Many Hands Maketh Long Scarf

I recently photographed Knitter 0119 for the 1,000 Knitters Project. You may have heard of her: Charlene Schurch, author of Sensational Knitted Socks and More Sensational Knitted Socks, et al. If you've been hanging out in here for a while you know I'm sort of That Way about Charlene, so having her in my living room was quite an event. I gushed and burbled, and we talked, and then at last I did get around to taking her picture. And she kissed me.

Burble. Giggle.

(No, that's not Charlene at right. That's Sheila, Number 0041. Hi, Sheila!)

Those of you who've sat for me (or who are planning to) might be interested to know that in addition to Charlene a number of other noted hands have worked their rows on the scarf, including Karen Frisa, Joan Schrouder, Leslye Solomon, Beth Brown-Reinsel, Sally Melville and Nancy Bush.

I love chatting with the knitters while I photograph; it's one of the best parts of the project. But shooting folks whose work I have admired from afar can be a little daunting. You can't break the ice with Nancy Bush by asking, "So, what do you like to knit?"

There have been several calls for 1,000 Knitters swag (t-shirts, bags and so forth) in the shop. At first I hesitated; but then I realized that I could put money from sales towards the expenses of the project, which are considerable. Watch for news of additions to the shop in the next week or so.

In the meantime, sitters who keep a blog might like to help themselves to a blog button, with my compliments and thanks. It's a mere token, but I hope you will like it.



Shooting at Loopy Yarns

I'm pleased to announce another public shoot in Chicago, this time at Loopy Yarns (719 South State Street). The atmosphere should be akin to Carnival in Venice, as on the same evening (Friday, September 7; hours TBA) they'll be celebrating their second anniversary. I foresee a naked conga line of yarn-wielding hooligans snaking around the block before the party is over. You know what those people at Loopy are like.

Mo' Mobius

The Cavalcade of Completion continues with Mom's Möbius. It has the distinction of being the only thing I've ever finished twice. I gave it to her (off the needles, thank you very much) for Christmas, but have just added an additional 10 inches to give it the looser fit she prefers.

(Why yes, I do know that Christmas was in December and that it's now August. Would you like to step outside and discuss it?)

If you aren't familiar with the möbius you can read about it here. At the moment it's all I can do to recite my phone number, let alone explain The Riddle of the Universe.

These days I suppose Cat Bordhi is the name most associated with möbius knitting, but it's generally accepted that Elizabeth Zimmermann was the first person to work the concept into a design. If you check out Knitting Around (and you should, it's a delicious read) she uses it to create a scarf, a vest, and a jacket. This möbius is a descendant of Elizabeth's, and the designer gives her due acknowledgment.

Project: Magic Mobius

Designer: Susan Levin for Knit One, Crochet Two

Yarn: Douceur et Soie (silk/baby mohair) in colorway The Hell If I Remember

Needles: US8

Notes: I picked this out for my mother because she hates wearing hats (they crush her hair) and scarves (they bind her around the neck) and I worry about her catching a chill. The möbius, when properly worn, elegantly covers both those areas without choking or flattening, especially when knit up in something as feathery light as this yarn. And in spite of the light weight, it's surprisingly warm.

It's a very pleasant knit, a worthy variation on Zimmermann's original, and Susan Levin has incorporated a very clever edge treatment that doesn't interfere with the diaphanous look but does give the selvedges a little extra body.

Now you have no excuse, Ma. Put something on your head before you catch pneumonia. You think I don't know when you're cold?

Portrait of a Photo Shoot

So, I have this little album devoted to photos of my niece, Abigail. I call it the Abigallery. If you visit my apartment for longer than thirty seconds you will probably have it thrust under your nose. It's not that I'm a proud uncle. It's just that she is an exceptional child in every way.

This morning I've been adding prints to the book, and I ran across the shots from an impromptu family portrait session we did the week after she was born. We did it in the nursery using ambient light, with everybody in denim and pale cottons for a soft, relaxed look. Abby is the first WASP baby in the history of my family (okay, she's half-WASP) and so the Ralph Lauren/Town and Country vibe seemed appropriate.

With an unpredictable subject like a baby, you can't plan your shots too much. You clear the space, set up the lighting to be as all-purpose as possible, and go with the flow. And I find it best to shoot the same way I shoot rodeo: keep the camera to your eye and your finger on the shutter. Good moments are fleeting.

I'm usually not one for conventional, posed groups, but I figured they might be more to the taste of the grandparents and so we started out with a few of those.



What I really wanted, though, was something slightly more unusual so I asked Susan and Phil to lie down on the floor with Abby and just cuddle up together. I shot them from above, and caught some fun vignettes like this.



Getting them out of the rocking chair and into a playful position led to the sort of spontaneity that I generally prefer to formality.



However, at one point I did get the idea to have Abigail lay in a niche created by Susan and Phil's bodies. I wanted an image of her surrounded and protected by her parents, and with their cooperation I got something akin to what I'd imagined.



But I'm almost as fond of this misfire, which happened when I accidentally tripped the shutter while adjusting my position.



Abby, honey, I know from the look on your face exactly what you're thinking. And I'll tell it to you plain: the bad jokes never get any better, and the older you get the weirder they're going to seem. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.

You can always come stay with Uncle Franklin when it gets to be too much. We'll have lunch downtown and rock the shoe department at Nordstrom.

What Boys Like

Back in the spring of 2005, when this blog had only been around for about a month, I wrote a screedish little entry about how my search for a men's sweater pattern had turned up miles of Aran cables and acres of Fair Isle, but nothing I felt would suit a fellow in my particular (urban, gay, young[ish]) circumstances.

"The knitting fad," I huffed, "has brought out shelves full of pattern books for the young urban female knitter. So how much longer do the guys have to wait, dammit?"

I think the wait is over.

I've just spent a pleasant couple of hours sitting with Kristin Spurkland's The Knitting Man(ual), a copy of which was sent to me for review by the publisher, Ten Speed Press. This is the book I had in mind when I wrote that early complaint; and a solid piece of work it is, too.

In putting her book together, Spurkland and her publishers have taken obvious care to appeal to a male audience without condescension. The look is sharp and decidedly masculine, with clean typography and subtle blocks of color. Refreshingly, however, there is no reliance on cheap macho stereotypes: no army camouflage, no grunge typefaces, no evocation of the car repair manual aesthetic. The handsome photography by John Valls, which includes a wide range of races, ages, and body shapes, is beautifully executed and shows off the projects to perfection.

