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).

Gershwin for Dummies

Yes, thank you, I am getting my work done. I just had to do this first.

The Development of Communication in the Human Niece

They warn you about this day in Uncle School. They tell you there's no way to avoid it, but not to fear it. Just be prepared, they say. It comes to all uncles, sooner or later.

Yet you believe in your secret heart that your niece–who is exceptional in so many other respects–will be different.

But human nature will out.



The day does come. And though you swore you would not suffer it gladly, after the briefest hesitation you straighten your back, pull out your sketch book, marshall your knitting needles, and start swatching with the excruciatingly pink 220 Sport that has suddenly, as though by magic, arrived in the mail from Cascade.

How did they know? Because everyone knows. Even you knew, though you tried to deny it.

Oh, well. Amor vincit omnia.

More to come.

Do Not Do This

When you are sitting in a coffee shop working on an entry about the amazing stuff you saw at Stitches Midwest, and you look up what you know perfectly well to be a lace weight yarn in both Ravelry and Yarndex to double-check the fiber content, and you note that in both places this lace yarn is listed as fingering weight, do not accidentally exclaim in your outside voice, "Fingering my ass!"

The Five Stages of Niebling

1. Denial. "I really don't care if I never knit a pattern by Herbert Niebling. Hundreds of millions of people are born, live and die without ever knitting a Niebling; and yet they lead happy, fulfilling lives. What do I need with a doily, anyway? I don't even like doilies. No, I am absolutely not going to buy this book of lace patterns by Herbert Niebling."

2. Anger. "You know what, you stupid m-----f----ing doily? There's no law that says I am required to finish you. I can't be arrested for refusing to undo the same four rounds again. I could go shoe shopping or watch 'The Bachelorette' like a normal person. But first, I could cut you up into little pieces and use you stuff a cat toy. I've got the scissors right here. How would you like that, stupid doily? You want to end up inside a cat toy? How does that sound, m----f---er? Answer me! Shut up!"

3. Bargaining. "Listen, if we can just get to the end of this round of blossoms without running into any errata, I'll make a handsome donation to the American Society for the Preservation of Antimacassars and we'll go get some ice cream."

4. Depression. "A doily. A floral doily. In twenty-first century urban America. Stacks and boxes of thousands of unused, neglected doilies going for a nickel each at garage sales all over the place–and I'm knitting another one. Why? Why bother to bring another doily into a world that doesn't want it?"

5. Acceptance. "It wasn't so bad, really.



Of course, I'm not going to knit another one.



One is plenty.



I really don't care if I never knit another pattern by...[repeat from Stage One]."

Hello, Dolly

My reputation as an ass-kicking, macho all-American he-man precedes me; so I need not explain how excited I was to find myself with a legitimate work-related reason to buy a late Victorian porcelain shoulder head doll.

This is Ethel.



I found her ignominiously tumbled into a heap of plastic action figures and cheap jewelry on a table at the Kane County Fairgrounds. She was filthy but intact (I know the feeling) and marked with a ridiculously low price, which I whittled away to a shockingly low price.

Ethel is a "Pet Name" doll, manufactured by the German firm Hertwig. The Pet Name line was created in 1895 specifically for export to the United States, presumably because then as now American children were considered too unimaginative to do anything so taxing as name their own dolls.

As you can see, she's minus her original body, which likely was sewn from cloth printed in American flags or the letters of the alphabet. After studying a bunch of photographs of extant period pieces, I cut up an old cotton bed sheet and fashioned a new one. It came out tolerably well, I think, given that the sewing machine and I are still getting acquainted. All that's left is to embroider her fingers and stitch the whole assembly to her shoulders.

Before I do that, though, Ethel has asked leave to present her very striking signature series of tableaux vivants, "Impressions of Famous Women."

Mary, Queen of Scots:



Marie Antoinette:



Anne Boleyn:



And she says this one is either Ann Coulter or Jan Brewer:



(Don't blame me. Ethel's politics are her own business.)

A Conversation with Herbert Niebling (1905-1966)

Transcription of a séance conducted this afternoon chez Panopticon.

Present in body:

• Dolores Van Hoofen
• Franklin Habit
• Harry Bollasockyarn (secretary)

We gathered at 3:30 pm around Franklin’s brand-new Knitters’ Special Edition Ouija board.



DVH: Yo, ghosties! Speak to me!

