Both are knit in heavyweight STR and knit up faster than one could say supercalifragilisticispyalidocious. Seriously, in the time it took you to read that word, I nearly completed one sock.

The past two weeks have been spent working on a hat and mitt set for the deserving husbeast. We celebrated our 10 year anniversary a little over a month ago and I thought I'd knit him a hat and mitt set in heavenly Sundara ASM to show my appreciation for all his support this year.

I picked up two awesomesauce skeins of the ASM in the colorway "Between Dusk and Dawn" in September. I wasn't too thrilled with the color for myself, but as soon as I visualized using it for the husbeast, the color became an instant fave.

So, I promptly knit my first Koolhaas, or as I like to call it, a Cool Haas Luke.

I began the mitts with the second skein on the way up to the Vermont Sheep and Wool festival. Somewhere between a diner in Quechee, VT and home in Massachusetts, the project bag went missing. I spent about 4 hours obsessing about what had become of it and how to get it back. All roads seemed like too much work, with little chance of success, so I decided to quit while I was ahead and just move on.

And really, surprisingly, I did move on, and with much more ease than I expected. As if the universe wanted to reinforce the notion the project had bad juju, the hat, once washed and blocked, fit neither my husband nor me.

The only sting the loss of the project left is the missing pair of US5 Knit Picks 16" circular needles. I really miss them. After playing foot loose and fancy free with the moolah in August and September, resulting in me having to rearange my stash closet, and co-opt the guest bed closet, because I ran out of room to house my zillion skeins of yarn, I decided to impose a spending diet. Sadly this has to include needles because buying one pair of needles from Knitpicks is not cost effective. I would pay as much in shipping as the needles cost and they would take 10 days to get to me.

A few weeks later I'm was impelled to begin the project anew. One sunny Sunday I head down to my favorite LYS, Butterfly Yarns, and picked up a few skeins of some more durable, more husbeast friendly, Cascade 220. Stealing inspiration from Anne Hanson's Hot Waffles I made one hubby very very happy.

My husband has the most beautiful nose.

Stealing inspiration and other heresies...

2009-10-28T09:30:00.002-04:00

Most of the time I don't like using patterns. With larger items, like sweaters, it's a crap shoot on sizing. Even worse, I usually take long breaks with sweaters, so I am guaranteed to lose my place. I am meticulous about many, many things. Medical professionals might even add obsessive compulsive, but tracking my knitting progress is not one of these things.

When I put a sweater down for a few weeks, I'm not going to remember where I was. I'm just not. And to be honest, I don't want to track my progress so minutely, so carefully that I'll be able to pick up the project a week or two after having last worked on it and be able to pinpoint exactly where I am. That's just not my way of knitting.

If you couple this with a nature that thinks backtracking is the root of at least one or two evils, and a general preference for winging it, it makes absolutely no sense for me to knit from patterns.

Now this means it took me a lot longer to ramp up to the knowledge I have today than some knitters, or even most knitters. But knitting isn't a contest for me. Yes, I feel a little competitive with other knitters who have stunning project pages, but it's just a feeling and it passes. Competition doesn't drive me to knit; color and texture and a sense of being useful do.

I had a bit of a crises of the mind this year and the only tether to society that I maintained throughout was reading the Ravelry forums. Hindsight will inform if this hindered or assisted my recovery, but I just couldn't help myself. On some days I was just downright addicted to the drama. Watching others crack under the Oceanic boot of the thought police was a great escape.

Is that a horrible thing to say? Yes, it is. And no, it isn't.

Many many moons ago, my dog died and I was devastated. Not being a drinker or a user of other mind altering substances, and not having the capacity to read, or the money for decent cable, the only escape I found was in computer games and cavorting with like minded gamers online. I became a high profile member of one game site, practically living my life online. I became very friendly, and very emotionally, but platonically, attached to another poster. Then one day that world imploded.

I lost what felt like a family. I lost a great deal of confidence in myself. Doubt surrounded me at every turn, and stayed with me for a long, long time.

So when I watch the implosions on ravelry, I am seeing all of my own mistakes over and over again. I am watching the attacks and feeling them personally over and over again. I read on rapturously as some posters make fun of the human foibles on display. Inhaling the snark, I tell myself, is a restorative for my dilapidated sense of self.

Seriously, who knows if this is true. I certainly won't claim to and it's my mind I'm talking about. It could have been a much-needed diversion. But what I took away from this pastime is a hypersensitivity to things I pleasantly ignored previously. Such as looking at for-sale patterns, getting inspired by designs, and then using that inspiration to knit my own thing.

Case in point: Wicked. I had the perfect yarn:

I love top down/raglan sweater construction. But...but...but I don't like the clingy fit, nor do I need a pouch to accentuate my own ample paunch. I just like the faux cable trimming. So the question that I have, the drama inducing dilemma I am concerned with, is when I knit my own version

and desire to give kudos to the artist who inspired me, I dutifully purchase the pattern, but become muddled when determining the correct etiquette in attributing my inspiration on Ravelry.

There are two strong viewpoints on this. Some designers have pointed out their irritation when people reference their pattern, but knit their own design, and have that FO appear alongside true-to-pattern FO's. Other designers bask in the glow of the sentiment that imitation is essentially flattery and encourage it. I understand both points of view. I agree with both points of view. And so, I remain conflicted.

But conflicted is better than jobless, or hungry, or homeless, or mentally ill.

Things I learned While Not Blogging

2009-10-21T08:11:00.009-04:00

I've learned a lot of things while not blogging.

1) I've been spelling won't wrong for 42 years. I really didn't know it was a contraction. How did I not know that?