And the projects themselves (there are twenty-two) are on the whole a well-edited and attractive lot. The first is a ribbed and cabled throw; the others are all for garments, including hats, gloves, mittens, socks, and several sweaters. All have their good points and some are perfectly delicious. Only two (house slippers with weird toes and a schlubby color block scarf) miss the mark entirely. Paging through the rest afforded me the pleasure, never before enjoyed, of finding in one volume six different projects I'd like to knit for myself. The previous record, in case you're wondering, was two.

For true beginners, there's the usual introductory section of techniques–illustrated with photographs of male hands. This would be a perfect gift for a guy newbie, as the projects range from very simple to moderately complex. I could well imagine it providing impetus enough to keep his needles clicking until he's past the Point of No Return.

The only thing not here that I'd like to see is some discussion of male fitting issues. And yes, ladies, male fitting issues do exist. Not all shoulders are created equal, to say nothing of chests and stomachs. Perhaps in volume two? (Hint, hint.)

In 2005, knitting books occupied about six inches of space on my bookshelves; now they take up five feet or more. I own more than enough books on knitting technique, design, and history. My need for The Knitting Man(ual) is perhaps not so vital as it once was, but I'm still awfully happy to find it at last.

Renovations Continue

Thanks for the positive feedback on the recent design changes. I'm still working on them, so certain features (like my blogroll) aren't in place yet. All in good time.

Excuse the Dust

Dolores is off to Kankakee and I have a bit of free time on my hands, so I'm engaging in some long-overdue renovations to The Panopticon's layout. During this period you may become disoriented or frustrated. You may find yourself unable to locate things that were right here just a moment ago. You may experience nausea, dizziness, or mild hallucinations.

Welcome to my world.

Tricot Triage

The recent spate of finishing chez Panopticon continues. To be more precise, I continue to focus on finishing things.

I wish I could blame this heap of unfinished objects on spontaneous generation, or claim they were left on my doorstep in a basket with a note: "I can no longer work on this scarf. Please look after it, and finish it as though it were your own." But no. They're mine, all mine, and I take full responsibility. The only question is which to work on first.

1. Möbius scarf in Douceur et Soie. Strictly speaking, this is a finished object. But in order to fit the recipient (my mother) I need to undo the grafting and add another few inches to improve the fit. Since this was given at Christmas, and is for my mother, and next Christmas is already approaching, it may step to the front of the line.
   
   
2. Koigu vest. All I have to finish are the armscyes and the neckline. We're talking about twenty-odd rounds of k2, p2 ribbing. What happened? I took it to Knitting Camp, I finished one side, and realized I'd picked up way too many stitches. It looked dreadful. I got discouraged. Since then it has been sitting in a bowl next to my chair, mocking me.
   
   
3. Poetry mittens. I finished one cuff and then decided I really wanted to chart my own poem, not use the one in the pattern. Then I couldn't decide on a poem. Still can't. You'd think I'm engraving my own epitaph in granite instead of just knitting a stupid pair of stupid mittens. Why do I do this to myself?
   
   
4. Regicide Scarf. This one's giving me an ulcer. The yarn - Four Play from Brooks Farms, is delightful to the touch. The pattern, King Charles Brocade, makes it absolutely sing. So, what's the problem? I'll tell you. I hate knitting King Charles Brocade. And I don't mean it bores me. I mean I hate it. And not a small hate, either. A hate that burns with the heat of ten million suns. What's not to loathe about a pattern that is too simple to be interesting, yet too complicated for mindless knitting? A pattern in which it is shockingly easy to lose one's place, and in which the smallest error stands out like a pimple on the heavily insured nose of Heidi Klum? Options:

Work the final moss stitch border right now and call it done. It would be five feet long. And I would never wear it, because in a Chicago winter a cute little scarf that won't wrap around my neck and face is a waste of yarn.



Concede defeat. Rip it back and use it for something else. And remember, every time I look at it, that nothing will ever harmonize with that colorway quite so happily as King Charles Brocade. And grit my teeth. And get a headache.



Shut up and knit to the damn end of the damn ball. And risk becoming one of those people who wanders about in the streets mumbling to himself. In my case, I'll be mumbling, "Knitting is so relaxing. Knitting is so relaxing."

Tulip Jacket Yarn

Knitguyla and Kay were curious about the source of the yarn in the Tulip Jacket. The ultimate source, of course, was Dream in Color, but I got my kit (and therefore colorway) from Arcadia Knitting here in Chicago. If you order from them, note that even though I made the jacket for Abigail, I chose the "boy" colorway. I'm not a big fan of pastels, even for babies, and as I recall the "girl" colorway has a bit more pink going on.

The Imperfect Wagnerite

Christine Olea asked for my general opinion on Wagner operas. Well, I'm not a musicologist, just a garden variety opera lover, but here goes. On the one hand, there are passages in just about everything he wrote (not that I'm claiming to have heard it all) that give me shivers of delight. On the other hand, I wouldn't be excited at the prospect of sitting through all of Siegfried again. Of the bunch, my favorite is Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, which had me at the overture. I seem to recall being thrilled at a Minnesota Opera production of The Flying Dutchman*; but I'm not sure whether the goosebumps came more from the music or the handsome fellow who invited me to go see it with him.

Among the Germans, I still prefer Mozart. More humanity, less theory.

Buddenbrooks Decoded

Yesterday's batch of comments on the mention of "crocheting with two needles" in Buddenbrooks was a delight to read and I'm grateful to everybody who chimed in. Blogless reader "aka Bini" (I believe I parsed that correctly) was first with a well-supported hypothesis, and she undertook to read a text set in 1909 German blackletter for my sake, so she gets the sketch. Bini, please write to me at franklin at franklinhabit daht cahm and let me know where to send it.

And I'd like to give an Honorable Mention, by the way, to Country Mouse, who was first to raise the idea of the crochet/knitting confusion arising from Mann's use of the unreliable narrator.

If you missed the comments, do go back and read. They went far beyond my initial question to include discussions of unusual methods of crochet and debates about what the hell a "landscape room" is. Those Germans have a word for everything.

This is a quality crowd in here, folks. No doubt about it.

*Dutchman does offer the magnificent spectacle of a stage full of spinning wheels. In a live performance, this affords fiber types the pleasure of watching members of the ensemble treadle like they're leading the Tour de France and pretending to spin finished bulky weight yarn on the flywheel. If you can find a production of Gounod's Faust these days, chances are Marguerite will give you a similar giggle while she sings "Le roi de Thulé."

Geeking Out

I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I'm going through a compulsive phase. Maybe I'm getting too much sleep. Maybe the Moon is in the Seventh House, strummin' on the old banjo.

For whatever reason, lately I keep finishing things.

Abigail's Tulip Jacket is complete.