FMH: Dolores, the instruction book says spirits won’t show up if you don’t take it seriously.

DVH: Right. I don’t understand why you can’t just post these questions in the “I’d Fuck Herbert Niebling to Get Free Patterns” group on Ravelry.

FMH: Because whenever possible, I prefer to get my answers direct from the source. Even if he’s dead.

DVH: Harry, let the record show that Franklin has been huffing the Eucalan again.

FMH: If you have something better to do today, I can call Mrs. Teitelbaum.

DVH: Or you could wait for Fred and Velma to drive up in the Mystery Machine.

FMH: Are we doing this or not?

DVH: We are. We are. Fine. Just let me top up my tea. More tea, Harry.

HB: One olive or two?

DVH: Olives? Am I having breakfast?

FMH: Put your damn hoof on the damn pointer.

DVH: Done.

FMH: And no pushing it.

DVH: Oh, please. I want this thing to work so I can ask Elizabeth Zimmermann a few choice questions.

FMH: I am the one asking the questions. You are sitting quietly and not pushing.

DVH: Whatever you say, Professor Dumbledore.

FMH: Alrighty. [cough] Ahem. Um...Testing. One, two, three.

DVH: Is this a séance or are you addressing a knitting guild?

FMH: Hoof on pointer. Mouth shut.

DVH: Oopsie.

FMH: Now. Are there any spirits with us in the room?

[Pointer moves to YES.]

DVH: Holy crap.

FMH: Are you pushing it?

DVH: Sir, your accusation wounds me.

FMH: Spirit, tell us, what is your name?

[Pointer spells out ABRAHAM LINCOLN.]

FMH: Whoa.

DVH: Hot. I like tall guys with facial hair.

AL: THANK YOU KINDLY

DVH: Is your crazy wife in the room, too, or may I speak frankly?

FMH: Dolores!

AL: SHE ALWAYS GETS HER HAIR DONE ON THURSDAY AFTERNOONS WONT BE BACK FOR TWO HOURS

DVH: Ooh. So…what are you wearing?

AL: YOURE A SAUCY THING, PRETTY MISS

DVH: Oh, go on, you big lug. [giggles]

AL: DID YOU EVER HEAR THE ONE ABOUT THE NAUGHTY EWE AND THE PREACHERS SON

FMH: I hate to interrupt, Mr. Lincoln, but we’re wondering if there’s a guy named Herbert Niebling floating around there by any chance?

DVH: Killjoy.

AL: IS HE A WEIRD GERMAN WHO KNITS DOILIES ALL THE TIME

FMH: That would be him.

AL: HANG ON A SEC

[Brief silence. Pointer moves to SHUT UP, I’M COUNTING.]

DVH: Typical.

FMH: Quiet, it’s moving again.

HN: THIS IS NIEBLING WHO THE HELL ARE YOU

FMH: Mr. Niebling, sir, oh my gosh...My name’s Franklin and I’m a knitter, and I really love your work. I just started knitting one of your patterns for the first time. It’s so much fun–and so beautiful. Gosh, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you!

HN: FOR THIS YOU INTERRUPT MY SOAP OPERA

FMH: Oh. I’m sorry.

HN: IS OK WE HAVE TIVO

FMH: Whew. So can I ask you some questions about the doily?

HN: WHICH ONE IS IT

FMH: The piece with the gloxinia blossoms from Gestrickte Spitzendecken.

HN: WTF IS A GLOXINIA

FMH: Well, I think they’re gloxinia blossoms. Maybe they’re daffodils?

DVH: I thought they were petunias.

HN: MAYBE INSTEAD OF ME YOU PEOPLE SHOULD BOTHER A DEAD HORTICULTURIST

FMH: Honestly, the type of flower doesn’t matter. I just wanted to ask you about the funky maneuver on round 60.

HN: FUNKY UNUSUAL OR FUNKY LIKE JAMES BROWN

FMH: I mean “unusual.”

