Entanglements, Various

I was in the workroom, trying to fit this year's books into last year's bookshelves, when Harry rolled in and asked whether he could have a yarn cave.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want a yarn cave," he said. "I was just watching that house hunting show with Dolores and the man didn't like the first seventeen houses because there was no space for a man cave where he could watch television without his wife. I want a yarn cave so I can watch television without Dolores."

"Dolores," I shouted, "stop hogging the television! I am not going to have this argument again."

"I couldn't agree with you more," she shouted back.

"It's not fair," said Harry. "I want to watch the new Learning Channel documentary about Yarn Pixies and she keeps putting on Emanuelle Goes to Maryland Sheep and Wool and telling me I have to leave the room."

"You two are really going to have to work this out yourselves."

"I want a yarn cave!" said Harry.

"We don't have space for a yarn cave. This is a big city. It's crowded. We live in an apartment. And it's a pretty nice apartment, as apartments go. Lots of yarn would be happy to have as much room to roll around as you have."

"Yarn cave! Yarn cave!"

"You know who has lots of room?" I said. "Mrs. Teitelbaum. Maybe you would like to go next door and see if she would let you move in with her and Tinkles."

"Maybe I will," said Harry, stomping off. "Then when I am gone, boy will you be sorry."

Hah. He'll be back. Won't he?

I can't blame Harry for feeling overcrowded. Even though I have a work room, the whole apartment has been a carnival of frenzied fiber activity for the past couple of months. It's good to be busy, but busy + yarn = tangles. By Christmas, after four months of near-constant travel, this place looked like the inside of an old sewing basket that had been shaken by a gorilla.  I conceded that it was time to address the mess when I tripped over a stray strand of merino in the kitchen and it knocked over a lamp in the bedroom.

Happily, a lot of works-in-progress are finished and can be tidied away. There's this, for example.



My first sweater design (in Cascade 220 Sport) for publication–the Men's Color Band Pullover from Vogue Knitting Winter 2012/13, which goes on sale the day after this writing.

I had a ball with it. We (the three guy designers in the story) were challenged to come up with a sweater we'd wear ourselves on a casual day at the office.

I only wish I looked like the model, but the sweater truly is something I'd wear.

It has very little ease, because I (and most men) look terrible in baggy sweaters. It tapers from the chest to the waist, because unshaped sweaters make me (and most men) look like they're wearing feed sacks. And though it has a basis in the traditional male palette of brown/earth/gray, I added purple and lavender houndstooth because life is too damned short wear nothing but brown/earth/gray.

There's this, a hat in so-called Bavarian Twisted Stitch. (Twisted, yes. Bavarian, not necessarily.)



It's a model for one of my new classes, débuting at Vogue Knitting Live! New York in just a little while. (That class is sold out, but a few of my other sessions have seats. Do come and play.)

There's also this.



Why, that's not knitting! That's not knitting at all! 

Nope, it's card weaving. Because I needed one more thing to do with string.

I've felt the urge to weave spring up once or twice, but always ran into roadblocks. A lack of space, for one. Also, the insistence of all my weaving friends and acquaintances that I would have to start with a plain dish towel.

I don't want to weave a plain dish towel. I want to make fabric with patterns. My weaving friends insisted that you cannot start out by weaving patterns, you have to start with a plain dish towel. Apparently this commandment is chiseled onto a stone tablet on a mountain near Taos.

I asked about all those unfortunate children who are forced into weaving patterned carpets. The horrors of their situation aside, if a five-year-old can weave patterns, why can't I?

Because you have to start with a plain dish towel, they said. It is written. Or chiseled, or something.

Then I met this guy when we were both teaching at the same event. He was working with tiny looms. So small they would easily fit on a coffee table. His beginning students were weaving bands covered in patterns.

So I said can you teach me, and John said yeah; and now I have a tiny loom and am making my own patterned bootlaces, which I think is hot.

We've become good buddies (he'll also be at Squam, teaching card weaving) and for the ducks of it we've decided to collaborate on a piece of design: a bag, with a knitted body and a woven strap.

Here's the yarn we're using: Cobasi by Hikoo.



Cobasi is a blend of COtton, BAmboo, and SIlk–get it?) distributed by Skacel. It is, in a word, groovy. The impetus was a desire to offer a really good wool-free sock yarn, and what they've come up with works equally well for knitting and card weaving.

Our challenge is to turn out a project that combines weaving and knitting in a beautiful, practical fashion. We're going to chronicle the development of the bag–for better or worse– right here in this space. More to come.

One Swatch, Two Hats, Zero Politics

It's Not an Error, It's a Design Feature

Remember that stitch pattern I promised to write down for you? The one from the vintage baby cardigan?

I sat down to work it out and realized that I'd knit the thing incorrectly.

I have an excuse. The Lister & Co. booklet is in rough shape. The first half of the pages have separated from the second half. The first half contained the key to the abbreviations. The second half is the half that came with me on the road. When I encountered "m1" (make one), I had to guess as to what it meant. It was a single increase, obviously–but what sort of increase?