All the reports you hear of this being a fun and rewarding little project are accurate. What can I say? In putting it together, Dream in Color hit all the right notes: detail sufficient to keep things interesting, yet simplicity enough to knit in public or with company. And did I mention the spectacular yarn? Do I even have to?

Is There a German in the Haus?

I'm re-reading an old favorite, Thomas Mann's Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family. If you haven't read it, do. It's a sort of Biedermeier soap opera, told in scenes that seldom speak above a polite murmur or move faster than a brisk trot–yet it packs a cumulative wallop that will make your ears ring.

My old copy of Buddenbrooks, a Penguin edition if I remember correctly, was lent out in college and never came home. This edition, from Vintage, is a new translation by John E. Woods and I love it. I have very little German beyond the smattering I learned during my time as an opera coach,* so I can't pronounce it faithful or unfaithful to the original; but the stumbles and bumps I recall in the older version are far fewer here.

But this really isn't a book review. I have a question, and I'm hoping a German reader (or a reader who knows German) might be able to offer an answer. At the beginning of Part Six, Chapter Four, I stopped dead in my tracks when I came to this passage:

Madame Buddenbrook happened to be sitting in the landscape room, crocheting with two large wooden needles–a shawl, a blanket, or something of that sort. It was eleven o'clock in the morning.

Huh? Crochet? With...two...needles?

What happened here? Off the top of my head, I can think of three possible scenarios:

1. Mann, who renders even the finest period details with loving compulsiveness, didn't know the difference between knitting and crochet.
   
   
2. There is (or was) a North German version of crochet that actually used two needles or hooks. I vaguely recall something of the kind in Rutt's A History of Hand Knitting, though I also seem to recall it was French or Spanish and possibly mediaeval. My 19th century dictionary of needlework hasn't turned up anything.
   
   
3. The translator didn't know the difference (or thinks there is no difference) between knitting and crochet, mistranslated the passage, and none of his editors caught it.

I'm not going to be able to sleep soundly until I have an answer. Help, please. I'll send the first person who offers a solid explanation with supporting evidence a sketch.

*And that smattering isn't very useful in a modern setting. Prior to my last visit to Eastern Europe, I told a friend who lives in Frankfurt that if I got into trouble in Vienna I knew to scream "Zu hilfe! Zu hilfe!" (Help me! Help me!), the first words of Mozart's The Magic Flute. He smirked and said that yes, that construction would be very effective if I were being mugged by a time traveler from the late eighteenth century.

The Joy of Small Things

Some projects are epics, and when they're finished you stand there blinking and thinking "I made that?"

Some projects are more of a short story, and when they're finished you regard them with a cheerful countenance and say, "I made that."

In the aftermath of Abigail's shawl I find myself not at all inclined to cease knitting lace. On the other hand, jumping right into another shawl of comparable size didn't feel right. Instead, I pulled some sock yarn out of the stash and created Altar Cloth V.2.0. (Version one, which you can see here, went some time ago to live with my grandmother in Pennsylvania. It has since converted to Roman Catholicism and now prefers to be called a doily.)

It took about a week or so, and was fun all the while. Here's the dossier on a simple but satisfying little project.



Yarn: Mysterious itchy sock yarn out of my stash. The same stuff I used to make the Orenberg sample shawl for the Knitting Olympics.

Needles: Inox US 2 3/4 straights



Patterns: The stitch motif used by Cheryl Oberle for the Kimono Shawl in Folk Shawls for the sides. In the center, the knot pattern collected in Barbara Walker's A Second Treasury of Knitting Patterns and also to be found, charted, in Meg Swansen's A Gathering of Lace.

Method: Disgustingly simple and wholly unoriginal.

1. Using a loose, stretchy technique (I did a knitted cast-on over two needles) cast on enough stitches sufficient to accommodate however many repeats of the Kimono Shawl motif you want, plus three edging stitches on either side.
   
   
2. Work six rows (three ridges) in garter stitch.
   
   
3. Commence Kimono Shawl motif, working first and last three stitches of each row as garter stitch.
   
   
4. When you've made the edge deep enough (preferably ending on a complete repeat of the Kimono shawl motif), knit two rows plain and begin knot pattern. Take care to center it perfectly.
   
   
5. When knot pattern is complete, knit one row plain and place live stitches on holder or length of waste yarn. Break working yarn.
   
   
6. Repeat steps 1-3 to create a second piece, identical to the first up to the beginning of the knot pattern.
   
   
7. Put first piece back on the second needle and graft the two pieces together using Kitchener Stitch.
   
   
8. Block severely, but with compassion.

Of course, if the Kimono Shawl motif were not directional or if I hadn't cared about making the tips of all the leaf shapes point at the central knot, I could have just knit the entire piece in one shot.

It ain't perfect. I rather wish I'd done something more with the plain stockinette areas around the knot. Perhaps in version three.

But the roughness of the yarn, which I would not have appreciated in a sock, looks well on a small, Zen altar and on the whole, I'm pleased.

So pleased that I think it's time for more lace.

Will She Play in Peoria?

Sometimes you have to ask the difficult questions, even when you're pretty sure you won't like the answers.

"Dolores," I said, "what's going on with your show at the Lucky Horseshoe? I thought you were supposed to open two months ago."

Harry, who was sitting next to her watching Valley of the Dolls, grabbed his bag of Milk Duds and rolled swiftly out of the room.

Dolores glared at me over her glasses.

"We do not speak of That Place in this house," she said.

I was startled. The 'Shoe is almost a second home for Dolores. The strippers have come to look upon her as a mother figure and the bartenders keep her special, monogrammed martini glass under the bar. Rumor has it that the owner, who hung her picture above the till in a heart-shaped frame, plans to retire to Bermuda after her tab is paid in full.

"What happened?"

"Artistic differences," she hissed. "Apparently my vision for the divertissements was too lofty for this cultural backwater. And I refused to compromise the integrity of my art."

"Eh?"

"She wanted to fly in on a cardboard moon singing 'Dis-moi que je suis belle,' " shouted Harry from the safety of the bedroom, "so they replaced her with a drag queen named Magic Wanda who pulls rabbits out of her -"

Dolores lunged for the bedroom door but Harry was too quick, and slammed it shut.

"Naturally I refuse to cast my pearls before swine, so the production is presently considering alternate venues in other localities."

"You mean..."

"A tour, yeah. Victorine is managing the whole thing. She knows all about it. She's been on the road since the fricking Eisenhower administration with that Opéra Brébis du Québec gig."

"As a makeup artist."

"She is an established entertainment professional. And for your information, she has already procured our transport and is in the process of engaging us at several fine Midwestern establishments."

"Us? You're taking the dancers, too?"

"Not exactly. The greedy bastards wouldn't work for tips so I had to make substitutions. Fortunately, we got so much talent right here at home."

