English Notebook: Two

I spent one entire day in England at Loop.



Loop is a yarn shop–the English often say "wool shop"–in a London neighborhood called Islington, on a sort of street called "Camden Passage."

When they call it a passage they aren't trying to be cute. Look.



It's exactly that–a narrow passage between old, low buildings. Most of Loop's neighbors sell antiques, and on certain days of the week the streets around fill up with more antiques dealers.

This is the Loop classroom. It holds eight, including the teacher. If you're going to teach at Loop it helps to be small and/or short.



Loop's owner, Susan, has a gift–there is no other word for it–for arranging her stock in beautiful and unexpected ways. You don't just see the pretty things, you feel inspired to take them home and play with them. Before classes began, I had the place to myself and spent the time drinking it in.











I was so enchanted I wanted a picture of me in the shop, as a souvenir.



The students were lovely. We gathered around the table and had tea and little pecan tarts, and played with at lace and old patterns. The day flew.

To top it all off, I had the pleasure of the company of Jean, whose work and words I've admired almost since the day I began writing this blog. She knits everything, but it's her lace that first grabbed my attention, and I doubt I could have finished my first major piece of lace without her. She alerted me to Sharon Miller's Heirloom Knitting, and to Bridget Rorem's lace alphabet.

Jean came all the way from Scotland to meet me at Loop. I was almost too shy to ask if she'd have a picture with me after class. (My first impulse, on seeing her coming down the stairs, was to run over and hug her in shameless American fashion.) But I spoke up, and she obliged.



If you're one of Jean's fans, I can now tell you with certainty that she every bit as witty, sharp and fun as you'd think from reading her blog. I have a good mind to find a way to get up to Scotland and stalk her in her natural habitat. Fair warning, Jean. (And thank you.)

If you find yourself in London, you probably ought to go to Loop.  Really, you ought.

By the Way: 2012 Holiday Ornament

The annual Panopticon Holiday Ornament is ready to go. This year, the theme is yarn...and puppies.



Just realized I spelled "blogspot" wrong in the watermarks. Aw, screw it.

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.

Urban Legends of Knitting No. 2

EZ Photo: T.S. Zimmermann

Franklin Goes West

I'm knitting and writing about fourteen hours a day right now, finishing up as much work as possible before I take off for what is turning out to be quite a nice little tour of the West Coast. Here are the details:

Seattle, Washington

Sept. 20, 2010: Two events at The Fiber Gallery (7000 Greenwood Avenue North). From 5 pm–6 pm: book/calendar signing. From 6 pm–9 pm, "Photographing Your Fiber." To register for the photography class, call (206) 706-4197.

Sept. 22, 2010: "Introduction to the History, Methods, and Styles of Lace Knitting" at The Weaving Works (4717 Brooklyn Avenue NE); call (206) 524-1221 for information and reservations.

Eureka, California

A whole weekend at the wonderful Northcoast Knittery (320 Second St, Ste. 1A).

Saturday, Sept. 25: "Introduction to the History, Methods and Styles of Lace Knitting" 11 am–2 pm and "Lace Edgings: Before, During and After" from 3 pm–6 pm.

Book and calendar signing to follow!

Sunday, Sept. 26: "Photographing Your Fiber" from 11 am–2 pm.

For information and to register for classes, call (707) 442-YARN (9276).

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."

Portrait of the Artist as White Rabbit

Although I'm not late, I'm in a ripping hurry. But I hate not checking in for so long, and as it happens there's news and some knitting to show you. I've been dying to show you the knitting for months, but as it was done for somebody else I had to keep mum until the client lifted the lid. The lid, it has now been lifted. And the client lives in Montreal, so I bet she shouted, "Voilà!" when she did it.

This is the Prairie Spring Tunic.



I designed it for Véronik Avery, in support of her new line, St-Denis Yarns. When Véronik asked me to work up a children's pattern for the first St-Denis magazine, I didn't know who else (aside from my talented buddy Carol) would be contributing; and it's probably a good thing I didn't. For starters: Ysolda Teague, Mary Jane Mucklestone, Pam Allen, and (of course) Véronik herself. Intimidating company, what? You can see the whole august assembly on Ravelry.

