Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Monday, December 31, 2012
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Have Yourself a Merry Little Krampus
It's Christmas Eve in Chicago. Though a bit more gift wrapping must be seen to, the approach to a quiet holiday is otherwise unobstructed.
I know not everyone reading this celebrates Christmas, but it's certainly part of my heritage. In the spirit of the season, I'd like to offer a warm cup of holiday knitting to one and all–regardless of whether or not you usually partake.
There are veritable snowdrifts of patterns for knitting up Santa Claus, snowmen, candy canes, reindeer (plain- and red-nosed), elves, nativity scenes, mice (stirring), bears (teddy), toy soldiers (because nothing says Peace on Earth like a trained killer with a rifle) and most the rest of the cast of sugarplums.
But I was shocked–shocked–when I consulted the Ravelry pattern database and found not a single representation of the character I (and many millions of others) consider essential to a well-balanced festive season: Krampus.
Do you know Krampus? If not, a few words of introduction.
He is, mainly in Alpine countries, the friend and companion of dear Saint Nicholas. His useful function is to deal with the children whose behavior in the year past has been weighed in the balance and found wanting.
This is, I believe, a most logical and reasonable division of labor. In America, we not only expect Santa Claus to reward the good children by scattering presents around; we also require–in the course of the same evening–that he stick lumps of coal into the stockings of the naughty. Have you ever held a lump of coal? I have. It's heavy, it's dusty, and it leaves black smudges all over everything.
Is it fair, I ask you, to make a man wearing white fur cuffs distribute tons of coal and tons of gifts from a miniature sleigh with less horsepower than a riding lawn mower? I think not.
Countries which employ Krampus do things far better.
Saint Nicholas visits only the nice children, hands around the goodies, and calls it a night. Krampus, meanwhile, drops in on the bad children–the ones who didn't finish their vegetables, and stuck out their tongues at Grandma, and boosted the ratings for Glee while Community was put on hiatus. He smacks them soundly with a bundle of birch twigs; licks them with his long, slimy tongue; carries them away screaming in the basket on his back. When he's good and ready, he tears them limb from limb and then eats them.
Note that coal doesn't even enter the picture. Krampus is very eco-friendly and discourages the consumption of fossil fuels.
That such a darling fellow should be absent from the knitting round-up appalls me. To redress the imbalance, I present the Little Knitted Krampus.
He is made from several colors of Skacel's excellent Fortissima Socka sock yarn, and the free pattern will appear in a few days.
My gift, gentle reader, to you–provided you've been a good child.
Otherwise, expect the Real Thing to tap on your door and spread you on toast like a chicken liver.
Merry Christmas from me, Dolores, Harry, and whole of the Sock Yarn Colony. We love you very much.
P.S. If you'd like to see more of Krampus, including absolutely adorable Krampuskarten from the 19th and 20th centuries that I used as visual references, visit this site. An animated treatment sure to gladden the hearts of your children (show it to them just before bedtime) is available on Youtube.
P.P.S. Anna Hrachovec of Mochimochiland, I wouldn't have had the chutzpah to tackle my first knitted toy design without your inspiration, encouragement, and the excellent treatment of the technical aspects in your books. Thank you!
I know not everyone reading this celebrates Christmas, but it's certainly part of my heritage. In the spirit of the season, I'd like to offer a warm cup of holiday knitting to one and all–regardless of whether or not you usually partake.
There are veritable snowdrifts of patterns for knitting up Santa Claus, snowmen, candy canes, reindeer (plain- and red-nosed), elves, nativity scenes, mice (stirring), bears (teddy), toy soldiers (because nothing says Peace on Earth like a trained killer with a rifle) and most the rest of the cast of sugarplums.
But I was shocked–shocked–when I consulted the Ravelry pattern database and found not a single representation of the character I (and many millions of others) consider essential to a well-balanced festive season: Krampus.
Do you know Krampus? If not, a few words of introduction.
He is, mainly in Alpine countries, the friend and companion of dear Saint Nicholas. His useful function is to deal with the children whose behavior in the year past has been weighed in the balance and found wanting.
This is, I believe, a most logical and reasonable division of labor. In America, we not only expect Santa Claus to reward the good children by scattering presents around; we also require–in the course of the same evening–that he stick lumps of coal into the stockings of the naughty. Have you ever held a lump of coal? I have. It's heavy, it's dusty, and it leaves black smudges all over everything.
Is it fair, I ask you, to make a man wearing white fur cuffs distribute tons of coal and tons of gifts from a miniature sleigh with less horsepower than a riding lawn mower? I think not.
Countries which employ Krampus do things far better.
Saint Nicholas visits only the nice children, hands around the goodies, and calls it a night. Krampus, meanwhile, drops in on the bad children–the ones who didn't finish their vegetables, and stuck out their tongues at Grandma, and boosted the ratings for Glee while Community was put on hiatus. He smacks them soundly with a bundle of birch twigs; licks them with his long, slimy tongue; carries them away screaming in the basket on his back. When he's good and ready, he tears them limb from limb and then eats them.