It took a moment for that to sink in.

"The sock yarn?"

"Damn straight," said Dolores. "They already sing and dance. They're easy to pack and move. A few tucks in the costumes here and there and you'd never know the difference."

"I am not wearing a thong!" screamed Harry through the door. There was general shout of agreement from the yarn cupboard.

"Of course not, sweethearts," trilled Dolores, like a foghorn imitating a nightingale. "My primary concern is for your comfort and safety."

"Dolores," I said, "I don't know if the Midwest is ready for you singing 'You Make Me Feel Mighty Real' in front of a chorus line of half-naked sock yarn. Why not cut your losses and focus on one of your other projects?"

"Like running for president?"

"Well, that wasn't necessarily the one I was think-"

"You may be right," she said, pensively. "This country needs a firm hoof at the wheel."

"Actually, I was thinking maybe you could take another pottery class."

"You will please excuse me," she said, lying down on the sofa and closing her eyes. "I must ponder...art...politics...which? The agony of many talents. The agony."

Her cell phone rang.

"Victorine! Baby! What's the bon mot? Slow down, bitch, you know I can't understand your damn accent. The Giddy Buffalo Show Lounge and Motor Lodge...Kankakee...two nights...forty bucks and dinner...we'll take it!"

With a jubilant bleat she tossed the phone into the air, neatly beheading my bust of Meg Swansen.

I stared at her.

"It's a long time until the election," she said. "I gotta pack."

Thud

That's the sound of my mood hitting the concrete floor of the bunker I work in after a really lovely weekend.

I haven't much time this morning, so this is less a post than a teaser. My apologies.

The second public shooting day for 1,000 Knitters, at the Stitches Midwest 2007 Market, was a rousing success. Between 10 am and 3:30 pm (I was having such a good time I forgot to stop at three o'clock) about sixty knitters added their stitches to the scarf, including a few folks whose names you will likely recognize.

More on that tonight or tomorrow, but one thing can't wait: several thank-yous.

A tip of the lens to:

• XRX, the fine folks who run Stitches, for allowing me to wield my camera in the Market. Lisa from Marketing, you totally did not have to spend time working on my behalf with the legal department; but you did, so your name goes on the project honor roll.
  
  
• The dear people of Jimmy Beans Wool, who sponsored the shoot and went above and beyond by keeping me well-watered while I worked. They also allotted me the invaluable services of the wonderful Jeanne, who not only kept things running smoothly during busy moments but persuaded timid, yarn-crazed knitters who'd never heard of me to stop shopping so I could photograph them.
  
  
• Jan, who I believe is blogless (if you're not, honey, send me the link) who sat for her portrait early in the day and went back to work at Leslye Solomon's booth, but continued to proselytize. If I heard "Jan sent me" once, I heard it a dozen times.
  
  
• My buddy Stash Haus who sat for a portrait, came by periodically to see how I was doing, and then hung around until the very end and drove the exhausted photographer and his sink-the-Titanic load of equipment back to Boystown.
  
  
• All of you who sat. You are making it happen. How can I ever thank you?
  

And no...I didn't get away without buying something. Almost, but not quite. It was a very small something. I'll show you tomorrow. For now, it's back to making bricks without straw.

It Could Happen to You

Hey! Newbie!

Yeah, you, with the half-finished hat and the goofy grin on your face, and the itty-bitty stash that still fits in a wicker basket by the couch. I'm talking to you.

Stop sniffing that fresh hank of merino for a minute and listen. It may be your last chance.

Feeling pretty good lately, are ya? Enjoying your first forays into the local yarn shop? Contemplating the esoteric pleasures of socks, cables, fair isle, lace? Dancing feverishly to the siren song of 100,000 souls given over to the orgiastic joys of the yarn and the needles?

Well, snap out of it. It's not too late for you to get away, before you become what I've become.

All I wanted was a long scarf. That's all. Maybe with stripes. But you couldn't buy a really long scarf back then, in 1992. The best you'd find in the shops was a flimsy strip of woven plaid about four feet long. Pathetic.

So I bought some wool and I learned to knit. I made my six-foot scarf. And I thought, that was pretty fun. Maybe I should buy some more yarn.

Flash forward fifteen years.

I am still knitting. In fact, I am a knitter. Perhaps I am even a Knitter. There are even indications that I may be a KNITTER.

I write a knitting blog. Some people who read the blog will decide, on occasion, to send me a knitterly token of affection through the post.

One such reader lives in Japan. She and I have never met. She wrote to let me know that a package would be arriving on my doorstep. In the package there would be "some roving" to spin. Please note: "some roving."

I came home from work and the package had arrived. A package of considerable dimensions. As promised, it did contain "some roving." Here is a picture.



Each of those two balls of roving measures nearly 15 inches in diameter. Each of those two balls is larger than my whole head.

This, newbie, is the kind of thing that may happen to you if do not drop the needles right this minute.

You may come home one day and find that someone you have never met, who lives across the ocean in a country you've never visited, has taken considerable time, trouble, and expense to ship you a box filled almost entirely by two gigantic balls of animal hair.

And you will find this thrilling.

Is that the kind of life you want for yourself? Is it? Is it?

Yeah, I thought so.

Welcome to the club. Have some hair.

1,000 Knitters at Stitches Midwest

It's confirmed, kids! I'll be shooting on Sunday, August 12, 2007 in the Marketplace at Stitches Midwest from 10 am-3 pm. I'd like to thank Laura and the other lovely folks at Jimmy Beans Wool for making it possible by acting as my sponsor, and XRX (the organization that runs Stitches) for approving the shoot.

The usual guidelines for models will apply, so if you're interested in participating please read them carefully. Obviously, the window for shooting is limited and I'm sorry that there may be folks who would like to participate, but will have gone home by Sunday. But worry not - we have a long way to go before it's time to cast off and I will be doing this again.

No need to sign up in advance, but we will be using a numbering system on the day if there's a queue.

I plan to hang out around the market quite a bit, even when I'm not shooting, so I hope to meet a lot of you. (That's why I'll be there: to meet people. I won't be shopping. I am not buying any yarn. Absolutely not.)

Glorious Technicolor

I'm knitting again, an indication that systems are returning to normal. For the most part, I'm able to live by Elizabeth Zimmermann's wonderful exhortation to "Knit on with confidence and hope, through all crises," but there were several days when I picked up the needles only to drop them again.

I said that after staring exclusively at white for several months that I craved color, and sweet Minerva's dye pot did I get it.



It's the now-ubiquitous Tulip Jacket from Dream in Color, which took off in a big way after Stephanie Pearl-McPhee knit one, and loved it, and so then she knit...I can't remember...what was it, something like 22 of them in a week?