The yarn is lovely. When the big box full of different colors arrived, I knew right away I wanted to use every one of them. I also knew I didn't want the colorwork to look like it came from Fair Isle or Norway. Those are gorgeous, noble traditions–but they're already being nicely upheld and propelled by people who have far more right to them than I.

So the tunic has a motif that wasn't inspired by sea or snow. It was inspired by a sooty, crumbly bit of Prairie School terra cotta cornice on an otherwise unremarkable two-story building my neighborhood. I know. That's far less romantic than telling you I was moved by the site of a chamois munching on edelweiss* in the morning mist. But a fellow has to work with what's to hand.



If you're curious, Véronik says that retailers (including WEBS and Patternworks) will start receiving both the yarns and the magazine in August and September.

Additions to the Calendar

In August, I'm going to be teaching a whole bunch at dear, sweet Loopy Yarns:

• August 8, Introduction to the History, Methods and Styles of Lace Knitting
• August 15, Elizabeth Zimmermann's Tomten Jacket (plus Garter Stitch Jacquard)
  
• August 22, Photographing Your Fiber

You can click here for more details.

And, much further from home, I'm making my first visit ever to the Pacific Northwest in September.

• Seattle, Washington. Sept 2. Signing and stuff at Renaissance Yarns, in the evening (exact times TBA).
  
  
• Spokane, Washington. Sept 7. Teaching "Introduction to the History, Methods and Styles of Lace Knitting" at Paradise Fibers. For more information, click here.

There may be some additions to the Washington trip, but that's what's confirmed for now. I'll keep you posted.

For now, the naughty naughty clock says I must stop and post this.

*I have no idea whether chamois eat edelweiss, and I'm too busy to check. Please don't feel compelled to enlighten me. My illusions are all I have at the moment.

Ruts and How to Avoid Them

I don't know about you, but I can't knit all the time. Not that the idea isn't attractive in theory, but in practice it doesn't work. Sore fingers, carpal tunnel, waking up with a merino hangover in a cold pool of your own worsted. Not pretty.

You know how farmers rotate crops to keep the soil fertile? I have to do that occasionally with my creative focus to keep my brain from turning into a dustbowl. Put down the needles, pick up the camera. Put down the camera, pick up the pencil. Put down the pencil, pick up tomatoes.*

The strangest thing is that all this stuff cross-pollinates, even when it seems impossible that it should. I was doing squats at the gym this morning and got an idea for a sweater. Had to run back to the locker room to make notes.

Lately I've been pulling out my toy cameras again. They're Holgas–cheap, all-plastic babies from China that shoot weird, dreamy pictures on medium format film. When I first bought mine, you could pick them up for ten bucks at a good camera store. Since then, they've become a vogue among prissy art students and will set you back fifty, but I still enjoy using mine.

Holgas are, to use a polite word, quirky. The limited focus mechanism has a mind of its own, and occasionally will decline to operate. The body leaks light. The back will fall off unless you tape the camera together. The film doesn't advance properly until you jam a piece of cardboard under the spool. The shutter doesn't click, it just emits a half-hearted "sproing."

Using a Holga forces you to relinquish just about all your control as photographer. You choose what to point the thing at, but that's about it. You go out, you shoot a roll, you send your film to the lab and wait to see what happened. Sometimes nothing, sometimes fun stuff.

These pictures of the BP Bridge in Millenium Park–a stainless steel Frank Gehry production with a superabundance of curves–came back from processing not long ago.

I've taken quite a few shots of the bridge with my Canon, which has multi-point focus, a pro-quality lens, automatic everything with manual overrides–and yet these are the stronger images.

I was looking at them and it occurred to me that I need to do the same thing with one of my current knitting projects. It began with great excitement, then hit a wall as I confronted a million design questions at once. Should I zig? Zag? Both? Neither? I've decided to let go, the way I do with my Holga, and this morning I've finally finished the 4" x 4" swatch.

Only took me two months.

Back to Texas

Dolores, Harry and I are heading south for World Wide Knit in Public Day. The Knitting Nest in Austin, Texas has invited us to come down for the festivities, which at The Knitting Nest are always extremely festive, indeed. Last time I was there, they let me draw all over the wall!



(If you like it, it's available on shirts, bags and kiddie clothes here.)

