Off the Top of My Head

Honk if you've heard this one:

1. "I could never just sit there and knit. I don't have the patience."
   
   
2. "My grandmother / Aunt Betsy / sainted mama / Avon lady / Girl Scout Leader/ field hockey coach used to do that!"
   
   
3. "I think it's so sad that nobody knits any more."
   
   
4. "How much would you charge to make me a [name of project]?"

My favorite of these is number three, because it leads me inevitably to the conclusion that I have died and am now a ghost. I would love to be a ghost, because the list of people I plan to haunt is longer than my nose and I might as well get on with it.

My least favorite comment is the last, because the well-meaning person who asks to hire your needles is seldom prepared for any answer you may give.

• "I don't sell my work" sounds snotty (even if you don't mean to be).
  
  
• "You couldn't afford it" sounds presumptuous (because it is).
  
  
• "For a pair of socks like this, at least three hundred bucks" will bring a gasp of disbelief followed by a minor cardiac event. And once the paramedics have left and the spilled drink is mopped up, you have to talk to the innocent victim about fair trade, and the rights of artisans to earn a living wage, and the number of stitches in a sock, and Wal-Mart, and how actually, no, good yarn doesn't cost about a buck a ball.
  

Once in a great while, however, the questioner throws you a curve ball. A couple months ago, a good friend of mine asked about a hat for his wife. I hemmed. I hawed. I offered him another vodka stinger. He insisted.

I estimated the price of good yarn. He didn't blink.

I estimated the cost of labor. He blinked.

But then he said, "Okay. So, for that price could you have it ready in time for Christmas?"

Well, alrighty then. I could, and did, and here it is.

It's worked in Madeline Tosh Vintage.



I kept copious notes in case it might, some day, turn into a pattern.



In a few places the cables cross and travel at the same time, which is something I hadn't played with before. I love the effect, but I wrote on Twitter this reminded me of a diamond-studded toilet seat (pretty, but a pain in the ass) and Fiona Ellis got all mad at me.

Lessons learned:

• always quote a fair price, even if you think it won't possibly be accepted; and
  
  
• it never hurts offer the client another vodka stinger.
  

Stole Away

Yesterday afternoon, I finished my Print o' the Wave stole and put it on the blocking wires. This morning I set it free and spent a happy hour just playing with it: throwing it up in the air to watch it float, draping it over things, wrapping it seductively around my head while singing the Habanera from Carmen. You know, the usual.



I cast on in November 2008 at O'Hare Airport, waiting for a flight to London. I knit it in the air, I knit it (just a little bit) in England, I knit it on the sea voyage home. It went to Maine, Montana, Florida. It had layovers in New York and Minnesota. It has been on the subway and the bus, to restaurants and bars, to hotels, to the gym, to the library, to the homes of friends. It has been worked in moments of great happiness, of quiet reflection, of depression and frustration. It has been cooed over and it has been sworn at. (Mostly sworn at.)



I knit it specifically to show students who take my Introduction to Lace class what they'll be able to do with basic skills. It isn't a complicated project, really–just an endurance test.



Not that I didn't learn stuff. It's a rare and sad project that teaches you nothing new, right?

My great eureka moment came at (you should forgive the expression) the tail end, during the weaving-in. I remembered from Sharon Miller's Heirloom Knitting that the Shetland knitters (when working square shawls from the edging inwards) often sewed the four trapezoidal borders together while the piece was pinned out on a blocking frame. So I decided to weave my loose ends after the stole was dry, but still on the wires. Much more efficient, and the results were extremely satisfactory–a great improvement on my past performances. I'm sure I'm not the first person to figure this out, but as I can't remember reading the tip online anywhere I pass it along.



I knit this stole to show the students in my Introduction to Lace classes what they'll be able to do with their basic skills. I didn't have any large-scale inspirational pieces to hand since all my previous ventures in lace have been given away. (It's hard, sometimes, being a boy.)

The pattern is clear, it's free, and provided you take care at the transition points (i.e., picking up stitches for the border and grafting the ends of the edging) success is well within a beginner's grasp.



And it's so pretty. I am totally wearing this the next time I go to a monster truck rally.

Shout Out

I was invited to knit last night with a group of librarians from the Music Library Association (they're in town for a conference) and had a marvelous time. Thanks, y'all–especially Lisa, Laura Gayle and Cheryl. (I told them to check out Loopy's Knit Night tonight. Wish I could be there.)

Another Shout Out

To everybody who left encouraging comments for the creators of Redress. They've read them, they appreciate them, and they've promised to keep us posted about future incarnations. Thank you!

The Knitter Who Came in from the Cold

All systems go for this weekend's events in North Carolina. The photography class on Sunday morning is full, and a nice crowd has already signed up for the talk/reception on Saturday evening. (If you're interested in hearing my squeaky voice, more information is here).