Note that coal doesn't even enter the picture. Krampus is very eco-friendly and discourages the consumption of fossil fuels.
That such a darling fellow should be absent from the knitting round-up appalls me. To redress the imbalance, I present the Little Knitted Krampus.
He is made from several colors of Skacel's excellent Fortissima Socka sock yarn, and the free pattern will appear in a few days.
My gift, gentle reader, to you–provided you've been a good child.
Otherwise, expect the Real Thing to tap on your door and spread you on toast like a chicken liver.
Merry Christmas from me, Dolores, Harry, and whole of the Sock Yarn Colony. We love you very much.
P.S. If you'd like to see more of Krampus, including absolutely adorable Krampuskarten from the 19th and 20th centuries that I used as visual references, visit this site. An animated treatment sure to gladden the hearts of your children (show it to them just before bedtime) is available on Youtube.
P.P.S. Anna Hrachovec of Mochimochiland, I wouldn't have had the chutzpah to tackle my first knitted toy design without your inspiration, encouragement, and the excellent treatment of the technical aspects in your books. Thank you!
Monday, October 31, 2011
Spooky Poetry Corner
Happy Halloween, kids.
I've lost the battle, yet again, about how our merry little band is celebrating.
My plan was to dress in my favorite costume (a Cloak of Indifference), sit on the couch and stream old episodes of Acrylic Intervention with Clara Parkes on Netflix. (The one where she gets knifed at the Methodist church bazaar while counseling the lady who can't stop knitting toilet roll covers is scary enough for two Halloweens.)
In the event, I was outvoted 231 to 1 (stupid traitor sock yarn colony) in favor of Dolores's plan that we make an appearance at the Bottom Dollar Lounge's "Haunted and Humpy" party in a group costume.
It could be worse. The first idea on the whiteboard was that we all dress as the Human Centipede, with Dolores in front. After much spirited debate, she's going as Slutty Barbara Walker and the rest of us are going to be swatches and top-down sweaters.
I'm still finishing my Slutty Baby Cable costume, so I hope you won't mind re-visiting an Occasional Piece I wrote several Halloweens ago but which has never actually appeared on the blog. It's an homage to one of the great American masters of horror literature, and was created for Brenda Dayne's Cast On podcast; if you'd rather listen than read, it's available (with pipe organ accompaniment) in her archives.
And yes–I know Slutty Baby Cable is in questionable taste, but my first choice (Slutty Moss Stitch) seemed way too obvious.
Anyway, here's the poem.
I've lost the battle, yet again, about how our merry little band is celebrating.
My plan was to dress in my favorite costume (a Cloak of Indifference), sit on the couch and stream old episodes of Acrylic Intervention with Clara Parkes on Netflix. (The one where she gets knifed at the Methodist church bazaar while counseling the lady who can't stop knitting toilet roll covers is scary enough for two Halloweens.)
In the event, I was outvoted 231 to 1 (stupid traitor sock yarn colony) in favor of Dolores's plan that we make an appearance at the Bottom Dollar Lounge's "Haunted and Humpy" party in a group costume.
It could be worse. The first idea on the whiteboard was that we all dress as the Human Centipede, with Dolores in front. After much spirited debate, she's going as Slutty Barbara Walker and the rest of us are going to be swatches and top-down sweaters.
I'm still finishing my Slutty Baby Cable costume, so I hope you won't mind re-visiting an Occasional Piece I wrote several Halloweens ago but which has never actually appeared on the blog. It's an homage to one of the great American masters of horror literature, and was created for Brenda Dayne's Cast On podcast; if you'd rather listen than read, it's available (with pipe organ accompaniment) in her archives.
And yes–I know Slutty Baby Cable is in questionable taste, but my first choice (Slutty Moss Stitch) seemed way too obvious.
Anyway, here's the poem.
The Romney
by Franklin Habit, d'aprés E. A. Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I knitted, weak and weary,
On a lumpy Aran sweater that was truly quite a bore,
While I cabled, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping–
As of hoofbeats gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis the maintenance man,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door.
Only this–and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember I was knitting for December
For a boyfriend who stretched six feet from his temples to the floor.
Eagerly I wished it finished, yet the skeins were undiminished–
Though I knit ’til I was crippled and the sweater was a bore–
Though that lumpy Aran sweater was a never-ending bore.
So I sighed–and knit some more.
When at last the row at last had ended and the stitches dropped were mended,
“Sir,” I said, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore.
But the fact is, I was counting and my agitation mounting
When so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you.”–here, I opened wide the door;
Darkness there–and nothing more.
As I stood upon the doorstep, suddenly I heard a sure step,
And in walked a fluffy Romney ewe I’d never seen before.
Without a word or nod, across the welcome mat she trod
And lighting up a Camel cigarette, she perched beside the door–
Perched beside the bust of Barbara Walker near my chamber door;
Perched, and smoked–and nothing more.
Then, quoth the Romney, “Knit some more.”