From 11 am–2 pm I'll be teaching "Introduction to the History, Methods, and Styles of Lace Knitting" (visit the Web site for details) and for the rest of the day I'll be hanging around knitting in air-conditioned comfort. Stop by, won't you, and say hello to the visiting Yankees?

Double Dipping

The eye-popping Summer issue of Twist Collective is up, and I'm in it. Twice, actually. There's my usual illustration for Ann's and Kay's advice column, plus this. I love the Twist folks with all my heart. They said, "Do something. Whatever you want." So I did, and when they saw it they didn't send it back with a note reading, "Too weird. Try again." And what I did is pretty weird.

*For spaghetti sauce. Why, what were you thinking?

Hey, Teach

Here I am. Hello.

I know–everything built up to a shattering climax on the twelfth day of Christmas and then I fell silent.

This was not my intention. I have buckets to share with you. Buckets. Alas, every time I sat down to show you my bucket, something would happen. I would smell smoke, or ominous noises would emanate from the plumbing. Or I would realize it was time to go to Montana.

Yes, Montana. I went to Wild Purls* in Billings for two days, to sign copies of the little book and to teach a class on Elizabeth Zimmermann's Tomten Jacket. I was excited about both events, but especially excited about the teaching. I was so exceedingly excited about the teaching that every time I imagined myself in the classroom I'd get short of breath and throw up.

As some of you know, my dear sister is a teacher. At a shockingly young age, she has already racked up years of experience in the field. She is my authority in Matters Pedagogical. I asked her whether wanting to throw up in front of the class was normal. She said yes. I asked her what to do about it. She said, don't throw up.

Thus armed with sage advice, I landed in Billings and was welcomed warmly by the crew of Wild Purls, who were wearing...





"Knitting Becomes a Habit" commemorative tour t-shirts. I was floored. I felt like Madonna, or Cher, or Barbra, or somebody else that people in this neighborhood dress like on Friday night. Quite a boost to my confidence.

The book signing was a hoot. I met all sorts of knitters, including one very young (hi, Chloë!) and an aspiring cartoonist who reminded me of myself as a child, back in the days when they had just invented lead pencils.

But I was still nervous. Seven hours is a long maiden voyage as a knitting teacher, and a quick survey at 9 o'clock revealed that among the twenty-odd students:

• only two had previously grappled with an Elizabeth Zimmermann pattern,
• one of those was an extremely experienced knitter who had already made the Tomten countless times and probably knew much more about it than I,
• only four or five had ever done two-color work,
• and two were knitters so newly-minted they were still under warranty.
  

But there I was, and there they were, so into the fray we plunged together. It was like "The Charge of the Light Brigade," except at the end of the day we were all still alive.

In Montana, the pioneer spirit persists. These were rugged knitters. They rose to every challenge I threw at them with good humor and determination, which gave me the confidence to keep going. I may have appeared to be leading, but I felt that a good deal of the time they carried me aloft.

"I need a little more oomph from the altos.
Let's try it from bar 18."

Nobody gave up, and at the end of the day came a crowning moment of delight: one of the new knitters, who hadn't even worked increases before that afternoon, successfully grafted the two halves of her hood together. She was beaming, and I wanted to tap dance.

Such a day. Honestly, I was sad to leave the next morning. I find that I have fallen in love with Montana. Billings is a remarkably pleasant place with incomparably down-to-earth people and a first-class yarn shop. Julia, Suzanne, Linda, Judy, Johanna, Irene and all of you who were good enough to come out for the events: a thousand thanks, and I can't wait to see you again.

Special thanks to Joseph, Suzanne's husband and a fine photographer, who took the photos and gave them to me to use. Next time, dude, we have to remember to talk about your collection of vintage cameras.

*Not to be missed when you visit is the special selection of local yarns, including Mountain Colors (of course) and splendid organics from Thirteen Mile Lamb & Wool Company. They also have their own shop-exclusive colorway from Lorna's Laces.

Each One Teach Twelve

Glorious Comrades:

Let none among you say I am not doing my bit to increase the tribe. About a month ago, I was asked if I'd teach knitting to my colleagues in the office. I kid you not. Once per quarter, we're herded into a room together for an afternoon class of some kind. This time, they decided it would be fun to play with yarn. And who am I to argue with that?