HN: NOBODY EVER COMPARES ME TO JAMES BROWN

FMH: I’m sorry. So, about the triple yarn over–

HN: I COULD HAVE BEEN VERY FUNKY YOU KNOW

FMH: I’m sure you could have, but–

HN: I WANTED TO JOIN HANS BREUER AND HIS HANOVERIAN SWEETHEARTS OF POLKA JAZZ BUT MAMA HAD A CONNIPTION WHEN I TOLD HER AND SHE LOCKED ME IN THE CELLAR WITH ONLY A CRUST OF BREAD AND A PIECE OF COLD SAUERBRATEN

FMH: That’s…sad. But–

HN: PEOPLE THINK GERMANS HAVE NO SOUL BUT LET ME TELL YOU WHEN I HAD A COUPLE OF STEINS UNDER MY BELT I COULD MAKE THAT ACCORDION SWING LIKE A CHEAP HOOKER ON A WINDY PLAYGROUND

DVH: Now we’re getting somewhere interesting.

FMH: Please, Mr. Niebling, do you think we could talk about lace?

HN: ALL I EVER GET TO TALK ABOUT IS LACE DONT YOU WANT TO HEAR ME PLAY THE ACCORDION

HB: I do! I love the accordion! Do you know “Lady of Spain?”

HN: THATS ONE OF MY PARTY PIECES

HB: Oh boy!

HN: THIS IS NICE FOR A CHANGE ALL ANYBODY EVER WANTS ME TO TALK ABOUT IS THOSE FRIGGING DOILIES

DVH: Personally I wouldn’t mind hearing more about the hooker in the wind.

FMH: Honestly, Mr. Niebling, it’s just a quick question about the triple yarn over in Round 60.

HN: GOTT IN HIMMEL IS HE ALWAYS LIKE THIS

DVH: Pretty much.

HN: IM SO SORRY

FMH: I think we’re finished, here.

DVH: Wait a sec. Hey, Herbie–is Elizabeth Zimmermann there by any chance?

HN: WE JAM TOGETHER TONIGHT AT 7 SHE REALLY WAILS ON THAT BASS GUITAR MAYBE YOU WOULD CARE TO SIT IN

DVH: I could clear my schedule. You need a singer?

FMH: I feel that I have become superfluous to this conversation.

HN: YOUR LITTLE BALD FRIEND THERE IS A BUZZKILL

DVH: You don’t know the half of it.

HN: HEY HOW ABOUT AS A JOKE I GET THIS POLTERGEIST BUDDY OF MINE TO BUST IN ON HIM WHEN HES TAKING A SHOWER

DVH: That would be a scream. You should totally do that.

FMH: Hello! Hello! Still in the room!

HN: ROFLMAO

[And then Franklin threw the board at the wall, so I don’t think we will be having another séance real soon.]

Respectfully submitted,

Some Thoughts On Having Attended the Opening Day of the Newberry Library Book Fair

1. Whoops.



2. If only I'd had more time to browse.

3. I got kind of a sick thrill when the lady at the cash desk staggered back and said, "Whoa."

4. Now that I've been, you may go and pick through the leftovers.

Buncha Buncha Bohus

First, a follow-up to the previous post. The lovely people at Schoolhouse Press graciously allowed me to spend some alone time with the samples from the upcoming book of unknown and revisited patterns by Elizabeth Zimmermann, and to photograph them; but I've promised not to show any until the book is nearer to press. I promise they're worth the wait.

What I can post right now are a few snaps I took of the Schoolhouse Press collection of sweaters from Bohus Stickning, the Swedish high-fashion knitwear house whose products were all produced by home-based handknitters. Meg brought them in for us to examine and paw over (which we did, while emitting uncontrollable squeaks of delight).

I won't undertake a history of the Bohus, as you can find a neat and authoritative account here. The book Poems of Color, happily back in print, will tell you the full and inspiring story–and probably tempt you to try your hand at emulating the talented Swedes who crafted the originals.

Look at these.



All are worked in light DK/fingering weight yarn, usually an angora/merino blend. The light halo softens the transitions, rather like blended watercolors.



It's common for a single round to incorporate three or more colors,



and purls periodically mix it up with knits for a fascinating texture.



The interiors are as neat and finished as the exteriors.



Each one is a masterclass in color mixing.



I can only hope that anything I create will look this fresh half a century later. Amazing.

Knitting Camp Bulletin

I'm at Meg Swansen's Knitting Camp, watching a parade of projects that will be included in an upcoming book from Schoolhouse Press of revisited and new Elizabeth Zimmermann designs in garter stitch, many of which have been drawn from previously unpublished notes and sketches.

Incredible sideways gloves. A chic biased garter stitch pullover. Little slippers with curled Turkish toes. Piece after piece after piece after piece and they're not done yet.