Since this piece wasn't intended to be an accurate historical recreation, I didn't fuss over what was necessarily appropriate for the period. I tried my preferred "lifted increase" (making a new loop from the running thread between the stitches, and knitting it through the back). It looked good. I moved along.

Turns out, upon consulting the front half, that Lister's editor intended "m1" in this pattern to be a yarn over. (Yarn over in this book is also called "wfd" or "wool forward," which is in part why I assumed "m1" would not also be a yarn over; but the English like to toy with you in this fashion from time to time.)

So in knitting the swatch, I tried it both ways–mine and theirs.



Both have their attractions. Lister's yarn over produces a small hole in the center of the motif that I find very fetching. My lifted increase preserves the solid fabric and looks more like a cable. Use whichever you prefer.

This version of the pattern will give you the raised welt with two purl stitches on either side.

Multiple of 5 sts + 2

Row 1 (RS). *P2, k3. Rep from * ending p2.
Row 2. *K2, bring yarn to near side of work, sl next st as if to p, p2. Rep from *, ending k2.
Row 3. *P2, place right ndl across near side of work and pwise into 3rd knit st. Lift 3rd knit st over first and second knit sts and off the left ndl. K1, inc 1 (see note above), k1. Rep from *, ending p2.
Row 4. *K2, p3. Rep from * ending k2.
Repeat rows 1–4 until you are quite finished.

Two Hats, Both Alike in Dignity

By odd coincidence, I had two hat patterns hit the street within weeks of one another, both knit with yarns from the same company: Blue Moon Fiber Arts, the good people who bring you Socks That Rock.

The first is for Carol Sulcoski's new book, Sock Yarn Studio, a compendium of projects that are made from sock yarns, yet are not socks. I christened the design "Roselein" because of the very abstract little rose at the top of the crown.



It has ear flaps you begin at the lower ends with Judy's Magic Cast On. The cable pattern on the flaps, the brim and the crown is all the same basic pattern–it's the three different locations (and the number of repeats) that make it look so different.



Style note. The buttons and loops on the flaps are meant to be decorative. Unbuttoned: whimsical, carefree, gamine. Buttoned: idiotic. Warm, perhaps–but idiotic.

The other hat was actually knit for Blue Moon Fiber Arts, as part of their 2012 Rockin' Sock Club. Tina Newton, the head of the house, pairs up designers for each monthly installment, so you get two designs that use the same yarns. She paired me with Anna Zilboorg, because perpetual humilitation is my lot in life.

Anna made gorgeous socks. I made a colorwork hat with a band of bare, angular, slightly crazed branches. I call it Buckthorn.



There was some added fun with this one when Tina realized that the variegated yarn she'd sent us was too heavy for shipping. Hey, it could happen to anyone. That yarn had to be replaced with a lighter (but thicker) yarn in a different fiber, and with far less of it. I had to trash the original design and come up with a decent replacement. There are some little tricks in the pattern to make the most of the variegated yardage–plus a variegated curlicue on top for good measure.



If pressed, I would say that I made a stranded two-color autumn hat that doesn't have leaves or snowflakes in anywhere in it. Kids, I'm calling that a win.

And Finally

I had delightful company over the weekend–a weaver and spinner who convinced me it might be time to do something with the bobbin of Border Leicester that's been sitting on my wheel for...uh...three years. So I chain-plied it and now it's done. Fairly terrible, but done.



No, wait. I fib. It hadn't been sitting on my wheel for three years. Because last year, during the Tour de Fleece, I decided my goal would be to take it off the flyer and stick it on the bobbin rack. So I did. Then I had a celebratory finish line drink. And wouldn't you know my victory turned out to be more honest than Lance Armstrong's. Wanna buy my bracelet?

The Ysolda Show

It's Halloween night, and although it means missing a chance to rendezvous with the Great Pumpkin I'm staying in. No costume, unless you count the Japanese kimono I wear as a bathrobe. From the neck down, I suppose, you could call me Yum-Yum; but of course, from the neck down you can call me that on any night of the year.

But this afternoon I had a happy chance to play dress-up. Ysolda Teague came to Chicago for Vogue Knitting Live! and was one of the dozen or so faculty members who got stranded here due to that beastly storm that smashed the Northeast.

We were both more than a little glum about what's happened to New York, New Jersey, and environs; and decided to cheer ourselves with a rummage through the marvelous collection of hats (and a suit) that my grandmother left behind.

My grandmother was a true daughter of the Great Depression. She grew up knowing deprivation, and it taught her the twin virtues of thrift and carefulness. Things bought for "Best" were studiously tended and mended, and never thrown out unless they'd been worn, literally, to rags.

She also saved the lids from plastic margarine tubs, and left us an entire bag stuffed with them, but that's another entry.

After she died, up on the highest shelf of the bedroom closet, we found her hats. They ranged from the mid-1950s through the mid-1960s, and they were all–even the most delicate–in perfect condition, packed in tissue and labeled with her name. Most were made locally. One was even in its original box from Jen's, a Uniontown millinery back in the days when Uniontown was a handsome little place with a certain amount of dignity.