Arcadia Knitting has made up kits for the pattern,* which is a boon because to buy full skeins of all those colors in any decent yarn would push the cost into the "when monkeys fly out my butt" category. I bought my kit on the day of the 1,000 Knitters shoot. After a few awkward lunges (imagine Karl Rove on a first date with Gisele Bundchen) the jacket and I found our common groove and it has flown pleasantly along.

When it comes to shaped garments I'm still a novice, and I know it. So I meekly followed the pattern to about row 25 or so, and suddenly found myself looking down at a recognizable neckline and shoulders. I got quite excited. I wanted to hold it up and show it to the lady next sitting next to me on the train. Look! Shoulders! Little baby shoulders! And the neckline! Squee!

I remembered in the nick of time that people who don't knit never understand the thrill. (Poor bastards.)

I think this must be one of the finest aspects of knitting. A person could knit for an entire lifetime without reaching the end of the techniques and sleights-of-hand that make up all things that have ever been, or ever will be, fashioned with yarn and needles. No matter how much you learn, you never lose the potential for amazement.

There's an old Peanuts strip wherein Linus, I believe, quotes somebody's aphorism that happiness lies in having "three things to look forward to, and nothing to dread." That might explain why knitters generally can get through rough patches in life with equanimity, or even cheerfulness. While there may be much to dread, we always have far more than three things to look forward to.

*To give yourself a creative jolt, check out the multiple colorways they've come up with at Threadbear. No wonder that place has become a Destination Shopping Experience.

Her Reputation Precedes Me

Now then, where were we?

About three weeks ago, I started noticing occasional visits to The Panopticon via Ravelry. If you knit, and you're reading this, you probably know about Ravelry. If you don't, here's a quick briefing:

1. These two nice people decided it would cool, and perhaps profitable, to launch a Web space for knitters that would allow them to create profiles (like MySpace), catalog their stuff (like Librarything), and interact with other people (like the Knitty boards, et al.).
   
   
2. The two nice people wanted a couple hundred beta testers to play with the shiny new (if still incomplete) toy so that they could make it run properly before asking the general knitting public to step inside.
   
   
3. Knitters beat a path to their homepage so quickly, and in such numbers, that it tore a gash in the fabric of the universe and temporarily reversed the flow of the Mississippi, the Ganges, the Nile, and the Rio de la Plata.
   

At present, "Where are you on the Ravelry waiting list?" is a question as much on the lips of the knitting community as "Did you finish yet?" was among Harry Potter fans last week.

Those who have been let past the velvet ropes are known to be enjoying themselves heartily on the dance floor. Occasional squeals and giggles heard through the door suggest a level of orgiastic delight akin to the parties thrown in Rome just before it fell. Those of us still waiting on the sidewalk are doing our best to be patient. Fortunately, we brought our knitting.

The proprietors are wisely employing a strict policy of only inviting new users according to their places on the waiting list. As one commenter over on Stephanie's blog said, "If they made you wait, we know there are no exceptions."

As of today, I'm 11,565 [edited. oops. originally published with wrong number] on the list. In front of me are 4,107 people. Behind me are 10, 198 people. Ten thousand one hundred ninety eight. The number keeps rising; even as those ahead of me have been allowed in, the total percentage of admitted applicants has held steady at about 33%.

I will admit I've been damned curious about what's happening in there, particularly since it's started sending folks over here. I'm reminded of an episode in middle school when one of the boys discovered one could hear conversations in the girls' toilets via a transom window facing the playground. He took to hanging about under the window, trying to find out if they were talking about him. (They were. They were saying, "Why is that little dickhead always trying to listen to us while we pee?")

Here's one thing I do know, and it makes me nervous as hell: Dolores is already in there. Naturally. She's already got her own fan club, the Dolores Devotees, complete with their own badge and banner.



Madam is over the moon. I can't get her away from the computer, and every time I come into the room she closes the browser and pretends to be deeply engrossed in a spreadsheet.

Should I be nervous?

Nursie

Hi. It's Dolores.

You're gonna have to hear from my today because His Royal Shortness is still not up to writing. He wanted me to say thanks for all the thoughtful comments, which I had to read aloud, holding the print-out in one hoof while keeping the cold compress on his forehead with the other. He says he'll be back soon.

It's been like the last reel of an Alice Faye movie around here, let me tell you. We've had to administer sal volatile a couple of times, and by the way who the fuck has a ready supply of sal volatile in the medicine cabinet in 2007?

So to minimize the fainting spells we're keeping him in bed with the shades drawn. Harry managed to get all the Billie Holiday and Patsy Cline off his iPod, but it just means that instead we've heard the second act of Grey Gardens 2,683 times.

The final volume of Harry Potter shut him up for a couple hours, until he got to the very end and ripped up the last five pages into little bits and threw them out the window.

And he's writing poetry. On the other hand, he's switched from blank verse to sonnets and to me that spells improvement. (In his mood, I mean. Not in his poetry.) When he starts writing limericks we'll know he's on the way back.

Cripes, gotta go. He wants a rhyme for "rigormortis."

Fifty First Dates

Let none say I've not done my utmost. I've swallowed my shyness, learned to speak up, put in my time at the gym. Moisturized and buffed and polished and trimmed. Kept my mind open. Danced. Dined. Listened with all the interest I could muster. Sympathized, empathized. Put myself out there. Said hello. Bought drinks. Accepted drinks. Kissed and been kissed. Loved and...not been.

This morning, after a night of sleepless contemplation, the truth-telling light of dawn revealed to me a fugitive vision of my future:



I hate men. I give up. I am retiring to the remotest mountaintop monastery I can find and never coming out again. Although yes, I do see an issue with trying to get away from men by moving to a monastery. No plan is perfect.

First one to the apartment gets to keep the stash. And Dolores.

The Subject Was Movies

So listen, if you're interested in hearing me shoot off my mouth about a topic I don't normally dwell on in here, check out my interview over at the Film Experience blog. Far better than my responses, if you ask me, are Nathaniel's graphics to accompany them.

Such a clever man. It makes you wonder why he doesn't knit.

Coffee In, Coffee Out

If you're a long-time reader you may remember this cartoon (now re-drawn).



I hesitated to even post it, but when I did a bunch of you asked for it on a coffee mug. Here it is.

I don't know why Cafepress makes the close-ups of mug designs look so dreadful on screen, by the way. All I can tell you is the artwork shouldn't be pixelated on the finished product even though it appears so on the screen.

I also don't know whey they changed the template for tote bags and never bothered to tell me, especially considered the flood of spam messages I get from them on other topics of no import. I've got to go and re-do all the bags. Ah, the life of the bourgeois shopkeeper.

