The Development of Communication in the Human Niece

They warn you about this day in Uncle School. They tell you there's no way to avoid it, but not to fear it. Just be prepared, they say. It comes to all uncles, sooner or later.

Yet you believe in your secret heart that your niece–who is exceptional in so many other respects–will be different.

But human nature will out.



The day does come. And though you swore you would not suffer it gladly, after the briefest hesitation you straighten your back, pull out your sketch book, marshall your knitting needles, and start swatching with the excruciatingly pink 220 Sport that has suddenly, as though by magic, arrived in the mail from Cascade.

How did they know? Because everyone knows. Even you knew, though you tried to deny it.

Oh, well. Amor vincit omnia.

More to come.

Do Not Do This

When you are sitting in a coffee shop working on an entry about the amazing stuff you saw at Stitches Midwest, and you look up what you know perfectly well to be a lace weight yarn in both Ravelry and Yarndex to double-check the fiber content, and you note that in both places this lace yarn is listed as fingering weight, do not accidentally exclaim in your outside voice, "Fingering my ass!"

The Five Stages of Niebling

1. Denial. "I really don't care if I never knit a pattern by Herbert Niebling. Hundreds of millions of people are born, live and die without ever knitting a Niebling; and yet they lead happy, fulfilling lives. What do I need with a doily, anyway? I don't even like doilies. No, I am absolutely not going to buy this book of lace patterns by Herbert Niebling."

2. Anger. "You know what, you stupid m-----f----ing doily? There's no law that says I am required to finish you. I can't be arrested for refusing to undo the same four rounds again. I could go shoe shopping or watch 'The Bachelorette' like a normal person. But first, I could cut you up into little pieces and use you stuff a cat toy. I've got the scissors right here. How would you like that, stupid doily? You want to end up inside a cat toy? How does that sound, m----f---er? Answer me! Shut up!"

3. Bargaining. "Listen, if we can just get to the end of this round of blossoms without running into any errata, I'll make a handsome donation to the American Society for the Preservation of Antimacassars and we'll go get some ice cream."

4. Depression. "A doily. A floral doily. In twenty-first century urban America. Stacks and boxes of thousands of unused, neglected doilies going for a nickel each at garage sales all over the place–and I'm knitting another one. Why? Why bother to bring another doily into a world that doesn't want it?"

5. Acceptance. "It wasn't so bad, really.



Of course, I'm not going to knit another one.



One is plenty.



I really don't care if I never knit another pattern by...[repeat from Stage One]."

Hello, Dolly

My reputation as an ass-kicking, macho all-American he-man precedes me; so I need not explain how excited I was to find myself with a legitimate work-related reason to buy a late Victorian porcelain shoulder head doll.

This is Ethel.



I found her ignominiously tumbled into a heap of plastic action figures and cheap jewelry on a table at the Kane County Fairgrounds. She was filthy but intact (I know the feeling) and marked with a ridiculously low price, which I whittled away to a shockingly low price.

Ethel is a "Pet Name" doll, manufactured by the German firm Hertwig. The Pet Name line was created in 1895 specifically for export to the United States, presumably because then as now American children were considered too unimaginative to do anything so taxing as name their own dolls.

As you can see, she's minus her original body, which likely was sewn from cloth printed in American flags or the letters of the alphabet. After studying a bunch of photographs of extant period pieces, I cut up an old cotton bed sheet and fashioned a new one. It came out tolerably well, I think, given that the sewing machine and I are still getting acquainted. All that's left is to embroider her fingers and stitch the whole assembly to her shoulders.

Before I do that, though, Ethel has asked leave to present her very striking signature series of tableaux vivants, "Impressions of Famous Women."

Mary, Queen of Scots:



Marie Antoinette:



Anne Boleyn:



And she says this one is either Ann Coulter or Jan Brewer:



(Don't blame me. Ethel's politics are her own business.)

A Conversation with Herbert Niebling (1905-1966)

Transcription of a séance conducted this afternoon chez Panopticon.

Present in body:

• Dolores Van Hoofen
• Franklin Habit
• Harry Bollasockyarn (secretary)

We gathered at 3:30 pm around Franklin’s brand-new Knitters’ Special Edition Ouija board.



DVH: Yo, ghosties! Speak to me!

FMH: Dolores, the instruction book says spirits won’t show up if you don’t take it seriously.

DVH: Right. I don’t understand why you can’t just post these questions in the “I’d Fuck Herbert Niebling to Get Free Patterns” group on Ravelry.

FMH: Because whenever possible, I prefer to get my answers direct from the source. Even if he’s dead.

DVH: Harry, let the record show that Franklin has been huffing the Eucalan again.

FMH: If you have something better to do today, I can call Mrs. Teitelbaum.

DVH: Or you could wait for Fred and Velma to drive up in the Mystery Machine.

FMH: Are we doing this or not?

DVH: We are. We are. Fine. Just let me top up my tea. More tea, Harry.

HB: One olive or two?

DVH: Olives? Am I having breakfast?

FMH: Put your damn hoof on the damn pointer.

DVH: Done.

FMH: And no pushing it.

DVH: Oh, please. I want this thing to work so I can ask Elizabeth Zimmermann a few choice questions.

FMH: I am the one asking the questions. You are sitting quietly and not pushing.

DVH: Whatever you say, Professor Dumbledore.

FMH: Alrighty. [cough] Ahem. Um...Testing. One, two, three.

DVH: Is this a séance or are you addressing a knitting guild?