All those years–even after they were long out of fashion–once a year she'd take them down and tend them, re-pack them and put them back. The boxes weren't even dusty.

And at the back of the closet were three skirt suits (all wool with silk linings, two with fur collars). All looking as though they were made yesterday. One came home with me, and the other two are being sent along.

We were lacking much of what usually supports a proper photo shoot: no hairspray, no hairpins aside from the ones Ysolda was already wearing, no rollers or curling iron (such hair as I retain is naturally curly) and not much makeup. I hadn't pulled out the lights or reflectors, and needless to say we hadn't any wardrobe aside from the suit.

But we took advantage of the gentle north light in the dining room, and of the fact that it is damned near impossible to take a bad photograph of Ysolda. For a few shots, I draped her in the black velvet I keep handy for use as a backdrop.

Here's a selection from the afternoon. Any number of blogs can offer you a nightmare on Halloween. Me, I am honored to offer you a dream.

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.
  

Next Stop Reykjavik

Twice in one day. It's either feast or famine around here, isn't it? Not, come to think of it, that two brief posts constitute a feast.

Not unless you're one of the two French women at the next table, here in the Food Court at the Boston Logan International Terminal. They are having quite a heated conversation about how all the options here are too much, too much! They haven't mentioned liver attacks yet, but they're French, so it should come around any minute.

I happen to agree with them. It's too much, and it's disgusting. What passes for decent food in an Airport–any airport I've been through, even outside the United State–would be considered slop for half the price in the land outside the runways. I settled on Chinese food, like the two French women. They are splitting a single entrée, a bottle of water, and a cup of rice. They might consider these two entries a feast.

Notice how I finally remembered where I was going with that?

Oh, and the hat. I finished the hat, aside from weaving in the ends. I wound up just doing an asymmetrical garter-stitch brim. Here's a picture.



I hope you noticed the cleaning lady in the background, asking herself, "What in the Hell is he doing?" You work at an airport, honey. This cannot possibly be the weirdest thing you've seen today.

Maybe I should leave the needle in, and tell people who ask that it's an antenna. Better yet, leave the needle in and tell that to everyone, even if they don't ask. I bet I could get three seats all to myself.

Fine, it's not going to win any design awards, but it'll keep my flipping ears warm. It's also my first top-down hat, and it's a method I'll be delighted to repeat.

I could fuss with the brim some more, but I have to move on to the next project.

Because I forgot to pack a scarf.

PS They just said it! Crise de foie! I feel like I should yell, "Bingo!"

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.

We Now Pause for Location Identification

From where I'm sitting I can see a skyline, and the skyline includes the Sears Tower,* and I can hear the mayor's staff weeping softly,** so this must be Chicago. Which means I must have come back from somewhere and paused on the way to somewhere else. Which means I must stop dithering and write an entry before it's time to pack the suitcase again.

Travel Snapshots

Harry caught you up on the middle portion of the tour of Washington State (thanks, Harry) and here's the finale: Paradise Fibers in Spokane.

Spokane and Seattle are in the same state, but you wouldn't know it to look at them. To get from one to the other takes about four hours by car. And if you begin in Seattle, as I did, it's shocking to pass the through vibrantly green, rain-soaked mountains and find this waiting for you on the other side.



And I thought the two halves of my brain were a study in contrasts.

Paradise Fibers was ready for me.



I, on the other hand, wasn't quite ready for Paradise Fibers. Sure, they told me it would be...different. But I did not listen. And I was shocked.

In case you haven't been, here are some distinguishing characteristics that make the place Not Quite Your Usual LYS:

• Shares street frontage in a warehouse building with a porn shop;
• Sort of looks from the outside like a used auto parts dealership;
• Has one (1) female employee, the rest (including the owner) being (cute) (straight) males;
• Has enough square footage for the spinning wheels and looms to be in separate rooms;
• Has a sound studio and a race car garage tucked into odd corners;
• Served chicken kebabs to the students in both of my classes;
• Combines excellent, friendly service and an encyclopedic selection with a cool factor that is off the charts.

Travis and Sara, who run the joint, are a trip.



After teaching two full-to-the-brim sessions of my lace class to exuberant and often far-traveled students (including one from New Mexico and a whole pack from Idaho), I was plumb tuckered out. But these two are so engaging–every bit as cool as the shop they run–that I had to sit and up and chat with them for a while before drifting off to sleep in my beautiful room at the fabulous Montvale Hotel, which I am told once functioned as a whorehouse. Kids, it don't get no better than that.

Yup. I used the words "cool" and "fabulous" to describe a trip to Spokane. If you haven't been there, go see for yourself.

And I'm just back from another trip to the Pacific Northwest–to Knit-Purl, in Portland. (Jet lag now! Ask me how!) But the write-up is giving me a headache because I've been threatened by the locals with grievous bodily harm if I tell you how every good thing you've heard about Portland is true, even the things you would swear couldn't possibly be true. So I have to find some way of telling you what I did in Portland and showing you photos, and not making you want to drop everything and hire a moving truck.