Happy weekend, y'all.

Abigail's Christening in Four Pictures

I'm thunderstruck by the comments on the shawl and thank you all very much. Of course, the weekend was not about the christening shawl, it was about the christening, so here's a look at that.

1. A Meeting at Mugglefest



Friday night, while Abigail snoozes for a bit at Grandma's, we pay a visit to Mugglefest, Portland's extremely impressive re-creation of Diagon Alley. Various Hogwarts figures are wandering about signing autographs. To my great surprise, Professor Dumbledore addresses Susan and Phil by name and the three pose for a portrait. As we leave, Dumbledore shouts, "See you soon!"

What?

2. Bath Time



On the morning of the big day, Mom and Dad give Abigail a good dunk in the tub.

3. A Contemplative Moment



As she waits to be dressed, Abigail asks herself, will that bald paparazzo never leave me in peace?

4. We Meet Again, Professor



We arrive at the garden where the Big Event is taking place. I whisper to Susan that at least I don't have to worry about a church roof falling in on me, to which she replies that I could still be struck by lightning. The service begins. Do you recognize the minister, this time with his own facial hair?

How many kids can tell their friends they were christened by Albus Dumbledore?*

*I am still reading Deathly Hallows, so DO NOT REVEAL PLOT DETAILS IN THE COMMENTS or I'll hurl an Avada Kedavra at your stash. I mean it.

Four Wishes for Abigail

The "Four Wishes for Abigail" shawl was knit for the christening of my niece, Abigail Ann, which took place on July 22, 2007.



The completed shawl measures approximately four feet across, including the points of the edging.

Design Sources and Inspiration

The design is my own adaptation of the "borders outwards" method of Shetland lace shawl construction, as described by Sharon Miller in her book, Heirloom Knitting. The same work, which has been my constant companion from the swatch stage to the final weaving, was the source of many of the stitch patterns in the finished piece.

In addtion, the following works were consulted and found to be most helpful:

• Creating Original Hand-Knitted Lace (Margaret Stove)
• A Treasury of Knitting Patterns (Barbara Walker)
• "A Lace Alphabet to Knit" from Piecework (May/June 1998)

The project also had a long-distance godmother: Jean Miles. Jean's work, displayed and beautifully annotated on her Web site, stirred the lace-knitting impulse in my soul. It was she who introduced me to Sharon Miller's work, to Bridget Rorem's lace alphabet, and she who provided me with the Latin translations of the words worked into the shawl edging.

Beyond that, Jean's good-humored descriptions of her own works-in-progress have also been an inspiration. An inspiration to not throw the knitting out the window or run it through the shredder on days when, for example, one of the sides somehow acquired three extra stitches...again.

Design Strategy and Themes



I knew I had to make this piece from start to finish on a tight schedule. It was, furthermore, to be my first large piece of lace knitting and my first piece of lace design.

I set myself a few limits. First, all motifs used had to have small repeats that I could memorize easily and work anywhere (including the subway) without a chart. Second, if at all possible all motifs had to alternate a row of patterned knitting with a row of plain knitting in order to save time and keep the level of difficulty moderate. Third, all motifs in the shawl center and borders had to read well on a stockinette ground, as I would be knitting in the round and wanted to be able to knit all the plain rows instead of purling them.



That said, I knew that shawl had to include motifs appropriate to Maine. I wanted it to have a certain robust beauty appropriate to the rugged terrain and the forthright people who live on it. Maine is breathtakingly beautiful, but the beauty is fierce. Odd as it may sound, I didn't want the shawl to appear too delicate.

And I knew I wanted the design to include words, a message of some kind to Abigail. The inspiration came for the final design came, oddly, from an afternoon spent flipping through photographs I took of inscriptions at Ostia Antica, the ruins of the ancient seaport of Rome.

I swatched everything, and there were still surprises both pleasant and unpleasant. However, swatching did minimize the unpleasant and definitely led to a better finished product. If you want to design your own lace, you'd better be prepared to swatch. If you just can't bear it, choose another project.

The Four Wishes

The edging comprises two design elements:

• Sharon Miller's double scallop shell edging, and
• four lozenges surrounded by faggot stitch, each containing a wish for the baby.

The wishes, written in Latin as befits a solemn occasion, are:

• SAPIENTA (wisdom)
• ROBUR (strength)
• MISERICORDIA (compassion)
• RISUS (laughter)

With those, Abigail should be well-equipped to deal with anything life has to offer.

I confess that about halfway through MISERICORDIA I began to wish the Latin word for compassion were somewhat shorter.

Other Stitch Motifs

The center of the shawl consists of a square panel of the pattern variously called fern lace or leaf lace (Barbara Walker) or candlelight (Sharon Miller). It is closely related to the traditional Shetland "fir cone" pattern. Worked in stockinette, as here, the decreases create a diamond grid that surrounds the openwork. In Abigail's shawl, the motif is meant to represent the white pine cone - the state flower of Maine.



Immediately surrounding the central panel is a stockinette band worked with roses, although we're going to call them hibiscus as a nod to Abigail's mother's adopted home state of Hawai'i.

The four trapezoidal borders are filled mostly with diamond trellis. Around the outermost edge of the borders, inside two eyelet rows, are pine trees: once again, an homage to the state of Maine.

The roses and trees come from Heirloom Knitting; Barbara Walker collected the diamond trellis.

The Yarn and Needles

The yarn is a natural white silk/cashmere laceweight procured from Sean at Wolcott and Company. I cannot, cannot, cannot scream and yell enough about how much I love this yarn. The color gives the finished piece a warm, antique look that I prefer to the chill of pure white. The silk lends a sheen so subtle it's barely a sheen; it's more of a glow. The drape and softness are luxury itself.

The entire piece was knit up on an Addi Turbo circular, size US zero.

The Gift and the Recipient

Abigail seemed to like it. Four wishes for her, one for me: I hope to live to see her happy children wrapped up in it.

I Shall Never Grow Tired of This

Four Wishes for Abigail has now been blocked.



More photos (including action shots from the christening) and the full dossier on the project when I come back from Maine.

You'll excuse me, won't you, whilst I go lie down for a little while? But not on the bed, of course. The shawl gets the bed. I'm sleeping on the sofa.

That will seem odd only to the non-knitters who are reading this.

Kneurotic

Last night, I dreamt that I had finished the christening shawl.

It was washed, blocked, ends worked in. A hint of lavender permeated the tens of thousands of tiny stitches. From across the lake came a magnificent summer breeze, tickling the scalloped edges and making them dance.

I tossed it into the air and watched it drift, like a homing angel, back into my arms. I spread it out before me on the green grass, and noticed that I had spelled two of the words in the inscription incorrectly.

