Back in the Saddle

Goodbye fateful claw of doom, hello sweet knitting needles. That’s right, my love and I have been reunited after 3 long, long days apart. How I’ve missed the long, slender needles, my 100% wool. It’s good to be back. I celebrated by finishing these.
mamlukedone
As usual, I am delighted, and Millie the cat cares nothing for my victory.
Who Knew?
This is my sister Erin, cavorting with the Jessica Simpson monstrosity. She loved it. Really. Said it was the best present she got this year.
erin1
erin2
erin3
This is a mystery to me. I can’t tell you what it would take to get me to wear that….and she’s never going to take it off. Erin is the anti-Steph. I’ve knit her sweaters, socks, mittens , wraps, a shrug…blankies and countless hats. Never see them on her. Ever. I’d finally realized that she’s just one of those people who doesn’t like hand knits. (Aren’t I clever? That’s 8 maybe 9 years of knitting before the light bulb came on for that one.) I’d just made the leap and decided that all of her sweaters should come from the Gap when her friend told me to make this. I patiently explained that I am done knitting for my sister. She doesn’t like it. I’m setting myself up. My sister has made it pretty clear that she doesn’t enjoy hand knits, and I should stop forcing them on her (along with wasting wool) because I like them. Sure, the gift should reflect the giver, sure…that means that every gift I give is knitted, but she doesn’t like it. It’s not nice for either of us for me to continue showering her with what she feels is a knitting nightmare. I explained all this to the friend. She explained that this shawl was different. (It turns out that she was right, this shawl is different. This shawl was fast, cheap and easy…compared with the multitude of time-consuming, expensive and elegant knits my sister has rejected in the past.) I spent the three days it took me to make it telling this friend that if she was wrong about the shawl I was going to strangle her with it. She was right. It is apparently glorious, trendy, and to die for. Who knew?
While I was finishing the shawl I was thinking about crochet. I loved Julie’s quote from Spiderman in the comments “with great power comes great responsibility” I think that pretty much sums it up. It’s funny to me that the things that I like about crochet, namely how fast and easy it is, are the opposite of what I like about knitting. (It’s worth noting that it is exactly those elements that inspire the most abuse of both knitting and crochet, the deadly desire for fast and easy) I like that knitting is slower, and because it has more of my time in it…I feel like it is worth more. It’s the old Protestant work ethic, if you didn’t suffer, if it wasn’t difficult, if you didn’t sacrifice something….I’m sure you know what I mean. On the other hand…look at this, that’s crochet that would please any Protestant. Crochet as an art form. Maybe that’s what The Claw want’s to do.
(Added July 15th 2004, I’ve had so many requests for this shawl pattern that I thought I would add a quick note to let you know that sadly, I don’t have one. I invented the pattern on the fly, using the information here: http://www.hassdesign.com/DeltaCrochetTechniques/ as a start. Many apologies)

Not Knitting

The claw is much, much better. I never really thought of crochet as a healing force, but it seems to have done the trick. Since knitting is my natural resting state, I keep finding myself trying to sneak a little in. (“C’mon, just a little…I’ll just cast on a sock, no?, ok dude…not four needles, just two man, just two.) I’ll post a picture of the Jessica Simpson thing later…it’s almost done. It has this enormous butt-ugly fringe that I’ve still got to put on, the one that Aubergine (of the comments) thinks looks like pasta.
Things I have done to avoid knitting.
1. Bugged Joe. Followed him around the house trying to get him to do stuff. Laundry, shopping, add a third floor to the house.
2. Bugged the children. Followed them around the house trying to get them to do stuff. Clean their rooms, put away laundry, I tried to get Sam to play scrabble with me, but she wouldn’t. I admit that I can be a little competitive, but it’s good for people to be challenged. If I’m a better speller than a 10 year old then maybe she needs to work harder.
3. Drank coffee. You don’t want to know how much.
4. Planned knitting. Joe spent a month on tour in China and brought me back this.
chinawool
30 balls of fingering weight wool. Or I believe it’s wool. It says 100% on the front of the label, but on the side, something is 10%. Is there anybody out there who this label means anything too?
chinalabel
It’s very pretty wool, I think the cream should be a baby layette from a vintage pattern I have upstairs, the green should be a shawl…I’m taking suggestions…. and the blue? The blue looks self-striping doesn’t it? That’s what I thought. That would be a lot of socks, but what else could you do with 10 balls of striping yarn?
3china
Finally, Bonita asks if crochet is really that bad. Bonita..it’s not that crochet is “bad”. It is that it has the potential to be used for great evil. If you don’t believe me, just think about barbies in big debutante skirts for hiding the toilet paper. (If anyone who happens to be reading this happens to have a barbie in a debutante crochet skirt hiding your very own toilet paper right now…I’m sure that you possess the only elegant one ever created.)