Eastward, Ho!

In the meantime, here's a heads-up on another trip coming soon: Delaware. I'm going to be doing two events on October 10 at Stitches With Style in Newark. There will be a brunch in the morning at 9 am, followed by the "Introduction to Lace" class at 11:30 am. Both require that you please sign up, which you can do by calling (302) 453-8130. So do come, won't you?

Widdle Biddy Kiddie Hat Korner

Remember when I translated the antique baby hood pattern for Knitty and used a grumpy five-day-old model for the photographs, and a contingent from the Society for Mandatory Infantile Lighthearted Expressions (SMILE) marched on Chicago and pelted my front door with Cabbage Patch Dolls and Precious Moments figurines?

Well, the baby has grown, as I am told they do. Aside from the occasional bout of melancholia, she seems admirably even-tempered and free of permanent scarring from the ordeal.



I promised her parents a baby hat*** as compensation for her services. The hat is complete and awaiting delivery. Knitting it was a snap. Choosing a pattern was not. I waffled like a Belgian with a full jug of batter until I saw the Wayna Picchu Earflap Hat from bluegirl knits. And then I knew I'd found it.



Another compulsive piece of knitting, much like the Oliver sock. I think I worked it in three hours. Had me from the get-go, it did. And there's a grown-up version that may wind up on my head this winter.

The yarn? More of that Nordique from Véronik Avery, in oatmeal and chalk blue. (Shut up. I can stop knitting with Veronik's yarn any time I want to. I just don't want to.)



I don't know why, but I'm in love with the tone-on-tone thing lately. I keep swatching with colorways that are so subtle in their variations they're almost, but not quite, monochrome. I have no idea where I'm going with it, of course–but since when has that ever stopped me?

*Yes, they changed the name. No, I don't care.
**You just know that when he gets back from Copenhagen, the beatings will begin. Good luck, Rio.
***We in the word biz call this "irony."

Hi.

So, where have I been?

Let's get this bit out of the way first.

It’s been more than a month since I’ve written because the tiny black dog (see illustration) who almost always trots along behind me got out in front, teeth bared in an unambiguous snarl, and backed me into a corner.

It happens. It’s been happening for years. I was overdue. And now I seem to have put the little nipper back in his place, at least for the time being. And while I’m terribly sorry not to have been in touch, and I've missed you intensely. But better silence out of me than grouching. Trust me. Where I grouch, no grass grows.

While I Was Out

It was for the best that just when I was most inclined to hide under the bed with a copy of Sartre, scribbling you said it, brother and oh, mais oui in the margins, I had promised to leave the apartment and mix with knitters.

And oh, Sweet Nancy Bush, have I ever been mixing. I should have KITCHEN AID stamped on my forehead and a dough hook stuck in my mouth.

I mixed close to home, teaching three classes on home turf at Loopy Yarns. And then I mixed far, far from home in Washington, at Renaissance Yarns (Kent), Paradise Fibers (Spokane), and an all-male knitting retreat in a decommissoned convent.

There’s no way I’m going to try to cram all of it into a single entry. I know I’ll run out of energy halfway through and wind up back under the bed listening to a bootleg of Diamanda Galas/Fiona Apple mash-ups.

The only thing is to rummage about in the filigreed bonbon box of memory and proffer random sweet bits to you as I grab them.

Crochet for Mixed Marriages

The genius behind my trip west was Brian Kohler, who works at (and designs for) Skacel, Inc.–the nice people who have grown spoiled and indolent on all the money I spend on Addi knitting needles.

Brian is doubtless familiar to some of you as That Guy Who is Knitting Seven Pairs of Socks at One Time on Two Circular Needles, because he is in fact knitting seven pairs of socks at one time on two circular needles. You can read about it here.

When he is not knitting seven pairs of socks at one time on two circular needles, Brian creates designs that are not only clever and beautiful but may even help us realize the fugitive vision of Peace in Our Time. Don’t believe me? Have a gander at this enigmatic little number.



It’s a crocheted Easter Yarmulke, perfect for those who have to dash from a Seder to the Egg Roll on the White House lawn without time to change outfits. All you do is give it a spin. Brian, would you be so kind as to demonstrate?



The coalition-building power of millinery. It gives one hope, don't you agree?

Back and There Again

Until this month, the Pacific Northwest was the one part of the United States I’d never visited. And I’m going back again¬–this time, to Portland. (I've only been trying to get out there for twenty years. It's about bloody time.)

If you’d like to hang out, and I so dearly hope you will, I’ll be at Knit Purl for a full-day class (Elizabeth Zimmermann’s Tomten Jacket and Garter Stitch Jacquard) and book signing on September 27, and a brand-spanking-new illustrated talk on September 28.

And then from the west, I head east. More on that (and so much else, my dears) tomorrow.

