A Puzzlement

First there was some Shetland wool I liked very much.



I recall distinctly that I bought this yarn from two different suppliers (Schoolhouse Press and Churchmouse Yarns and Teas) with the idea of combining it in a splendid new winter hat for me.

Next came notes and sketches and especially charts, because I love making charts. Sometimes I make charts in Illustrator, sometimes I make charts in my notebook. (Harry loves notebooks, especially Moleskine notebooks, and he gave me this one for Christmas.)



Then swatches, calculations, more notes and more charts. All to make a new winter hat for me.

Then there was knitting, to make a new winter hat for me. Knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting. There was ripping, of course–because Life, as a wise woman once observed, is often Like That.

But there was more knitting than ripping. At last, there was binding off and blocking of the new winter hat for me.

So why, please, am I sitting tête-à-tête with what is plainly a roaring twenties-inspired woman’s cloche?



A hat that would, to put it mildly, strike an incongruous note if paired with my customary winter ensemble of biker jacket and jeans?



That a meticulously planned piece of knitting should transform itself, phantomwise, between cast-on and blocking suggests either that I am prey to the twilight machinations of wool pixies; or that I am apt to veer wildly off course because I am easily distrac

Where Was I? Am I? Shall I Be?

One of the strongest knitting Podcasts out there is Mike Wade’s Fiber Beat. I’m honored to be the guest for Episode 14, and to have a signed copy of It Itches offered as the prize for the latest contest. Dolores was less pleased. Certain of her tastes and proclivities are given a thorough airing at the start of the program; she was going to sue, until her legal counsel pointed out that this would mean getting off the sofa.

I’m excited as a cat at a midnight mouse buffet to be heading to New York City next week to be part of the first-ever Vogue Knitting Live! (the exclamation point! makes it even more exciting!!) event, after which I bounce back home long enough to chuck clean socks in the suitcase before heading south to Houston, Texas.

In Texas I’ll be teaching and speaking at both the Knit at Night Guild, and at Twisted Yarns–please follow the links for complete information.

I have to go knit a new hat now. My head's cold. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with the cloche.

And Away We Go

Never fails. I get the apartment back in order and something happens to mess it up again. But at least this is a happy mess. Suitcases. Many suitcases. Tomorrow, we're away to our summer vacation.

"Don't you dare tell where we're going," said Dolores as I sat down to type. She was at the table eating breakfast while Harry mulled over the packing list.

"And why not?" I asked.

"Because mama needs an absolute rest," she sighed, running a hoof through the tangled fleece falling down over one eye.



"You just slept for fourteen hours," I said. "How tired can you possibly be?"

"Does it still count as sleeping if it starts as passing out?" said Harry.

"The point," huffed Dolores through a spoonful of Hay-Os, "is that the giddy whirl of my life requires periodic absences from the public eye. I gotta recharge. I need peace. I need solitude. I don't want to get there and find a bunch of smart-ass photographers waiting to catch me off guard. Remember what happened last time I went to Montreal to see Victorine? We were barely past baggage claim when they swarmed the car."

"That was because Victorine ran over a porter," I said. "Twice."

"It doesn't matter why they were there," she insisted. "The point is that they were there, right up in my face, snapping and flashing and asking impertinent questions. What's your name, madame? Why are you here? Did you not hear him scream the second time? Feh."

"I asked one of the policemen if I could get some copies of his photos for my scrapbook," said Harry. "But he never sent me any. I don't think his English was too good. So I just bought some postcards instead."

"Have you finished the packing yet?" said Dolores.

"No," said Harry.

"Then how is it that you have time to sit here and run your mouth?"

"I've got some questions about your list," said Harry. "I found all fourteen bathing suits, but I don't know what this is." He pointed to an item halfway down, surrounded by asterisks.

"Oh," said Dolores. "That's in the back of my bottom drawer. It's pink. Do me a favor, precious, and put it in your carry-on instead of mine, okay? Mine's a bit heavy. And throw in some extra batteries."

"Righty-o," chirped Harry.

"Don't give me that look," said Dolores as Harry rolled away. "Where we're going that's all the action I'm gonna get."