I woke up in a cold sweat, jumped out of bed, turned on the lights, grabbed the shawl and checked three times to make certain that there were no typographical errors in my knitting. Ten minutes later, back in bed, I was still shaking. Fifteen minutes later, I got up and checked it again.

The shawl will be finished and blocked by tomorrow night, just in time to head to Maine for the christening. But I've become a little afraid to actually wrap this thing around the baby. If it's at all true that the Spirit of the Knitter pervades his work, Abigail will grow up to be a neurotic, compulsive copy editor.

Click Click Click Click Click

Such a weekend. This will be a quick post, though, because the christening shawl must be blocked not later than Thursday night and I can't spend much time doing anything else until it's done.

Saturday, of course, was the first full day of shooting for the 1,000 Knitters project. My secret goal was to end with fifty sittings complete. And, would you believe, exactly fifty knitters sat and worked their little bit of the scarf.



I hope I didn't look as nervous as I felt. I am terribly shy by nature and the prospect of meeting many of you was both thrilling and daunting. At about 7:30 on Friday night I considered whether it might be better for all of us if I were to just scrap the project, get on a plane bound for the Lesser Antilles, and spend the rest of my life quietly doing whatever it is they do in the Lesser Antilles.

Anything, anything rather than make an ass out of myself in front of lots and lots of people.

And then I thought, well, you're assuming lots of people will show up. You're assuming anybody will show up. It's possible nobody will show up, and then won't you feel silly? Won't that be a fun blog entry to write?

Suddenly the Lesser Antilles didn't seem remote enough to constitute a refuge.

But I did show up.* So did you. And bless your hearts, you were cooperative and good-tempered and enthusiastic. You gave freely of your time on a beautiful summer's day. I am grateful.

The parade of people was fascinating.

Here, on the very first day, we had women and men. A straight married couple. A lesbian married couple. Black people, white people, Asian people, Hispanic people, old people, young people, skinny people, fat people. People with tattoos. People with floral print dresses. People who have been knitting less than a year, and people who have been knitting longer than I've been alive. I even photographed a lady from Serbia who spoke no English at all, and whose son had to translate for me–until she picked up the needles.

You know what? It really is a bond that goes beyond language.

One thing that amused me mightily was the number of people–dozens–who picked up the yarn and said, "Eeewww. What is this?"

It's the first yarn I ever bought, that's what it is. The final remaining skein of seven, purchased three days after I learned the knit stitch. I decided I was going to knit a sweater. I went to the nearest yarn shop. I threw myself at the mercy of the very ill-tempered, suspicious saleswoman and she took full advantage of my naïveté.

Ironically, that yarn was Hot Stuff for the time–1991. It's pure wool, and it came from a producer in New England small and crunchy granola enough to be considered artisanal. It cost a bundle. And it's nasty.

Now that same shop is owned by a friend and sells much better stuff for far less money. My friends, my friends–what a wonderful time it is to be a knitter.

It's an exciting time for the project. I have enough raw material now that I can begin (once the shawl is done) to sift and sort and see how the series might be arranged. Already, in my brief scans of what I've captured, possibilities are presenting themselves that I didn't imagine at the outset.

Special thanks, of course, to the Arcadia Knitting crew (Kathy, Sharon, Chandra, and Sarah) for hosting the project and taking pains to make it work.

I'm not sure when the next shoot will be, but there will be at least one more this summer. Stay tuned.

I have to go knit lace now.

*Thanks in part to my father, who called at 6:30 a.m. to make sure I was out of bed, and not hiding under it.

1000 Knitters: The First Public Shoot

A friendly reminder from the little guy with the camera to you.

The first day of public shooting for the 1,000 Knitters photography project is this Saturday, July 14, from 9 am to 5:30 pm at Arcadia Knitting (1613 West Lawrence) in Chicago.

If you are thinking about coming, and I hope you are, please read the following carefully. I hate, hate, hate lists of rules, but I think setting forth a few will help to ensure a pleasant day for all.

1. Do I need to sign up in advance? No. Sitting will be on a first-come, first-served basis. I've had terrible luck with advance reservations for stuff like this, particularly on summer weekends. That way madness lies.
   
   When you arrive at the shop, you'll be given a number. Until your number is called, you're free to roam as you wish. The shop will be replete with a trunk show, sale items, new arrivals, and much more to occupy your time if you prefer to wait your turn on the premises.
   
   Please don't stray too far, though; if you miss your turn, you'll be asked to move graciously to the rear of the line. Of course, I don't expect that to be an issue. Knitters are always fair and never pushy, unless there are Koigu mill ends going cheap.
   
   
2. How long will the wait be? Honestly, I don't know. It will depend on how many people show up. I intend to keep things moving along as quickly as possible, but I also have to spend quality time with each person to tell our story properly.
   
   I suppose I could shoot bangbangbang, three faces a minute, like those nice people who issue driver's licenses at the Department of Motor Vehicles; but I fear you might not like the results.
   
   Besides...you're going to be in a yarn store. With knitters. How much of hurry are you going to be in to get away?
   
   
3. What should I bring or wear? The only thing I will ask of you, other than the gift of your presence, is that you complete and sign a standard model release before you sit. A model release is a simple form which gives me permission to use your image in this project. The form will also ask you to provide your name, occupation, city and state to possibly accompany your photograph in future exhibitions. ADDENDUM: Please note that if you are under 18, you will also need to have your release signed by your parent or guardian.
   
   As far as what to wear, that's up to you. Just please wear something. Not that I have moral objections to nudity, mind you, but the yarn is rather itchy.
   
   
4. You want to use my name? Can I be anonymous? While I would prefer that you agree to use both your first and last names, I won't insist. But I will ask that you at least provide your first name and initial. After all, part of the point of this is lifting the veil of anonymity that traditionally blankets those who do handwork. If you are not willing to be identified minimally as, for example, "Patricia T. of Niles, Illinois" then you may prefer not to sit.
   
   
5. What will this cost me? There is no charge for participation. What happens when you encounter the bin of sale yarns, however, is your own affair.
   
   
6. Will be allowed to preview and approve my photograph? What, and spoil all the fun on the day I launch the first exhibit? I couldn't possibly do that to you.
   
   
7. I can't be there. Are you going to do this again? Yes! I've got three messages (at least) from other yarn shops waiting for a response and I am hoping to work out arrangements with all of them. In addition, it looks like (this is not confirmed) I may be shooting at Stitches Midwest. And that's just for starters.
   

Arcadia says they've encountered quite a bit of interest. I'm excited beyond words. Smile pretty, y'all.

Ode on a Lace Edging

Ahem.