Baby Got Flack

You never think about how difficult it is to get your hands on a baby until you really need one in a hurry.

Such was my situation recently. I was photographing this thing and it was made absolutely clear to me that no substitutes for an infant head and shoulders would be acceptable. No pretty dollies, no hat stands, no Styrofoam balls or wads of crumpled tissue paper. Only the genuine article, and pronto. Knitty waits for no man.

I live in a neighborhood that, in spite of its long-standing reputation as a haven for what used to be known as Confirmed Bachelors, is now increasingly home to young families. These days, you’re as liable to trip over a nanny on Halsted Street as you are a drag queen. Soccer mommies mixing with the leather daddies. Ah, progress.

Still, having more kids in the vicinity makes them no easier to borrow. You would be amazed at how reluctant city parents are to cooperate when you rush up–camera in one hand and baby hood in the other–and ask if they would kindly bung this onto junior’s head so you can snap a couple of quick frames. I had no idea strollers could move so fast.

Not neighborly, if you ask me. Downright standoffish.

I was about to concede defeat when a friend-of-a-friend obligingly gave birth to a bouncing baby girl. Together, we collaborated on a series of images that, judging from the response they’ve generated, are either too precious for words, or evidence that I am a child-hating untalented hack who should have my camera taken away and my knitting needles broken in half.



Me, I fall somewhere in the middle. These are far from my best work, having been made in five minutes in dim light so as not to tax either the baby or her mother. I did the best I could, which is sometimes all you can do. On the other hand, I applaud the model’s artistic choices. I feel they lift the series above the banal. Smiley kids are a dime a dozen. This one, like Margo Channing in All About Eve, obviously detests cheap sentiment. I love her for that. If the aura of enfance véritée turns some knitters away–well, I suppose that is the price one pays for pushing boundaries.

Proper Compensation

In lieu of payment, the model’s parents agreed to accept a hand-knit baby hat. Not the hood, obviously–it’s a wee bit much for daily wear in 2009. But a hat of my choice, and of course I want it to be a good one.

I started to whip up a little number of my own devising from the remnants of my Exceptional Niece Abigail’s™ Tulip Jacket. Some of it had gone into the embroidery for Bird and Berry, but there was still plenty to spare.

I did some pondering and charting, and cast on. At about this point in the proceedings,



I realized I have a problem.

I love this hat. Really love it. Really really really love it. Knitting it has been like a ride on a supercharged merry-go-round and I don’t want to get off. And there’s no way it’s leaving the family. It can’t go on me, since I don’t wear pink in the winter. So it’s going to Abigail.

Which means making another hat for the Other Baby. It won’t make any difference to her, or her mother. They haven’t seen this hat. And the other hat will be just as nice, I promise.

So why do I feel guilty?



Stop staring at me. Just stop. Stop it!

Invading America's Dairyland

A reminder to those in the vicinity of La Crosse, Wisconsin that I will have the honor and pleasure of joining you for your annual Knit in Public Day at the La Crosse Public Library. The theme is "Keeping You in Stitches: Knitting and Humor." I shall do my best to be especially funny from 6:30–7:30, when it's my turn to speak. (Natives, please advise. Are cheese jokes off limits?) The rest of the time, I will pursue my more usual course of trying not to say anything too stupid.

Pond Crossing Imminent

I grew up in a military family and we moved around a lot. To this day, the sight of brown cardboard packing boxes makes me as nostalgic as a whiff of dearest mama's green pepper casserole.

We spent so much time on the road that I was only six or seven when the first of my pre-trip rituals emerged. Books to be read while traveling had to be put into quarantine, literally set apart on their own shelf. They could not, under any circumstances, be opened until we were out of the driveway. I still do this.

Over the years a host of other ironclad customs have joined the first. Together, they form a lovely little framework of neurosis and superstition with which I shield myself from the fears that might, if I gave into them, possibly keep me from going anywhere at all.

The newest tradition debuted when I became a knitter. It comprises a 50-yard dash of finishing, weaving ends, blocking, and then worrying over the piece at it slllllooooooooowwwwwwwllllllyyyyy dries on a towel on the living room floor.

I know there are knitters out there who are much better about this sort of thing. They are never to be found frantically undoing blocking pins while the taxi to the airport is waiting downstairs. But there aren't any knitters like that in my apartment, which is good because I would smack them.

Well, a whopper of a trip is nigh. We're going to England today, Tom and I. It's a just brief jaunt, a whistle stop in London. And then we're sailing back on the Queen Mary 2. I can't believe it. Tom figured out how to do it without smashing all the piggy banks. He's smart like that.

So he gets a new knitted thing, in this case a simple but useful garment I'm calling the Transatlantic Hat.



It don't look like much but it was an interesting knit. First I did the outside - the cabled bit. Since the yarn is DK weight (the same I used in Grandma's Swallowtail Shawl) that made for a thin hat, not terribly warm. So, borrowing an idea from dear Elizabeth Zimmermann, I picked up stitches around the bottom and knit a lining for it in the same wool. And then, to make quite certain fierce Atlantic winds won't get through, I picked up stitches again and knit a roll-up brim in 2x2 ribbing to give extra protection to Tom's neck and cute little pink ears.