"I thought you needed absolute rest," I said. "And to be left alone."

"There's alone," said Dolores, "and there's alone. I don't mind being Lorelei on a rock as long as I can entertain the occasional sailor."

"The Lorelei used to entertain sailors so much that she killed them," I reminded her.

"I know," sighed Dolores. "Now that's technique."

While We're Away

I need a little vacation as much as Dolores, and while we're gone this blog will be quiet unless you'd care to chat amongst yourselves. However, if you'd like to hear me, please listen in on the next episode of the Knitmore Girls Podcast, which should pop up early next week. I had merry time with Jasmin and Gigi, mother and daughter 'casters.

We'll be back in a week or so, and will miss you terribly. If you wouldn't mind watering the violets, airing the sock yarn and taking in the newspaper I'd be much obliged and will bring you back a little something.

Three Announcements

Item the First: Pondemonium

Almost two years ago, at a Stitch 'n' Bitch at Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art, our own Jen Small passed around a design that she'd just submitted for publication.

Now, one of the first patterns I ever followed was Jen's bunny hat from Stitch 'n' Bitch Nation. And this new piece–a child's sweater–was another example of her rare ability to tiptoe along the whimsical boundary waters on the far edge of the Meadow of Cute without pitching headfirst into the Swamp of Sickening.

I loved the sweater so much that I've watched for it to show up in print and talked about it to probably forty knitters, none of whom had even asked.

Well, happy news: It's available, as "Pondemonium," from Jimmy Beans Wool. Fair Isle, seamless, sized for babies and toddlers (6, 12, and 18 months). And the real kicker? It's free. Go get it.



Note elbow patches shaped like lily pads. I'm plotzing.

Item the Second: FibreFest North 2007

My Canadian buddy, Ted aka Knitterguy, who knits gorgeous lace and spins gorgeous yarn, bubbling all the while with wisdom and good humor and completely misplaced modesty, is the brains behind FibreFest North,* a knitting weekend being held at the beautiful Waterview Resort near Wiarton, Ontario, September 28-30.

A look at the list of those who are already signed up is enough to make me spit nails, since I won't be of the party. Ted tells me there's still room and time to sign up. Go. Have a good time. Without me. See if I care.

Item the Third: On the Airr with Knitgrrl

Some time ago, Shannon Okey stopped in on her blog tour for Spin to Knit and Dolores got to her before I could. She has now asked me to appear on her Knitgrrl Show Podcast, but swears her motive is not revenge. We'll be on the air on this Friday at 2 p.m. United States Eastern Standard time, and you don't need an iPod to listen.

One unusual feature of this Podcast: listeners can call in and talk with us. No, I don't understand exactly how it works, but apparently it does. Please resist the urge to dial if you're:

1. Dolores;
2. my mother, thinking it would be fun to tell 2,000 knitters the story of how I got tomato soup on the ceiling of our brand new house; or
   
3. any of my ex-boyfriends.

The rest of you are welcome to say hey.

*A lot of the people on the attendee list are American, so I guess it's okay to go even if you prefer to work with fiber.

In Other News

Meanwhile...

I'm a Writer

Sid Leavitt, whose name you may have noticed in the comments recently, has begun a blog in which he blogs about blogs: Readers and Writers Blog. Sid is and has been a pro in the word biz, and so I admit I was gratified to find out I'd been noticed, and favorably. Many thanks to Sid's mother-in-law, Virginia, for sending him over. And many thanks to Sid for his blog, which of course is beautifully written and a heck of a fun read.

Just one quibble, Sid. You say I don't have much in common with you "he-men" out there on the East Coast. And you're correct that I do knit and am a gay Zen Buddhist, but don't drink beer or watch sports. Instead, I bench press 80% of my body weight five mornings a week, and bike four miles on the other two, usually at dawn. Then I come home and do thirty minutes of zazen before heading to work.

So, I'm curious: what is it that qualifies one as a he-man? Must one kiss girls, or will a total lack of self-discipline suffice?

I'm a Reader

Over at Cast On, Brenda Dayne's Podcast for knitters, my essay "Advice from a Poncho" is the wrap-up to Brenda's series "The Secret Lives of Stitches." If you listen and like it (and you don't need an iPod to listen), please tell the boss so she'll have me on again.