However, I firmly declined to teach basic knitting to a crowd 35 people, many of whom have no interest in the subject. I said I'd take on a dozen–and they had to volunteer to be there. I can imagine few chores more thankless than trying to frogmarch an unwilling horde through the longtail cast-on.

And so we assembled last week in a sunny room looking out to the lake. A funeral and a sick child reduced the class to ten. Everyone sat down with a ball of bulky Louët Riverstone and a pair of US 10 bamboo needles,* and about an hour later everybody had cast on and done at least a row or two of garter stitch.

This was my first time leading a group, and I was fascinated by the differences among the students. I'd divide them roughly into three categories.

1. This is interesting, but... Comprised about a third of the students. Will probably never pick up the needles again. I'd like to think it's not the fault of my teaching. It's certainly not because I lack evangelical zeal. They were all politely enthusiastic, but when the opportunity to break for cookies presented itself they took off–and didn't take their (free!) yarn and (free!) needles with them.
   
   
2. Hey, this isn't half bad... The majority reaction. Pressed on through the terror of casting on and the first, tentative row of stitches to reach a point where they were knitting without dropping, adding, or holding onto their needles like Dubya clinging to the last shreds of his authority.
   
   
3. St Paul on the Road to Damascus. One student, an absolute beginner. Fumbled the cast-on once or twice. Then, as though she'd been kissed by the spirit of Elizabeth Zimmerman, knit about seven perfect rows and could not stop. When it could no longer be denied that class was over and it was time to go back to work, she looked positively stricken. "I don't want to," she whimpered. "I just want to knit. I don't want to do anything else. It's not fair."

Remember the first time you said that?

Honest to goodness, I don't know to feel about her. It may be that she'll always remember me as the fellow who ushered her into a world of limitless creative possibility. Alternatively, she may remember me as the reason she's in rehab, couples therapy, or credit counseling.

Mercury Is a Punk-Ass Chump

Nothing too exciting on the needles at present. I'm afraid even to touch the christening shawl, considering my abysmal track record over the past several weeks. I've never been much of one for astrology, but the idea of a Mercury retrograde* screwing up my knitting seems downright logical. I mean, the problem can't possibly be me.

Against all odds, I've finished the Earth Mother socks and they look fine. They aren't exciting, but they fit and they match. Right now, that feels like Achievement.

On the other hand, the Mystery Square has been frogged. Again.

The altar cloth? Ripped back to the start of the Endless Knot pattern. Again.

Will somebody please tell me when Mercury is going to get its ass back in gear? Will it be soon? Or should I just give up and start blogging about découpage and popsicle-stick birdcages?

*Thanks to our outfitters at Arcadia Knitting.
*Thanks to commenter Tamar for telling me about this. If you're one of the 5,000 people who needs an e-mail from me, that's Mercury's fault, too. Also, Mercury made me eat a lot of peanut M & Ms last night, and hid my laundry detergent. And my dishwasher.

Each One, Teach One, Finale

In Which Willibald Leaves the Chrysalis and Takes Flight

When last we saw him, my student Willibald was sitting on my couch trying to kill me with dirty looks as he struggled with his first swatch of purl stitches. I understood the fellow. He, like me, feels compelled to master anything, however difficult, with speed and ease. If this does not happen he gets angry with himself.

At such a time a cooling-off period is the best remedy. I knew his subconscious would keep on purling, and when he next gave it a go there'd be a marked improvement.

We ended the lesson, and I sent him home.

"You just need some practice," I reassured him. For the fortieth time.

"I'm doing this for fun. I'm not going to do this if it's not fun," he said. For the fortieth time.

It so happened that almost the next day Willibald left Chicago for the holidays, and so did I. In the spirit of optimism I'd given him a copy of The Knitting Answer Book and he promised to pack it along with his needles, yarn, and London Beanie pattern.

A good night's sleep stiffened his resolve, and he called from the East Coast to tell me he'd decided to just purlpurlpurlpurlpurl until he cracked it.

I waited expectantly for word, and when it came it surpassed my hopes.

"I finished the ribbing!" he crowed. Apparently he'd leapfrogged right over the swatch.