I'm sure there's a more efficient way to do all that, but since I was making it up as I went along I'm just happy it worked. I'm also happy it's finished. Even with a fan blowing on it, it took the sucker 48 hours to dry. At least I beat the taxi driver this time.

I Knit, You Knit, We All Knit at I Knit

I sent Queen Liz a gob of e-mails and kept poking her on Facebook, but she never got back to me so I'm going to hang out with knitters instead. I'll be at I Knit at 6:30 on Thursday evening, and as William the Conqueror said as he stood on the French side of English channel, I cannot freaking wait. I'll sign books and read some and draw some and generally natter away until they all throw shoes at me.

While I'm Away

The Etsy shop has been put into suspended animation for the duration, since there's no point in your ordering things when I can't ship them. The Guys with Yarn calendar will return to stock (along with prints, cards, etc.) when I get back. Meanwhile, the Cafe Press shop (which doesn't require my direct involvement) is still open for business for all your bag, shirt, ornament and thong needs.

During the trip I will have minimal access to e-mail, then no access to e-mail, because there's no way I'm going to pay Cunard's extortionate rates for a bad satellite connection in the middle of the ocean. Talk amongst yourselves, darlings, and I'll be back with a full report.

A Note to the All the Fibertarians

I can only imagine it's been a rough week for those who supported Dolores for President. I promise you it's been even rougher to live with her in the aftermath. She actually disappeared for about two days, presumably working through her disappointment in the company of one or more jockstrap-clad campaign advisors at the Lucky Horseshoe.

When she at last slunk back through the front door, she refused to receive visitors or answer her cell phone. Even very sweet overtures from the Obama camp regarding a cabinet post fell on deaf ears. I asked her if she might not want to issue a statement to all the loyal party members. She screamed "Thanks a million!" and threw an empty bottle of Everclear at my head.

And then, perhaps inspired by the sight of my own open suitcases, she left this note on the refrigerator.

There's no cure like travel. Have taken to the road to
rediscover my soul. Borrowed your rollerblades, your
portable sewing machine and your copy of The Eustace Diamonds.
Au revoir, cupcake.
P.S. Don't touch my stuff.

Knitting Report

There hasn't been much time for knitting this week, but it's rare and awful week that admits no time for knitting. This is what I took as travel knitting to Boston and back again.



I've had this yarn–it's Felici, from Knitpicks, in the Schooner colorway–in the cupboard for ages and kept meaning to try it out. The night before my flight east, it rolled out of the stash cupboard for the 11,232nd time and I said, Enough already, you're next.

I haven't used a self-striping yarn since my first socks, and here's why. When making things from scratch, I turn into a control freak. Just ask the poor souls at Interweave who got stuck on the team that put the little book together. (They'll be out of rehab in time for the launch, though, so all's well that ends well.)

Oh, I know. You figured that maybe with the Buddhism and the meditation and the potent pharmaceuticals I must be blissed-out all the time–one of those wispy artistes who likes to let go and invite the universe to step in, take my hand and lead me on a merry dance 'round the garden down paths unseen and unexpected.

Screw that. I don't have a garden, and if you dance down a path unseen and unexpected in my neighborhood park you're likely to get a nasty surprise. I have a hard time letting other fingers make changes to my work, even figurative fingers like yarn that decides on my behalf when the color is going to change and what the new color will be.

I broke down when I saw Schooner, though, because these are–wonder of wonders–colors I'd choose to use. And the stripes are real, bold stripes, which I prefer even though I acknowledge that they make my ankles look fast. And, you know, the stuff is from Knitpicks, so it's inexpensive but good quality–not much of a gamble.

Anyhow, I like it so far. I'm just doing a plain vanilla top-down sock with p1, k1b rib in the leg and the instep. Even under the most jittery circumstances–like hurtling through the air at 30,000 feet worrying that angry, disappointed knitters will throw eggs at you after your first lecture–you can still work on this without messing it up too much.

Shhhhhhh!

I also finished Evelyn Clark's deservedly famous Swallowtail Shawl as a present for a certain person in my life whose ninetieth birthday is being celebrated at a surprise party (a true surprise, since the actual birthday will be in January) this weekend. She doesn't read my blog, so I feel safe giving you a peek.



I wanted a larger shawl than the pattern normally yields, so I used sport* weight (Joslyn's Fiber Farm Sheep's Gift Solid) and bigger needles, and in surprsingly short order I was finished. This is the fruit of ten hours, maybe twelve, of pleasant work. It's still a small shawl–only about 4 1/2 feet tip to tip–but it's large enough for church, and that's what I wanted.

I didn't make any changes other than the yarn and needle substitution. And here's tip, if you've eyed patterns with nupps and worried about working them properly: practice with heavier weight yarn. Working these was incredibly easy, and having done so many in a thick yarn I know I'll approach them without (or at least, with less) trepidation in fine yarn.