I will beg Meg for permission to post a few pictures. For the moment, this is all I can show you:

Bridal Suite

Talk to any professional artist or designer you can find (seedy bars and discount grocery stores are good places to look) and chances are they will agree that inspiration is probably the most misunderstood ingredient in the murky chowder of creativity.

In movies, inspiration looks much like the manic half of manic depression. The artist runs amok in montage, flinging paint around in a large, white studio while loud bits of Mahler (or possibly the Pointer Sisters singing "I'm So Excited") flood the soundtrack. He is hyperkinetic, unfettered, unstoppable. He is not the person you want living in the apartment upstairs. But he can't help himself...he is inspired.

I admit that occasionally, out of nowhere, the Inspiration Fairy socks you in the gut with a full-grown idea so damned good it almost lifts you right off the barstool. But if you intend to make a living from your ideas, and you only sit down to work when that happens, you'd better have a rich uncle or a back-up plan in something nice and stable like accounting or dog grooming.

Inspiration (for me, anyhow) is less like a lightning bolt than like being constantly pecked by a flock of unfocused chickens. Here a peck, there a peck, until the combined pecking reaches critical mass and you can't take it any more and you scream, "Stop, chickens! Stop! Stop!"* and you sit down and draw the cartoon.

This can be every bit as unpleasant as it sounds.

The only way to avoid going mad, which usually happens to artists in movies shortly after the Pointer Sisters stop singing, is to learn to love your chickens. Think of the pecking as their way of alerting you to little details that will move you along, by slow inches, towards something good and whole and new.

And now I want to show you some drawings of old wedding dresses.

That sounds like a non sequitur, I know, but the old wedding dresses were inspiring. Everything you've just read was intended to lead up to them. But then I introduced the chicken motif, and it hasn't come out where I thought it would, and it's almost dinner time so I'm not going back and rewriting it. Sorry.

Inspiration at the Chicago History Museum

This is my second year as a member of the Chicago History Museum, which not so long ago was the Chicago Historical Society. In the old incarnation, it was just as clubby and dusty as it sounds–mostly of interest to the people around here who have major streets named after them.

After a grand renovation and expansion, however, it has become one of my favorite places in the city. Along with a first-class permanent exhibit about the Great Fire of 1871 and several rooms of Lincolniana unmatched by anything at the Smithsonian, they have frequent and splendid shows of items from the textiles collection.

The latest is called "I Do! Chicago Ties the Knot," and it's a doozy. Wedding gear from the mid-19th century (when Chicago sprang, almost overnight, from the mud) to the present day, including bridal gowns, corsetry, going-away attire, and men's costumes–including a pair of matching tuxedos worn by a gay couple, thankyouverymuch.

Oh, and there's a perfectly preserved 120-year-old top tier from a wedding cake, just for good measure.

They don't allow photography in the exhibit, but I spent a fun afternoon there, sketchbook in hand, drawing interesting details under the puzzled eye of the guard.

Here are a few. I plan to go back soon and collect more.

I would write something about the chickens here if I could think of a good tie-in, but it's Thai delivery night and I want my panang curry.

*If it's near Christmas and so they happen to be French hens, I suppose you could scream "Arretez-vous, poulardes, s'il vous plaît!" If they're German chickens, I got nothing, but that almost never happens.

Pachydermia

The First Fall 2010 issue of Knitty is live, and my contribution to the potluck is Flo, a little elephant with an interesting history.



My inner six-year-old is unable to look at that picture without feeling compelled to share some of my very favorite elephant jokes. (Please set aside your juice boxes before proceeding.)

How do you stop an elephant from charging?

Take away his credit card before he goes into the yarn shop.

Why did the elephant cross the road?

To get to the yarn shop on the other side.

Why do elephants paint their toenails red?

Because they need something to do while they wait for the yarn shop to open.

What did the grape say to the elephant?

Nothing–grapes can't talk! But if grapes could talk, the grape would have asked for directions to the yarn shop.

If you see an elephant in your car, what time is it?

Time to drive the elephant to the yarn shop.

Midwest Fiber and Folk Art Fair

My inner six-year-old is also busting with anticipation because next week (July 16-18) is the annual Midwest Fiber and Folk Art Fair in Grayslake, Illinois. Have you been? This year I get to not only go and wander around the market, the art show, and the exhibits, but I'm also teaching.

