Here Is Some Pretty For You

Last weekend I taught a day of lace (History, Methods and Styles of Lace followed by Lace Edgings: Before, During, and After) to a gung-ho group of students. One of them brought a surprise: a box of nineteenth-century knitted lace stockings.

I thought you might like to see them, and though I'm still learning to love the camera that lives in my new telephone I was able to take some tolerable photographs during our intermezzo.



They are family pieces. The knitter (who prefers to remain anonymous) says they were made by her great-grandmother (who was married in 1819) for her grandmother–a sweet and all-too-rare example of a knitter's handiwork being lovingly preserved and properly documented.

All are white cotton. There are knee-highs and thigh-highs. The knee-highs have ribbed tops.



The thigh-highs were obviously extra-special: turned-over picot hems, lacy tops, and then a row of eyelets just below for threading a ribbon tie.





The leg patterns were beautifully varied and the workmanship was impeccable.





And how to do you make a gorgeous gift like this even more special? You knit the recipient's initials and the date into it.



Notice that the initials are upside-down, just under the fancy leaf-lace top. I wonder if this was intentional (so that the wearer would see them when she pulled them on) or whether the knitter was halfway through when she realized what she'd done; and then decided she was absolutely not going to start over again. Hey, it happens.

Nineteenth-century knitters...knitters just like you and me.

Less Impressive Socks

The new Knitty is out, and as ever my column is in it. This time, by coincidence I wrote about a Victorian sock. A kid's sock. A flat kid's sock. A flat kid's sock knit from an 1870 pattern I just absolutely hated.

Blow Me, Thou Winter Wind

And the crabbiness continues over at the Lion Brand Yarn blog, where I wrote about spring, or the lack thereof; and drew a spring chicken.

Is this any way for a grown man to make a living?

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.

La commedia e finità

I did it.

Seventy-five finished ink-and-wash panels for the book. On time.

It's funny. Now that they've left the nest, seventy-five doesn't seem like such a large number. But I took photos like this one, of a batch drying on the living room floor, to remind me of how it felt.

Just looking at that makes me want an epidural.

Mind you, I still have essays left to finish in short order; but writing isn't quite the physical labor for me that drawing is. And there are more presentation-quality drawings in this book than I've made in the rest of my life to date.

I think I'm going to have a little lie-down, now.

No, wait a moment. Word on the street is that the Summer 2008 Interweave Knits is on the shelves and landing in many mailboxes. I have an article in there–my first for IK–about Meg Swansen, Elizabeth Zimmermann and the fifty-year story of Schoolhouse Press.

Nothing daunting in such an assignment, no. Quite simple, really. Write a complete history of the world's most beloved fiber company in 1200 words, using an interview with one of your personal household goddesses as a primary source. Hah. No sweat.

But it really was fun. The fact is, the folks at the Schoolhouse are just as down-to-earth as the knitter on the street. Making a living with yarn and related paraphernalia hasn't dimmed their enthusiasm. When I spoke with Eleanor–who has worked there for 25 years and seen a thing or two happen in the field–it was a heady combination of knit chat and history lesson, with generous doses of good humor thrown in.

Thanks to everybody who agreed to be interviewed–I'm indebted to you all.

And Eunny seemed pleased with it, so here's to hoping more work from IK comes my way.

And Also...

I finished the Primavera Socks. I love the Primavera Socks. I will knit the Primavera Socks again. There is no higher compliment I can pay to the designer. And Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock (this colorway is "Violet") is so fantabulous to touch that I had to take seventeen photographs before I got one in which my toes were not curling.



Now. Where's that red laceweight?