There were misplaced stitches here and there, but not enough to make him rip back. I wished him godspeed as he headed for the crown and his first encounter with multiple decreases.

Willibald's holidays were busy, but he called me to say he was sneaking in knitting here and there, even as he drove with friends from one destination to the next.

I smiled quietly. Knitting in the car. Most promising.

Sure enough, I got a message just before New Year's Eve. He'd jumped from the circular needle to the dpns without a hitch and could see the Promised Land. And then, another message.

"Call me! I need you! Emergency! Emergency!"

When he answered my ring, he was audibly distraught. On practically the last row, he discovered what he thought was a dropped stitch–several rows back. I smacked my forehead. I hadn't shown him how to pick one up. On the other hand, the fellow was a surgeon.

"Do you have your book there?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I'm sure you can follow the instructions for fixing a dropped stitch," I said. "It's simple. All you need is a crochet hook. Did you remember to pack your crochet hook?"

Pause.

"No."

Sigh.

We decided he'd secure the rogue stitch with a safety pin and bring it to me after New Year's Day, and I'd show him how what to do. But his tone drooped. "I was so excited. I really wanted to wear it to my next lesson and surprise you," he said.

Poor fellow. I was still thinking about it two hours later, as I clicked along on a lace swatch. The telephone rang. It was Willibald. Shrieking.

"It's done!"

"What?"

"It's done! It's done! I picked up the dropped stitch and finished the hat and you can't even tell where the problem was! I did it! It's done!"

"But how did you–"

"In a pinch," he said proudly, "a fondue fork makes a decent substitute for a crochet hook."

Of course it does. Clever boy.

Since finishing his first hat Willibald has kept on trucking, altering the beanie pattern on his own to make a second hat in colors and proportions specfically requested by his partner–who is contentedly wearing the first one. He bought the yarn at Arcadia Knitting on his own, and had a chance to bask in the praise of the lovely ladies who'd sold him his first yarn.


Willibald's First Finished Objects

Of course, he keeps telling me it's still not fun yet. He swears he may just stop at any minute.

Yeah. Right. Me too.

Each One, Teach One, Part Two

If you missed the first part of the saga, it's here.

In Which We Grapple with Continental Purl

As you might expect of one who has cut people open, rearranged their insides, and stitched them up again (without killing them), Willibald has steady nerves and nimble fingers. Teaching him the long-tail cast on and the knit stitch was as easy as Britney Spears just before last call.

I got him started on a garter stitch scarf in alternating blocks of gray and gray. After pulling back his work twice he sped forth, jumping right over the color change without a hitch. His first block or so showed the variations in tension that we all deal with at the beginning, leading him to insist the scarf was not a scarf, but an "irregular polygon." But he persevered, and when the scarf had reached about half its length we began to discuss his next move.

Slippers were briefly considered, but he liked the idea of knitting a hat to go with the scarf. And so I pulled out the old reliable London Beanie. It has stripes to give it a bit of interest, and the tight, short fit means it moves quickly.

"All we need to do," I said, "is teach you to purl. That way you can do the ribbing at the bottom."

"Is it difficult?" he asked.

"A little fidgety at first," I said. "But with some practice it becomes second nature."

So we sat down cozily with two cups of green tea and soft music, and picked up our needles. Half an hour later, Willibald was eyeing me with the sort of beady-eyed hatred normally reserved for ex-boyfriends who sleep with your sister. (Or brother.)

"I don't like purling," hissed Willibald through clenched teeth.

"I can see that," I said. "But you just need to keep trying, and it will click for you. I promise."

"Do I have to purl?" he said.

"Well, strictly speaking, no. But it'll keep you from doing a lot of cool things if you can't."

"This doesn't work," he said. "There has to be a better way."

"Well, it's been done like this for at least a couple of centuries, so it has been proven to work. But if you can figure out an alternative, please make sure you let me know."

"Don't take that tone with me."

"You need to relax."

"I am relaxed."

"Dude, you just bent a steel needle in half."

"I have extremely muscular fingers."

"I think we're done for tonight."

What will happen next? Will Willibald ever learn to purl? Will Franklin strangle him with a 24" Addi Turbo and bury him under a pile of stashed Rowan? And what about Naomi?