2) I must accept that I am not a blogger. I am not a social creature and blogging is about sharing, which is a social behavior. As callous as this sounds, I do not want to open a dialogue with other knitters on a consistent basis. I don't want friends, I'd really rather be alone. With Ravelry I can weigh in when I want and then ignore when I want. There is no sense of obligation to be social, and this blog has become dead weight with obligation.

3) I don't really like knitting with lace weight yarn. My foray into needle arts began with crocheting lace. In college I would buy cheap mercerized cotton thread from the Coolidge Corner Woolworth's and try to make lace, and add lace onto whatever I could. I still have a bambooesque drink coaster that I added some Estonian lace work to.

And although I love fine lace, I don't want to wear it. It's far too dainty for my rough and tumble ways. I've been expanding my lace knitting with heavier yarn. Here is the last lace project I finished, the all-lace version of Ysolda's Ishbel.

The yarn is the Tulip colorway of Sundara's ASM (aran silky merino), a gorgeous single ply aran weight yarn that is so wonderful to work with, it is really yarn crack. No disrespect to the winning ways of Malabrigo, but their glorious worsted yarn is just a gateway drug compared to the ASM. Yum yum yummity yum.

And one skein of 200 yards made the perfect size neck shawlette.

4) I am not sure if I like knitting with Wollmeise. Blasphemy I know. More test knitting is needed.

The Deep End...

2009-07-23T09:11:00.009-04:00

This spring I fell off the deep end. I'm still making my way out. I hope to be back when I get there. In the meantime...

Zombeh Kitteh Is In Yer Bed:

Sleep iz hard

Sleep iz really, really hard

Rawr!

My Kingdom for Some Socks...

2009-03-21T19:46:00.022-04:00

My ability to ignore the obvious is monumental sometimes. The irony in my last post about keeping things in moderation, while showcasing two large gift projects cast on in the same week, took days to grasp. Not the brightest bulb on the tree, I am.

But moving right along, harnessing the willpower to clean out my knitting basket last month has finally borne its fruit. One of the projects I completed as part of this undertaking is a pair of cable rib socks in one of my most coveted colorways, Lorna Lace's Gold Hill (details ravelled).

Started as an easy Xmas travel project, on December 22, they lingered and lingered and then lingered some more on their needles. Almost two months passed before they were complete and when they were done, I questioned if I hadn't seen the last of any sock knitting for the forseable future.

(I was pretty disappointed by this yarn. In more than one location I found what I believe are clumps of white nylon.)

The ennui surrounding the project was the result of some free range dissatisfaction. It wasn't the projects fault, but it was over a week before I cast on another sock. Not a long stretch for many, probably, but for me it seemed like eons, but I think it felt like that because I knit very little on it for a week.

Well, this second pair of socks, my Woodland Embossed Leaves (details ravelled), were completed last night, and I can say with some authority that my sock mojo is back.

Within the hour I had decided on my next sock, the third pattern from Favorite Socks to find its way onto my needles, Nancy Bush's Waving Lace Socks (rav link).

I cast these on this morning and have made it through the first half of the second chart. The picture below was taken earlier today.

I adore this edging. Its delicate femininity caught my fancy the moment I first set eyes on the book.

Selfish knitting? Not what it's cracked up to be...

2009-03-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

My mind's been laid up for a few weeks. Two days after my last post I succumbed to a full week with the flu (again!). This time it ended with a nasty mental diversion à la The Yellow Wallpaper.

The idea of conversing with the world, even in the one-way medium of a blog, was anathema. Knitting was rare. Yet, my return to knitting was hindered not just by depression, I think, but a lack of motivation. It wasn't until I realized I should get cracking on some baby knits for a little bun in the oven of my husband's best friend's wife, that I was inspired to cast on and cast on with a vengeance. And so the daily knitting routine reasserted itself to much personal glee.

In retrospect, my exclamation a few weeks back about streamlining my gift knitting was short-sighted. The bad choices I made in allowing the gift knitting to take over last fall was reinterpreted falsely. I am propelled, as a knitter, by gift knitting. Giving it up dried up my motivation to knit for myself. I just need to keep things in moderation. Moderation is always where I fail. But knowing the accurate source of the problem means I can combat it better when it crops up again.

Which it might because my new projects are three. But before starting in on them, I want to note that I still have one pre 2009 project left, my Log Cabin Afghan:

It's getting there slowly but surely, but there's only so much garter stitch this knitter can take. I had a good run with it in February, but then I hit a saturation point. Afghan's have never been do or die knitting for me, whereas a sock or a sweater on the needles for seven months would be eating away at me. It's best this project remains in time out for a while.

So, when I finally allowed myself to cast on something new, something for myself, I was at a dead end. After failing to get something cast on with my Wollmeise stash, it took very little to be inspired by one of the gorgeous sock yarns I picked at the end of my January yarn binge. This is Woolen Rabbit's Harmony Sock in the Waterloo colorway.

I think it makes the perfect Embossed Leaf Sock!

At two weeks I only had 3/4 of sock to show for myself. Contrast that yardage to the past week and a half. I finished the first sock, knit 1/3 of the second leg, and made inroads on two new projects.

Using the excessive leftover Dalegarn Baby Ull I've had in my stash from the Yellow Toot project last year, I'm attempting my second EZ EPS inspired raglan bottom up sweater. I'm reusing the fair isle ribbon motifs from Yellow Toot, but taking inspiration from the color blocking of the Dream in Color Tulip Sweater.

I have high hopes for this project. But if it fails, I have a fallback with my second project, the Serenity baby blanket (rav link) which I am knitting in DIC Classy in the Chinatown Apple colorway.

This colorway is a lovely dusty brick red with olive and tan overtones. It is surprisingly similar to Gold Hill colorway of the cable rib socks I finished up last month.

Well, I think it is time for me to move on for the day. The unblogged FOs are piling up. I think I'll touch on those next.