FMH: Hoof on pointer. Mouth shut.

DVH: Oopsie.

FMH: Now. Are there any spirits with us in the room?

[Pointer moves to YES.]

DVH: Holy crap.

FMH: Are you pushing it?

DVH: Sir, your accusation wounds me.

FMH: Spirit, tell us, what is your name?

[Pointer spells out ABRAHAM LINCOLN.]

FMH: Whoa.

DVH: Hot. I like tall guys with facial hair.

AL: THANK YOU KINDLY

DVH: Is your crazy wife in the room, too, or may I speak frankly?

FMH: Dolores!

AL: SHE ALWAYS GETS HER HAIR DONE ON THURSDAY AFTERNOONS WONT BE BACK FOR TWO HOURS

DVH: Ooh. So…what are you wearing?

AL: YOURE A SAUCY THING, PRETTY MISS

DVH: Oh, go on, you big lug. [giggles]

AL: DID YOU EVER HEAR THE ONE ABOUT THE NAUGHTY EWE AND THE PREACHERS SON

FMH: I hate to interrupt, Mr. Lincoln, but we’re wondering if there’s a guy named Herbert Niebling floating around there by any chance?

DVH: Killjoy.

AL: IS HE A WEIRD GERMAN WHO KNITS DOILIES ALL THE TIME

FMH: That would be him.

AL: HANG ON A SEC

[Brief silence. Pointer moves to SHUT UP, I’M COUNTING.]

DVH: Typical.

FMH: Quiet, it’s moving again.

HN: THIS IS NIEBLING WHO THE HELL ARE YOU

FMH: Mr. Niebling, sir, oh my gosh...My name’s Franklin and I’m a knitter, and I really love your work. I just started knitting one of your patterns for the first time. It’s so much fun–and so beautiful. Gosh, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you!

HN: FOR THIS YOU INTERRUPT MY SOAP OPERA

FMH: Oh. I’m sorry.

HN: IS OK WE HAVE TIVO

FMH: Whew. So can I ask you some questions about the doily?

HN: WHICH ONE IS IT

FMH: The piece with the gloxinia blossoms from Gestrickte Spitzendecken.

HN: WTF IS A GLOXINIA

FMH: Well, I think they’re gloxinia blossoms. Maybe they’re daffodils?

DVH: I thought they were petunias.

HN: MAYBE INSTEAD OF ME YOU PEOPLE SHOULD BOTHER A DEAD HORTICULTURIST

FMH: Honestly, the type of flower doesn’t matter. I just wanted to ask you about the funky maneuver on round 60.

HN: FUNKY UNUSUAL OR FUNKY LIKE JAMES BROWN

FMH: I mean “unusual.”

HN: NOBODY EVER COMPARES ME TO JAMES BROWN

FMH: I’m sorry. So, about the triple yarn over–

HN: I COULD HAVE BEEN VERY FUNKY YOU KNOW

FMH: I’m sure you could have, but–

HN: I WANTED TO JOIN HANS BREUER AND HIS HANOVERIAN SWEETHEARTS OF POLKA JAZZ BUT MAMA HAD A CONNIPTION WHEN I TOLD HER AND SHE LOCKED ME IN THE CELLAR WITH ONLY A CRUST OF BREAD AND A PIECE OF COLD SAUERBRATEN

FMH: That’s…sad. But–

HN: PEOPLE THINK GERMANS HAVE NO SOUL BUT LET ME TELL YOU WHEN I HAD A COUPLE OF STEINS UNDER MY BELT I COULD MAKE THAT ACCORDION SWING LIKE A CHEAP HOOKER ON A WINDY PLAYGROUND

DVH: Now we’re getting somewhere interesting.

FMH: Please, Mr. Niebling, do you think we could talk about lace?

HN: ALL I EVER GET TO TALK ABOUT IS LACE DONT YOU WANT TO HEAR ME PLAY THE ACCORDION

HB: I do! I love the accordion! Do you know “Lady of Spain?”

HN: THATS ONE OF MY PARTY PIECES

HB: Oh boy!

HN: THIS IS NICE FOR A CHANGE ALL ANYBODY EVER WANTS ME TO TALK ABOUT IS THOSE FRIGGING DOILIES

DVH: Personally I wouldn’t mind hearing more about the hooker in the wind.

FMH: Honestly, Mr. Niebling, it’s just a quick question about the triple yarn over in Round 60.

HN: GOTT IN HIMMEL IS HE ALWAYS LIKE THIS

DVH: Pretty much.

HN: IM SO SORRY

FMH: I think we’re finished, here.

DVH: Wait a sec. Hey, Herbie–is Elizabeth Zimmermann there by any chance?

HN: WE JAM TOGETHER TONIGHT AT 7 SHE REALLY WAILS ON THAT BASS GUITAR MAYBE YOU WOULD CARE TO SIT IN

DVH: I could clear my schedule. You need a singer?

FMH: I feel that I have become superfluous to this conversation.

HN: YOUR LITTLE BALD FRIEND THERE IS A BUZZKILL

DVH: You don’t know the half of it.

HN: HEY HOW ABOUT AS A JOKE I GET THIS POLTERGEIST BUDDY OF MINE TO BUST IN ON HIM WHEN HES TAKING A SHOWER

DVH: That would be a scream. You should totally do that.

FMH: Hello! Hello! Still in the room!

HN: ROFLMAO

[And then Franklin threw the board at the wall, so I don’t think we will be having another séance real soon.]

Respectfully submitted,