Notes on the Nightcap

Speaking of yarn substitutions, there have been a lot of questions about yarn choice for the 1840 Nightcap. The Steinbach Wolle Maxi isn't impossible to find (I bought mine right off the shelf at Loopy), but if your LYS doesn't have it and you don't want to shop online, go ahead and substitute another very skinny yarn. By very skinny, I mean a light sock weight, a lace weight, or similar crochet thread. Use anything fatter and you'll find, considering the number of stitches in the cast on, that you've made a head-and-shoulders cozy.

Also, there have been some questions about ease. I wish I'd noted that the fit of the hat is somewhat loose as compared to, say, a beanie meant to be worn outdoors in the wind. This is more comfortable for sleeping and, so far as I can tell, appropriate to the period. If you're concerned about it being too loose, you can alter the fit by casting on fewer stitches (in multiples of 13) and adjusting your other numbers accordingly.

And to the extremely angry** lady who wrote asking why I'd sized the pattern to fit a man's head and not a woman's and calling me a sexist, please read the article. It's a man's nightcap. The man wearing it in the picture–see the beard?–might also have been a clue, if you'd looked closely.

*Edited. I originally typed "worsted." My brain must be melting. Maybe it's because I've been working with so much lace and sock weight–everything else now feels like rope.

**Where is all this knitter anger coming from, anyhow? All the things in the world that are wrong and broken, and there's anger over a free knitting pattern?

Chilly?

I leave for Boston early tomorrow morning so that I can, if all goes as planned, speak in the evening to the new Common Cod Fiber Guild at the MIT Stata Center at 7 pm. If you're in the vicinity of Cambridge, do drop in. Guido, who is in charge of the whole megillah, said I could talk about whatever I want, so I've decided to talk about history and fiduciary policies of the Hanseatic League in the Eastern Baltic.

No. I'm kidding. But wouldn't that be hysterical?

If you haven't seen it yet, the new Knitty is up and I made something for it. Amy Singer asked if I wanted to write a column and she said it could be about whatever I want, so it's about the history and fiduciary policies of the Hanseatic League in the Eastern Baltic.

Omigod, that's even funnier the second time, isn't it?

No, seriously, I have this new column in Knitty. It's about working with patterns from historic sources, which means those super-ancient knitting books that look like the typesetters just picked up the case of letters and threw it at the page, then tossed in an extra sprinkling of semicolons. I love those, with the half-sick love only a born masochist can muster. (I even put an essay about it in the little book.)

Thing is, a lot of the patterns–once you get past the rampant errors and the unfamiliar language–yield quite lovely objects. This issue's column offers a men's nightcap pattern from 1840, with a fancy lace edging that could be extracted and used as the cast on edge of anything you think would be enhanced by a fancy lace edging.

I'm terribly surprised to find the pattern is already in a bunch of Ravelry queues. It makes me wonder if, in our era of higher energy costs, nightcaps are due for a revival.

Is there a new environmental campaign in this? Save the earth! Knit a nightcap! Maybe I could get this on the "Today" show. I quite fancy a tete-a-tete with Matt Lauer.

Hither and Yarn

Yarn

Specifically, my own first handspun, which has now joined with Noro Silk Garden Lite to become a hat. It's far from perfect, but knitted up it looks like yarn to me. Soft, strong, tolerably consistent. I call it not bad for a first go, though I wouldn't show it off at a spinning guild.



Jared's Turn A Square pattern is, as his patterns tend to be, charming and clever and interesting without getting fussy. Because of the unusual fashion in which the decreases are worked, the stripes that go 'round and 'round the band turn into squares as they reach the crown. Cool, no?



I will never learn, however, that knitting's quieter thrills, like square rounds, are well-nigh impossible to convey to outsiders.

"Lo!" you cry. "Squares! Squares at the top of my hat!"

If you are speaking to a properly trained outsider, such as a long-suffering Significant Other, you can perhaps expect an expression of polite interest. Such persons understand the potential danger of falling asleep at night next to an unappreciated knitter.

Anybody else will at best give you a puzzled look. Or, if you're really charged up, they might back away as though you'd offered to introduce them to the cool new messiah you're following to a fortified compound in the Nevada desert.

Hither (and Thither)

Folks have been asking about appearances in conjunction with the publication of the little book, which is gratifying and scary. Gratifying because one hates to go through the gyrations, mortifications, and humiliations of writing a book only to find nobody else cares. Scary because I've never put a book tour together before, and so far I suck at it.

In spite of this, thanks to a lot of incredibly patient and helpful souls, a calendar is being put together. Here's what I have so far. (And there are a bunch of shops who have asked about appearances and who are about to get an e-mail from me with more information.)

September 12. Common Cod Fiber Guild in Cambridge, MA. This isn't really a book appearance, as I'll be talking mostly about the 1,000 Knitters Project (though I won't be photographing during the visit). But you never know, I might be able to work in a sneak preview–and it will be fun to be back in Boston for a little while and meet knitters in the city where for years I was the only knitter I knew. (MIT Stata Center, Seminar Room 32-G449, 7–9 pm. Free to members, $5 for non-members.)