Thou still unfinished strip of garter stitch...

No.

How do I knit thee, double scallop shell edging?*
Let me count the rows.

No.

When by thy scorn, o slipped stitch, I am dead...

Um...no.

Not scrapbooks, nor the quilted monuments...

No no no no no no no.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I'm thoroughly sick
of knitting you.

Yes.



*By Sharon Miller, in Heirloom Knitting. Quite a brilliant design, actually. Must remember to write Mrs Miller a note of thanks when my fingers uncramp.

Three Announcements

Item the First: Pondemonium

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

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

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

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



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

Item the Second: FibreFest North 2007

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

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

Item the Third: On the Airr with Knitgrrl

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

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

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

The rest of you are welcome to say hey.

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

War: Enough Already

This is my Independence Day post. The fourth itself was a very glum, solitary day for me and I wasn't up to posting, so consider this my way of prolonging the spirit of the occasion.

There used to be a custom in American families that on the fourth of July, the Declaration of Independence would be read aloud to remind everyone present of the ideals upon which the nation was founded. This has fallen sadly out of fashion; perhaps in the age of the sound bite we could at least read this bit to our children, before it winds up on the scrap heap:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. [The rest of it is here.]

You know I seldom get political in here, but you know I also do not support (and never have) the present war in Iraq. Of course, there is only so much one can do about it. I'm not over there fighting in it, and I keep voting for people who say they're going to try to end it.

My opposition goes well beyond that particular war to encompass all wars, everywhere. I'll still pray for peace in Iraq even after the Americans leave, although I think our leaders have done their best to ensure that the ruins will smolder for generations.

There's a protest being staged in Chicago, and I plan to be there. I like the format because it's not the usual march-and-shout affair. If anything, the descriptions of the planned action suggest it will raise no more than a murmur, and that on the shore of Lake Michigan well north of the center of the city.

It's called "Prostrations for Peace," and a blog of sorts has been established for it here, with details about where and when and how. I heard about it through a message the Buddhist Peace Fellowship sent to the Zen center where I practice. In spite of the name, the action isn't only for practitioners of Yoga or Buddhism, which makes me like it all the more.

My participation will be 108 prostrations, each with the intention I've made every morning since I became a Buddhist: May all beings attain enlightenment. Enlightened beings, you see, do not blow one another to smithereens in the name of religion, patriotism, or cheaper gasoline. It sounds to me like a pleasant change from the present arrangement.

How is touching my forehead to the ground 108 times in a public park going to help stop war? I don't know. I just have to believe it will. I can't sit here and do nothing. And as we still have 500 or so days left to go before our august warlord scampers back to his ranch (he should only stay there) there's precious little else I can do.

By the way, I know there are a lot of new readers in here lately, and I'm glad you're here. If you find this post disconcerting, please understand that along with Franklin the knitter and Franklin the cartoonist and Franklin the gay dude with the talking sock yarn, every so often you get Franklin the tree-hugging peacenik.

Tomorrow, back to knitting. Specifically, the mathematics involved in working a lace shawl. Hotcha!

Drag

I need to decompress, darlings, so let's chat about something entirely frivolous and off-the-wall today. I spin my mental Wheel of Fortune, and it lands on...drag.

One of the gay stereotypes that absolutely refuses to die is that we all like to wear women's clothes, or that we all have a sexual attraction to men who wear women's clothes. Going about thus attired is commonly known as "doing drag." Those who cross-dress are known as "drag queens."



While it is true that drag is an old and established part of the gay scene, wearing dresses is no more a universal practice among gay men than the taking of Roman Catholic Holy Communion is a universal practice among Christians.

And oddly enough, all of the men I've known who expressed a sexual fascination with cross-dressing were heterosexual. You think I'm kidding? Think again.

Mind you, I'm sure there are gay men who find a guy in a Jean Harlow wig a turn-on. I just haven't met any in the past 36 years.

My first encounters with drag queens took place when I was a mere stripling of 15, lying about my age to get into bars. (Sorry, Ma. They didn't have high school groups in those days. Unless you count Drama Club.) The very first was either Jerry or Charisse, depending upon the day. Jerry was an amiable fellow who wore bow ties. Charisse was a spangly, red-hot mama with an Anita Baker fixation who scared the living daylights out of me.

I've often wondered why. She never did or said anything threatening. In fact, she never spoke to me beyond a casual greeting. I think the fear must have arisen from my lack of experience with those who defy category. At that age, I needed other people to fit neatly into the little boxes stacked in my head. It was difficult enough not knowing what my place in the world was supposed to be.

These days I've relaxed sufficiently to appreciate people who wander hither and thither, obliterating the boundaries that separate male and female, gay and straight. If that sounds anarchistic and objectionable, try to see it from my side. When you're a member of a minority group so controversial that your fellow citizens consider your right to exist open to debate, you welcome almost anything that makes it more difficult to decide what exactly is "normal."

However, even though I've come to appreciate drag, I still don't enjoy it. Not on me, and not on others. I once got suckered into attending a performance at a local club called "Night of a Thousand Drag Queens." I made it to number 26, but my nerves were shot for the rest of the weekend.

And I'm no better about wearing women's clothing.

It has happened twice, both times on stage. First, I played Lady Bracknell in Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest - a stunt that got me into hot water at my lousy high school. Our costumer was a stickler for period detail and I wore a corset, a fifty-pound brocade dress with underskirts, and a fifteen-pound hat with an entire stuffed bird on top. By the end of our two performances I had aches in my back and neck that lasted for two solid weeks.

Years later, with a company in Boston, I played a nun in John Guare's The House of Blue Leaves. I had to shave my tough beard every night just before the show in order to avoid five o' clock shadow, and my starched wimple chafed terribly.

Some men are just not strong enough to be women.

Given all that, I have had more than my share of drag names, all bestowed during the operatic phase of my young adulthood:

• Mademoiselle Folie de Grandeur
• Signorina Cavatina Caballetta ("Tina" for short)
  
• Dee Fledermaus

Those rarified jokes tell you something–make that everything–about my friends at the time. Most drag names are more democratic (one might say blue collar) in their appeal. Among my favorites:

• Dieta and Tulita Pepsi (a sister act from, I believe, St. Louis)
  
• Formica Dinette
• Regina Upright
• Frida Lay
  

If for some reason you'd like your own drag name but don't feel up to the task of invention, experts suggest combining the name of your first pet and the name of the first street you lived on* as a child. Mine, following this formula, would be Sandy Pittsburgh.

Dear God, can't you just imagine the wig that goes with that?

*If you lived on 14th Street, you can substitute your mother's maiden name. If you lived on 14th Street in New York City, it's entirely possible your mother was a drag queen.