A very nice North Carolinian wrote to warn me that the weather there is nippy and to bring sweaters. Honey, we in Chicago would sell our grandmothers for a day or two of "nippy." We rejoice in "nippy." We run naked in the garden when it's "nippy." I'm sitting here looking out the window at sheets of ice the size of Madison Square Garden bobbing on the lake. Still, you are kind to worry about my comfort, and I promise to reciprocate with a weather advisory should you ever visit our fair city in winter. (Our version of your "nippy" is "bone-crushing.")

Be It Ever So Humble

I am writing from home. Home. At my desk, on my computer, surrounded by my books and my yarn. No smoke damage, no dreadful smell. To say I feel fortunate does not begin to do justice to the situation.

It was extremely heartening to get all your good wishes during my brief exile. Mind you, I cannot pretend I underwent some terrific ordeal. I had a pleasant place to stay just blocks away, I managed to get some work done, and the biggest loss I suffered was the contents of the refrigerator. But it's still great to be returning to...normal? Can I use that word in describing my life?

This morning I have an illustration for Yarn Market News to finish and ship, but I paused briefly to finish up two projects.

The first is a striped scarf made from Noro Silk Garden.





I used a mix of the Lite and Full-Fat weights and honestly, I can't see much of a difference between them. I picked colorways that were close together, and as I'd hoped there are places where the striping shifts from sharp to extremely subtle. Those soft passages, which look like blended watercolors, keep the stripes from looking too mechanical.

A confession: it's short. Well, short for a scarf I might wear myself. It's about five feet. But I had to stop, because I was bored to tears. The color surprises were fun for about four-and-a-half feet; and then I started thinking, "Stripes? Yeah? Big whoop. What else ya got?" When you start taunting your knitting, it's time to move along.

A million versions of this idea are scattered about, but I used Jared Flood's excellent variations as posted on his blog. I'm a big fan of Jared's work–he has the command of fine detail that, to me, separates a true designer from a clever knitter.

And I finished up Tom's Watch Cap.



This sucker is warm. Even the phrenology bust broke a sweat while I was making the photograph.

It was a fun knit. For the most part I followed Elizabeth's instructions in The Opinionated Knitter (the collection of her original newsletters, published by Schoolhouse Press). However, I did make two modifications:

1. On the first round after the brioche, I worked k1, p2tog to close up the yarn-overs and keep the ribbing consistent.
   
   
2. I worked a second round of slip-knit-pass after the stockinette on the crown immediately before drawing it all together.

I'd love to sit and knit some more, but the crew wants lunch and we have no food in the house. If I don't act fast, Dolores will put on her lacy apron and start handing around Jello shooters.

In the Nick of Time

When Abigail was born, I was admonished from all quarters to enjoy every moment of her babyhood because babies grow like mushrooms after a warm rain.

I thought I comprehended this fully, until I arrived for Christmas to find the sweet but mostly inert lump-in-a-blanket I'd seen in July had sprouted arms, legs, and motor skills. Here she is accompanying me in selections from Schubert's Winterreise on Christmas Day.



That was a real kick in the ass to finish the incomplete Debbie Bliss baby kimono I'd had lying around the apartment since August. I'd made it in the 9-12 month size when Abigail at 9-12 months seemed a remote possibility. Now I had minutes to sew the thing up before she'd outgrow it.

My experience with seaming is limited, but I admit (at the risk of being smacked in the head by several of you) that I actually enjoy it. The seams (in spite of my incomplete grasp of proper shoulder technique) were not the problem.

The problem was the embroidery. In My Baby Is Better Dressed Than Your Baby, Ms. Bliss covers the kimono with little daisies rendered in embroidery floss. The effect is charming and in perfect taste, but I wanted...I dunno. Something with a little more oomph. And there was no way I could finish until I'd settled upon the perfect solution.

I consulted Ravelry to see what others had done. No help there. Of the four Ravelers who list this piece as a finished object, only one has bothered with embroidery–and she notes that she hated doing it.

I wanted to push the envelope, if at all possible. Grandly disregarding that my needlework skills have been rusting in the toolshed for over a decade, I hunted down photographs of traditional Japanese, Chinese, and Arab motifs. For a long time I fancied the idea of a dragon swirling around the back, over the shoulders and down the front. Alas, a few small samplers brought home the realization that it would take me another year of work to bring my skill set and my idea into alignment.

Meanwhile, Abigail would move out of baby clothes entirely and begin asking "Does this cut me in the middle?" and "Does this make my butt look big?" and the other questions forced upon ever-younger females in our present Era of Enlightenment.

I was on the verge of giving up and sprinkling the damn piece with the damn daisies when I looked down at my breakfast and realized what I'd do.

Not a dragon. Dragonflies.



That motif, happily, was within my grasp (once I'd practiced French knots a few dozen times). I actually used the simplified insect on the plate to work out my own design.



For good luck, Abigail's kimono has a very tiny swarm of three. One on the front:



And two in the back:



Now all I have to do is ship it express to Maine before she begins work on her dissertation.

They grow up so fast.