October 4. Yarn Con in Chicago, IL. Last year's debut event was so incredible I was thrilled to say yes when they asked me to come back. Exact details are still in the works, but I hope at minimum to have a display of original drawings from the book. This is pre-launch, so I won't have copies to sign, but I'm hoping to have some other nifty goodies for anybody who stops by to say hello. You don't want to miss Yarn Con, in any case. This year it's going to be even bigger and better. (Pulaski Park Fieldhouse, 1419 W. Blackhawk St., 10 am to 4 pm. Admission TBA.)

October 18. New York State Sheep and Wool Festival in Rhinebeck, NY. The "official" launch of the book, and the very first signing. I'll be at the Carolina Homespun booth, waiting nervously with pen in hand. (Hours TBA.)

October 26. Arcadia Knitting in Chicago, IL. The hometown launch party! Whoopee! Books and food and yarn! (Noon to 2:30 pm, with a brief reading of excerpts from about 1-1:30.)

November 13. I Knit in London, England. In preparation for this trip, Harry has learned all seven verses of "Rule, Britannia!". I'll be signing books, chatting with knitters, reading a bit, maybe even sketching a little. Hell, I'm a sucker for English accents, so I expect I'll be putty in the hands of the guys who own the place. (106 Lower Marsh, Waterloo, 7–9 pm.)

Again, more to come. There are about a dozen shops that have asked, and who are waiting for me to get my act together and tell them what I need to get there and when I might be able to show up. It's all rather daunting for a guy who has trouble making it three blocks to the grocery store once a week.

The Rip-Out Artist

I laughed out loud when I read this comment on the Hat City post from charlene: "...it did make me feel a bit better to know that even you have to try, try again."

Oh, honey. Are you new here? Or am I guilty of giving a false impression of my knitting ability? Because I'd say I average two false starts on any given project, and rip back at least three times. If you have imagined me to be the sort of knitter who begins in confidence, proceeds with agility and ends with grace, kindly adjust your imagination. You're thinking Bullet Train when the reality is closer to mule train.

I'm a Zen Buddhist, and many studies have indicated that Zen meditation improves the clarity of one's mind. And I'm sure that's true, if you're good at it. However, I am not. My ass may be on that cushion, but my mind is dancing a jig in a field somewhere in the Alps with the Von Trapp Family Singers.

So I begin in haste, rush forward, and more often than not find I've made a hideous mistake and what was intended to be the sleeve of a sweater is too wide or too long or I switched from ribbing to stockinette and back again and or I meant to put in a little Aran braid and I didn't and...

Rip.

This used to bother me. And it still does, in the moment, when I catch the error and wish I'd kept my mind on the knitting instead of daydreaming about a yarn crawl through Italy with Viggo Mortensen. (Hey, I need somebody to carry the bags.)

But it seems to me that half of becoming an expert knitter (a status to which I aspire, distant though it is) is knowing what to do when good knitting goes bad. I'm tolerably proud of some of my stuff, but no memory stands out more boldly the day I ripped back this sock. I'd finished the heel and was moving down the foot when I realized that around the ankle I'd neglected entirely to twist one of the cables.

I contemplated tinking back twenty rounds, plus the heel turn, plus the heel flap, and I felt sick. I contemplated leaving the whacking great mistake and hoping it would be covered by a shoe, and felt sicker. So I pulled out the needles–I was knitting on double-points–and ripped. An hour later, I had all the stitches back on the needle in the proper order, and I felt like Elizabeth Zimmermann had kissed me on the forehead. For the first time, I was the boss of my knitting.

I'm proud of that sock, and will be even prouder once I finish the mate, which has been sitting in my basket for two years.

Handspun-and-Noro Hat

Reader Mollie (no blog) ought to get a prize of some kind for guessing correctly, from nothing other than a shot of the yarn, what hat I planned to make from the merino handspun and the leftover Noro: Jared Flood's Turn A Square. It's a nifty variation on the typical striped beanie, and I must say I'm pleased with it so far.



The colors in this shot are much truer. Several folks commented that the yarns seemed identical to those of the heathery Dubbelmossa, but that was a trick of the light (and poor exposure choices on my part). The merino is a very earthy, rich natural brown and the Noro is primarily shades of jade green and lapis lazuli.

The funny thing about knitting with the handspun is that the parts I spun last are at the center of the ball, and I'm knitting from the outside–so the further I go the better the yarn gets. The best spinning will be at the top of the hat. I wish I could say I'd planned that, but see "jumbled brain," above.

Thanks from Mary Ann

You can always count on knitters to help in a crisis, or at least offer a shoulder to cry on, and y'all stepped right up after the report of stolen and yarn and laces at Knitter's Niche. Mary Ann expressed her thanks via the comments–have a look (near the end, under the screen name "niche") in case you missed it.