The problem with teaching, of course, is that I can't also take classes, and my friends Edie Eckman (the knitting and crochet sorceress who taught me intarsia without killing me) and Carol Rhoades (of Spin Off and PieceWork magazines, et al., and on whom I have the most uncontrollable schoolboy crush) are also in the line-up.

Once Upon a Time...

...it was the custom for American citizens to read aloud, on this day, the document that started it all: The Declaration of Independence.

I think it's a terrible pity that the custom has long fallen out of fashion.

Whatever your politics, you cannot deny that the United States is in the throes of a painful identity crisis. Argument is rife as to what it means, exactly, to be an American.

This is not a political blog–heaven knows I don't have the brains or stomach for that*–but on this one day, I humbly suggest that as we collectively search for an answer we might begin by reviving the old custom.

Turn off your cell phones, your laptops, your iPads, your iPods, your Blackberries and your television, and read the Declaration out loud to your family, your friends, your cat–whoever's there. You may feel somewhat akin to a cornball for the first few lines (beautiful as they are) but the feeling (I promise you) will pass. (If you knit or crochet, feeling somewhat akin to a cornball is terra cognita, anyhow.)

As we try to reach a common understanding of who Americans are, and what America is, we can't do better than to return to the source. And we are singularly fortunate, as a nation, to have the source still with us.

Do you believe we're all created equal? Do you believe we are all entitled to certain unalienable (go look it up) rights, including Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness?

If so, perhaps we can agree–at least for the length of time it will take to read the Declaration aloud–that being American is less about one's color, or the color of one's state, than it is about buying into these very basic ideas.

Take it away, Mister Jefferson.

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

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. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

*I am so averse to political argument in social settings that I almost shut off the comment feature for this entry–until it struck me that this would be outrageously undemocratic. But hear this: keep your comments civil. And I mean on both sides. No cracks about anybody–not Sarah P., not Barack O., not anybody. If anybody starts anything, I'll delete comments with a tyranny so ruthless that it'd make George III clutch his stars and garters.

Proof That No Matter How Bad It Is, Knitting Makes It Better

Stuff That Fell Out of My Suitcase

I envy bloggers who manage to post reports of their travels while their return flight is still on the tarmac. What's more, their trips invariably flow in a neat channel from Point A to Point B. They may meander now and then, but never is the Grand Narrative lost.

My trips are not like that. I, too, begin at Point A; but the route to Point B skitters around like a jitterbug afflicted with St. Vitus's Dance. Back home, exhausted, I try to cajole the ducks into a single file conga line. But I get frustrated or fall asleep, the ducks scatter, and when I wake up I decide to forget it and go back to my knitting.

No more.

You want Grand Narrative? You won't find it here. You okay with random tidbits and souvenirs that tumble out of my bag along with torn boarding passes, Clif Bar crumbs and odd stitch markers? Read on. (If you start to feel dizzy, pop a Dramamine.)

Columbus: Knitters' Connection

Knitters' Connection is the brainchild of the lady who runs this place. She's a smart cookie. Every summer The National NeedleArts Association hosts one of its two annual conventions right there in her backyard. And while the convention attracts August Knitting Authorities like clover attracts honeybees, there's a catch: their classes aren't open to the general public.

So Jan (the smart cookie) decided to see if any of the August Knitting Authorities would like to stick around afterwards and teach the general public. It turns out they would, and the result (for the past four years) has been Knitters' Connection. This year, they let me join the can-can.

It was my first chance to offer almost every class in my repertoire, bangbangbang, for three days running. Some people signed up for the whole megillah. I wish I'd had little medals to pin on them at the end.

Zimmermania

The second day was entirely occupied by a Tomten Jacket Bootcamp, at the end of which the students (a hearty bunch, not a bleeder among them) had produced a nubbly hillock of Tomtens-in-progress.



One of the students asked at the end of class whether I'd like to see an Elizabeth Zimmermann relic, and drew from her knitting bag an original copy of the newsletter in which Elizabeth first published the Baby Surprise Jacket.



Reports that I squealed like Smurfette when I touched the signature are slightly exaggerated.



But only slightly.

The Quotable Candace Eisner Strick

At the student reception/book signing: "I'm sorry, but I only wipe my lips on qiviut."