Much I marveled this unruly sheep to hear command so truly
In my native tongue an order rendered in a tone so sure.
“Tell me, madam,” I addressed her, “Why am I the one you pester?
Why not Mabel, Midge, or Esther?” Questions did not interest her.
She just rolled her eyes and flicked some dying ashes to the floor.
Quoth the Romney, “Knit some more.”
And the Romney, sitting primly in the hallway, smoking grimly,
Those words only ever said, and those words only–nothing more.
So, into my armchair sinking, I resumed my fruitless tinking,
Working on the Aran sweater ’til my fingers all were sore.
And the sheep said, “Knit some more.”
And that Romney, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting,
Near the bust of Barbara Walker just inside my chamber door.
And she smokes, and drinks, and titters while I try to knit with jitters
On the lumpy Aran sweater that is as it was before.
Though Decembers pass away upon this sweater, every day,
I shall be knitting–evermore.
by Franklin Habit, d'aprés E. A. Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I knitted, weak and weary,
On a lumpy Aran sweater that was truly quite a bore,
While I cabled, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping–
As of hoofbeats gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis the maintenance man,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door.
Only this–and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember I was knitting for December
For a boyfriend who stretched six feet from his temples to the floor.
Eagerly I wished it finished, yet the skeins were undiminished–
Though I knit ’til I was crippled and the sweater was a bore–
Though that lumpy Aran sweater was a never-ending bore.
So I sighed–and knit some more.
When at last the row at last had ended and the stitches dropped were mended,
“Sir,” I said, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore.
But the fact is, I was counting and my agitation mounting
When so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you.”–here, I opened wide the door;
Darkness there–and nothing more.
As I stood upon the doorstep, suddenly I heard a sure step,
And in walked a fluffy Romney ewe I’d never seen before.
Without a word or nod, across the welcome mat she trod
And lighting up a Camel cigarette, she perched beside the door–
Perched beside the bust of Barbara Walker near my chamber door;
Perched, and smoked–and nothing more.
Then, quoth the Romney, “Knit some more.”
Much I marveled this unruly sheep to hear command so truly
In my native tongue an order rendered in a tone so sure.
“Tell me, madam,” I addressed her, “Why am I the one you pester?
Why not Mabel, Midge, or Esther?” Questions did not interest her.
She just rolled her eyes and flicked some dying ashes to the floor.
Quoth the Romney, “Knit some more.”
And the Romney, sitting primly in the hallway, smoking grimly,
Those words only ever said, and those words only–nothing more.
So, into my armchair sinking, I resumed my fruitless tinking,
Working on the Aran sweater ’til my fingers all were sore.
And the sheep said, “Knit some more.”
And that Romney, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting,
Near the bust of Barbara Walker just inside my chamber door.
And she smokes, and drinks, and titters while I try to knit with jitters
On the lumpy Aran sweater that is as it was before.
Though Decembers pass away upon this sweater, every day,
I shall be knitting–evermore.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Monday, November 01, 2010
An Animated Discussion
Halloween 2010 is but a memory–a hazy memory for some in this household. Between us and the gift-oriented holidays lies only the blip of Thanksgiving. Now dawns the sobering realization that we may already be too far behind to catch up.
I was talking about this with my therapist just last week. She suggested that I deal with my holiday angst in a constructive fashion by putting my heated inner dialogue down on paper so that I could properly analyze it. But I was out of paper, so instead I made an animated cartoon starring Albert Einstein and the Queen of England.
That will strike you as an odd coupling until I explain that whenever I experience a heated inner dialogue, that's who the voices in my head sound like. (Although sometimes instead of Einstein I hear Fanny Brice; but the animation Web site doesn't offer a Fanny Brice avatar.)
The result is that I still don't have my holiday knitting under control and I have to find a new therapist.
Anyway, here's the stupid cartoon.
I was talking about this with my therapist just last week. She suggested that I deal with my holiday angst in a constructive fashion by putting my heated inner dialogue down on paper so that I could properly analyze it. But I was out of paper, so instead I made an animated cartoon starring Albert Einstein and the Queen of England.
That will strike you as an odd coupling until I explain that whenever I experience a heated inner dialogue, that's who the voices in my head sound like. (Although sometimes instead of Einstein I hear Fanny Brice; but the animation Web site doesn't offer a Fanny Brice avatar.)
The result is that I still don't have my holiday knitting under control and I have to find a new therapist.
Anyway, here's the stupid cartoon.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Out of the Sketchbook
Over the Water
I'll be popping across the pond in just two short weeks. On November 10 at 6* in the evening, I'll be at I Knit in London for an informal but lively evening of knitting, talking and reading from works old...and new.
In the Shop
The annual knitting ornament is newly available for your Christmas tree, Festivus pole, Hanukkah bush, Kwanzaa privet hedge, Solstice rubber plant, or Secular Humanist creeping charlie.
I enjoyed making it for you. I hope you will like it.
* Whoops. I mistakenly wrote 7 pm on first writing.
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