Brenda herself presents some interviews she conducted at Wonderwool Wales, which for me is the highlight of the episode. Such wonderful people there - no wonder she stayed. (Although I suspect Tonia had something to do with it, as well.)

I'm a Knitter

The christening shawl has reached the final motif before the edging: a row of little pine trees all the way around the border. This child is a Mainer, after all.

I set off the row of trees from the preceding diamond trellis pattern with two rows of yo, k2tog. And I would like to tell you, in case you are wondering, that yo, k2tog on a round of nearly 900 stitches is boring as all fuck.

I'm a Photographer

I have not been able to count the number of responses I've had to my call for models for the 1,000 Knitters project. This makes me happier than words can express. I swear, there cannot be a more enthusiastic, can-do group of people on the planet than knitters.

Since it will be a little while before I can get back to all of you - we're talking hundreds of messages, I haven't even been able to look at all of them - here is a little mass update:

1. Thank you for your interest. I can't wait to meet you.
   
   
2. For those who can come to Chicago, it looks like I'm going to schedule one or more days for folks to come by and be snapped, probably at my home or some location on the north side, in the city proper. All the shots will be set against a simple, white drop, so the location itself is not terribly important.
   
   
3. For those who can't make it on group days, we'll see about setting up individual times.
   
   
4. For those who cannot come to Chicago, wanderlust is overtaking me at the sight of your various locations. There must be some way to get my Canon together and take it on the road without bankrupting myself or losing my job, and I'm going to find it.
   
   
5. I have heard from a potential sponsor at the Stitches Midwest Marketplace. A really good sponsor. I would totally tell you more but I can't tell you more right now. Isn't the suspense just awful?
   

Dolores Announces

Hi, it's Dolores.

What a freakin' week, cupcakes. Not only have rehearsals for my upcoming revue at the Lucky Horseshoe kicked into high gear, but I have big news about some other new projects.

First: the Boss has finally agreed to launch Dolores Bébés, my new line of clothing for the Very Young and Impressionable. Check out the shop for designs and details. It's never too early to expose your children to a positive role model, so spend lavishly. Furthermore, I get a cut of the profits and I need not remind you that Virginia Slims don't come free.



Second: response to my call for questions has been, in a word, tremendous.

I knew the world was full of troubled souls, I just didn't know so many of them read this blog. Harry got emotionally overwhelmed trying to screen the letters and so I'm sending him to Branson, Missouri for a couple of days to chill out and maybe catch a few shows. (Ever since he discovered Franklin's hidden stash of Donny and Marie bootlegs, he's been a big fan of the Osmonds.)

Now I've read your cries for help, and I've decided there's too much good stuff for just a blog entry. Would Oprah settle for a blog entry? Would Dr. Phil be content with 200 measly words? Would those smug bitches on "The View" consider the humble written word a suitable outlet for their messages of hope and goodwill?

Me neither.

The networks don't seem to be returning calls this week, so I've decided to sidestep them and pour forth my wisdom via a Podcast to be produced by the newly-formed Dolores Van Hoofen Omnimedia. I've taken a leaf out of Barbra's book and designated myself producer, director, and star. I'm trying to get Sondheim to write me a love theme, but he doesn't seem to be returning calls either. What's the matter, Stephen? You still sulking in your tent over Bounce?

I guess maybe I would be, too.

The Girl Can't Help It

Say about her what you will, but Hester Prynne was certainly the most famous gal in the village. And it seems that history is repeating itself.

I was without an iPod (horrors) for about two weeks and so hadn't been in step with Brenda Dayne's Cast On. Just imagine my surprise when I listened to Episode 22 and heard her dedicate a song to my Sheep in Residence. Not to me, mind you. To Dolores.

Dolores took it all in stride.

"I suppose I should have warned you this might happen," she said. "Le spectacle, c'est moi. There's just something magnetic about me."

"I thought that was static electricity."

"Envy ill becomes you, munchkin," she sniffed. "In any case, Brenda obviously knew of my avant-garde dance career in the mid-seventies and chose to acknowledge it in song."