A Little More About the New Wheel

Nothing magnifies joy like sharing it with others, and so I was delighted at the response to the new arrival in our house. There were a couple of questions, so let's take a minute and answer them.

Szarka asked whether the crank hole (giggle) in the drive shaft (giggle) was elongated from wear and whether this interfered with operation as it does on her wheel. I took a look, and the hole is as it was made - no distortion. It operates perfectly, although before I could get the drive wheel to rotate consistently in one direction I did have to treadle quite a bit to get a feel for how much force and frequency (giggle giggle) to use.

Ted asked if the wheel is tiny, and suggested that it might be designed for flax. Sharp eye, Ted, just as I'd expect. The wheel is quite small (though not miniature) which I like because when I sit at it I look like a basketball player. It also has a distaff, and the flyer hooks are placed so as to encourage spinning Z—or it is S? Whichever is the opposite of the usual direction for wool. The orifice, though, is no smaller than the orifice on my Ashford. (Heh heh. Big orifice.)

Heather asked for a closer shot of the inlay (yes, it's inlay) on the bench. Here you are.



Odd, isn't it? The top bit is obviously a shield. There's more inlay around the rim (giggle, snort) of the table. If anybody reading this has similar marks on their wheel, needless to say I'd love to hear from you.

There were questions about, and suggestions for, names. I don't know that I'll name it. I used to be a namer of inanimate objects. My computer in college was called Fanny. But when your sock yarn starts to talk to you and impinge on the hospitality of friends, it sort of kills the thrill.

Each One, Teach One, Part One

In Which We Select a Project and Purchase Yarn

Over the past two months I've been doing my bit to Increase the Tribe by teaching a good friend to knit. He is not, to be strictly accurate, my First Pupil. That title belongs to my sister, Susan.

However, Susan had only one lesson, approximately one hour long. After that I sent her back to Maine with a book, yarn, needles and an encouraging word. We're a family of auto-didacts, and I knew she'd pick up the rest on her own with little or no difficulty. She did not disappoint.

My present student is a medical professional and the owner of his own consulting firm, for which he works long and arduous hours. His life is, as you might guess, something of a pressure cooker. His partner suggested that he learn to knit in order to:

1. Pass the time spent waiting in airports when flying to and from various clients;
2. Keep his brain and fingers nimble; and
   
3. Calm the hell down, already, before you drive me crazy.

The student–let's call him Willibald, just to piss him off–began as an absolute newbie. Our first order of business was to go yarn shopping. No, I lie. Our first order of business was to choose a project. The conversation went something like this:

Willibald: So, what should I make first?

Me: Well, I think for your first project we can start you out with either a scarf or a hat. Which sounds more exciting to you?

Willibald: I want to make a sweater.

Me: Hmm. Okay. See, a sweater is a big commitment and fairly complex. You might want to make that your second project. Or your third. A hat will have a lot of the same techniques in it, but it'll be smaller and bit easier to handle.

Willibald: I want to make a sweater.

Me: I understand that. I just don't want you to get discouraged, and for most folks a sweater takes a while to finish. You won't see results for probably a month or two, at least. A hat would be a good project, though, and would teach you just about everything you need to know to make a sweater. How about a hat?

Willibald: It could be a sweater vest.

Me: Why did you ask me what you should make first when you've already decided what you're making first?

Willibald: I was just being polite.

And so to the yarn store, Arcadia Knitting.

We were greeted as always with great cordiality by the owners. We began with a brief orientation in yarn weights and basic fibers. The shop is arranged by color, so we started out in the Red Section nearest the door and proceeded eastward.

Me: How about this? This would look nice on you.

Willibald: It's too loud.

Me: How about this? This would look nice on you.

Willibald: It's too loud.

Me: How about this? This would look nice on you.

Willibald: It's too loud.

Me: It's beige.

Willibald: It's a very ostenatious beige.

Never try to have the last word with a doctor.

On the other hand, Willibald went into cardiac arrest when confronted with the price of decent yarn and immediately lowered his primary target to making a scarf in two colors. After about three hours of browsing, he made his first personal fiber purchase: four skeins of Berroco Ultra Alpaca.

In two shades of gray.

Men, I swear.

To be continued.