"Improve Your Knitting" Panel Discussion Agenda

Topics covered by the panel (ably moderated by the redoubtable Amy Detjen) included:

• blocking techniques
• the relative sizes of knitting needles and crochet hooks
• finishing
  
• wet felting
• thong underwear

Jeni's Ice Cream

I had eleven scoops in four days and I don't care who knows it. Jeni's makes all other ice creams taste like library paste.

Cute, or Disturbing?

At the Knitters' Connection market, I had the opportunity to talk at length with the owners of Fiber Optic Yarn. One of them mentioned that her daughter (aged four) had adopted a pet sheep, and that the daughter had named the sheep Dolores after hearing numerous (expurgated) tales from this blog as bedtime stories.

I am not sure whether I ought to be flattered, or call Child Welfare.

(More on Fiber Optic in an upcoming post, by the way.)

Back to Texas

I left Columbus on Friday evening because I was scheduled to teach on Saturday morning at The Knitting Nest in Austin, Texas. This was my third gig at the Nest, because when they ask me to visit my only question is "When?"

They've just moved into a splendid new space at 8708 South Congress, but I knew I was in the right place when I saw the display of Lorna's Laces Shepherd Worsted in "Longhorn."



Austin Fun Fact

Austinites are constantly shouting "Hook 'em!" which leads one to assume that they are all simply mad for crochet.

Wall Flower

When the Nesters moved, they had to leave behind the enormous drawing of Dolores on the wall of the old shop. I would have considered this a great relief, but Stacy said she'd like a new one.

Stacy's got an entire photo sequence of me in action (shut up) here, here, here, and here.

Now she can try to work while Dolores sits nearby, burping and smoking.



Welcome to my world, Stacy darling.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I distinctly remember saying to someone, once, just a few years ago, "I love knitting so much. Gosh, I love knitting. I love knitting so much I wish I could just knit and knit all day, every day, and never do anything else but knit."

Those words, spoken from innocence, have been looping in my brain for the past few weeks, because some evil eavesdropping genie granted my damned wish. I have in fact been knitting and knitting all day, every day, and not doing anything else but knitting. I have a new furrow in my brow that bears a striking resemblance to a US 0 dpn; and one night I was getting ready for bed when I noticed this on my chest and upper arms:



I appear to have broken out in lace charting symbols.

My doctor, who doesn't knit (he prefers Mountmellick embroidery) is stupified. I hoped he'd have some cream to clear it up, but apparently there are no other verified cases in the annals of medicine. Isn't that special? Any minute I expect a tap on the door and speedy private transport to an isolation ward at the Mayo Clinic.

Which might be nice. I could get a lot of knitting done in between probes or CAT scans or whatever horrid nosy things they'll do to me in the name of science. (I saw E.T., The Extra-Terrestrial five times. I know what those scientific probe people are like.)

In other words, I have a lot of knitting to do and I have been doing a lot of knitting. Would you like to see it? I'd like to show it to you.

But I can't, because it's almost all knitting for things that other people want to publish in their books and magazines. And those people get justifiably peevish if their designers offer unauthorized sneak previews. And then they don't want to use your work, and then they don't pay you, and then you are forced to live on the cold, mean streets without money for food or yarn.

No yarn!

Which makes it difficult, suddenly, to blog about my knitting.

But I was determined to find a way, and so I took some pictures of a sock I'm working on and asked the publisher if I could, pretty please, show it to you. Just to prove that I haven't given up and joined the macramé achievers. And since I am the publisher, I said yes, but only after I agreed to engage in behavior so vile and degrading you can't even see it on the Internet without paying a stiff recurring membership fee that is billed discreetly to your account as "SARAH PALIN 2012."

(I only mention this so you'll understand how much I love you.)

Here is the sock.



It's going to be in three colors of Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock, two of which you can see here.

(If you think I've been knitting with an awful lot of Lorna's Laces lately, you're what they refer to in my neck of the piney woods as darn tootin'.)

The inspiration was Victorian wallpaper, which I will have you know is not the only thing that inspires me, although after this and this you might well wonder.

(I wondered. I wondered aloud to Beth Casey, who owns Lorna's Laces. "Beth," I asked, "What is it with me and the Victorian wallpaper?" "Sweetie," she replied, "you're very, very gay." So I checked, and she's right, I am.)

But there's no wallpaper in my apartment. Which raises another question, but I have to stop typing now and go put more Calamine Lotion on my yarn overs.