"Dolores, you were a stripper in a hay bar in Times Square."

"It was site-specific performance art. I was making a comment about the exploitation of livestock by modern agribusiness. I had a grant from the NEA. Did they teach you anything at Harvard or what?"



And now Little Miss Popular even has a mention in the Museum of Kitschy Stitches curated by Stitchy McYarnpants.

"At some point," said Dolores, "I think we may need to discuss the fact that I sleep on a cushion next to the Victrola."

I wonder if Bo Peep had to put up with shit like this?

Aristocracy Fixation

It's been so long since I posted any project photographs, I decided I'd better show you something in order to preserve my meagre allotment of knitter's street cred.

(If you're a new reader, welcome. Also, apologies. This is a very odd knitting blog in that actual yarn makes only occasional appearances. I keep meaning to post the latest ten rows of my whatever and never quite get around to it. So I draw pictures to distract you. Now you know the custom of the country.)

Here's the Regicide Scarf, front (right) and back (left).



I am still deeply in love with this yarn, which is Four Play from Brooks Farm. I can't believe how much yardage was included in the skein for a mere $14 or $16 (can't quite remember which). The scarf is 6 inches wide and a bit over 4 feet long, and I still have a good 1/2 the ball left to knit. That's generosity.

As you can see, the reverse of the scarf has the pebbly texture of reverse stockinette, because that's mostly what it is. There are traces visible of the King Charles Brocade diagonals, but they disappear at two paces. I quite like the look, especially in the variegated colorway.

C was away this weekend in New York City, so I spent a lot of time on another project as well, the square baby shawl from Elizabeth Zimmermann's Knitter's Almanac. I'm working it in Dale Baby Ull.

The shawl pattern is simple (two paragraphs or so) but includes a lot of fun stuff, like Emily Ocker's Circular Cast-On (done with a crochet hook). If unaltered, it produces a very simple square with faggot stitch dividing the four plain stockinette quarters.

I decided to put Version II of the Tulip Lace from Barbara Walker Volume I into each quarter, with the strong central line of the stem running diagonally to the corners of the square. I also plan on a lace edging using some Shetland pattern or another, courtesy of Sharon Miller's Heirloom Knitting. My first attempt was good, but not what I'd hoped for. I frogged it all completely, started over, and am much happier.

Pictures forthcoming. No, seriously.

I finished the beginning of the shawl during the final minutes of the last episode of The Pallisers, and so in honor of one of my favorite characters from English fiction I have re-named the project "Glencora." (Susan Hampshire, I love you.)

A scarf commemorating a dead king and a shawl named after the fictional Duchess of Omnium. Boy, some democrat I am.

Cast On: Episode 17

Thank you for all the enthusiastic comments about Episode 17 of Cast On. My dominant feeling is relief. Relief that my trusty essayists (C and Buzz) turned up trumps in both writing and performance. Relief that I got my bits recorded. Relief that said bits successfully arrived in Wales. Relief that I did not, in fact, sink Brenda's ship by rambling on incoherently and then making everybody listen to bluegrass.

People have been asking to see the sweater with the Latin inscription worked into it. It's here.

My Former High School

A concerned parent from Honolulu also wanted to know the name of the awful high school I went to. Here's their Web site. My disappointment at learning that the place hasn't been shut down and replaced by condominiums or a Pizza Hut knows no bounds.

I was particularly amused to find the following listed as an aspect of the school's educational mission:

Celebrates the value and dignity of each person and nurtures the development of the whole person.

I guess the faculty are no longer allowed to publicly single out members of the student body who ask questions like "Why are there no female authors on any of our reading lists?" as "stupid fucking faggots."

They've probably also dropped the lesson in biology class where AIDS is explained as God's punishment on men who sleep with men. And the attempts in gym class to find out who was gay so that they could torture the suspects.

(Before anybody starts an anti-Catholic or anti-Catholic school tirade in the comments, don't. I have [extremely] bad memories of this particular school. I don't allow slams at any religion on this blog, and I'll delete them without exception or apology. So hold your fire.)

And Finally

Hot gay cowboys on pretty horses.





See? You forgot all about how I didn't take pictures of the baby shawl, didn't you?