Desperate times

Call for desperate measures. After reading the comments yesterday I decided that The Claw and I were going to call it quits on knitting for 24 hours and see. After reading Liz’s comment about not being able to knit for six months The Claw and I made a doctors appointment. If I had to give up knitting for six months somebody would have to take me down with a sedative blow-dart like something out of Wild Kingdom.
It turns out that if I didn’t knit, I would clean my house more… last night when I ran out of things to vacuum and started prowling around the house contemplating reinstating my pack a day habit and possibly taking up heroin while repeatedly saying “I need something to do with my hands” (and big thanks to my charming husband for his suggestions….) It hit me. Crochet.
I know. I remember that I hate crochet and that I haven’t done it in years and that I think it’s stupid. I know. I remember that everything I make out of it looks wonky and cheap (and that probably has more to do with my ability to crochet rather than crochet itself) and that I have repeatedly, and in public called it “dumbass”. I know. I remember that in the nineties I had some kind of a crochet breakdown and crocheted hundreds of doilies. (I swear it…doilies…how weird is that?) I remember that I swore it off when I gave my mother her 43rd doily and she said “Darling….what the f**k am I going to do with this?” I know.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. My sister’s friend swears that for her birthday, my chic little sister would like this. It’s some Jessica Simpson fad thing. No, I don’t know who Jessica Simpson is, but my sister’s friend swears that she is culturally significant and thinks that I should try to pay attention to the world a little more. I don’t get it myself, but mine is not to question why, mine is just to give my sister something she will like. So, I raided the stash, found a hook and gave The Claw a crochet test drive. It turns out that The Claw has no problem with crochet (how bitter a twist of fate is that, I swear that you should at least be able to count on your own body parts to back you up) and here we have the beginnings of …whatever the hell it is.
jessicashawl
You may mock me now.

Respect the claw.

These are Ken’s birthday present. Yes, it is the day after Ken’s Birthday, no they are not done. Yes, that means that Ken got yarn and my best intentions for his birthday. (Again)
shetland34
I got reasons though. Naturally, I’m some kind of moron, who despite having knit a thousand pairs of socks still can’t seem to get it through my head how long it takes to knit some. Apparently all I can think when I look at socks is not “Hey, those are 32 stitches to four inches….that would take a while” but instead “Socks are small, that would be quick”. Thinking this is not what makes me a moron. Thinking this every single time, over and over is what makes me a moron. Also, these socks are killing me. There is something about the tension, or the yarn or the needles that has turned my formerly effective right hand into a little something I call “The Claw”. The Claw does not like it when I knit the shetland socks. The Claw dictates how much I knit, and for how long. The Claw would like it if these socks were the last thing I ever knit. I am trying to learn what angers The Claw. I’ve never had pain in my hands from knitting before and as an experiment last night I put down Ken’s Birthday socks and worked on something else for a little. The Claw was pleased. The Claw wants me to slow down on the Shetland. The Claw does not like typing, the Claw likes coffee, and watching movies and icepacks. Respect The Claw.

Happy Birthday to Ken

I was going to write a big long touching thing about who Ken is, why I adore him and why you should all worship him as I do. Since there is no way I could ever hope to write of all the wonders that are Ken and do him real justice, I’ve decided to leave it at this. Ken is my best friend.
kensteph
That’s us (or it’s mostly us…I don’t know who’s nose is on my face). We are wearing matching sweaters, (Alice Starmore, “Little Rivers”) that we knit as wedding gifts. Ken learned to knit several years ago…for the singular purpose of knitting me socks. He wanted me to have the pleasure that I’d given him. (I don’t worship people for nothing)
Once Ken decided to move on from socks, he showed unusual focus by choosing to specialize almost completely in the “little rivers” pattern. There was the one above, then one for himself, then one for Lene. At this point, subjected to what you can only imagine was merciless teasing from yours truly, he took a brave leap away from knitting “Little Rivers” sweaters and knit this for me…
littleriverswrap
It’s Alice Starmore’s “Little Rivers” WRAP. He also spent some time trying to work out “Little Rivers” socks. He’s knit other patterns since, but I think it’s safe to say that he is still quite fond of that pattern. Happy Birthday dear one, and thanks for all the knitted stuff. (Your cake is in the oven)
The Scarf, ratses and other questions…
A few things from the comments yesterday.
Melissa asks where ratses come from, and what I do with them. Rats are the by-product of my own particularly anal retentive form of lock washing. I like to preserve lock structure, and I’m way past anal retentive and into obsessive about having all the locks point in the same direction when I’m carding. Usually I card the rats, but with this lovely shetland I could just flick open the tips and cut end and spin from the lock. For the record (Ken, I’m talking to you) the “tails” are naturally occurring, there’s always part of the lock that I don’t quite manage to hold onto in the water and that slips down when I lift the rats out of the water. While I really liked being called “tricksy harlot” I don’t deserve it this time. I’ll try harder.
Julie, you have sharp eyes, part of the scarf is yellow. This was some of the first yarn that I spun and I thought that the yellow colour that was in some parts of the fleece would wash out. Not only did it not wash out, it’s never going to. I’m using it for test driving patterns. Speaking of the pattern, does the “lopsided” nature of the bottom lace bother anybody other than Ken? (I can ignore Ken…..)

Drowned rats

Yeah, more fleece rats, and these ones aren’t even dry….
drownedrats
Those are more shetland fleece rats destined for shetland socks. Why, pray tell are there more fleece rats? Because I ran out of yarn for the socks. Why? Because I’m being punished. I got super cocky about the whole thing, and decided that this time…just this one time I wasn’t going to be my own worse enemy. I wasn’t going to spin as much as I thought I needed, I was actually going to spin as much as the pattern thought I needed. This approach, while an unusual one for me to take, was designed to prevent the nightmarish cycle of knitting, running out of yarn, spinning more yarn, knitting and running out and spinning more …. While this is how I have knit every handspun project until now, I decided to give it a rest. I carefully spun as much as I was told, (except for the white…that’s just for the cuff heel and toe…I don’t need to spin as much as the grey for that) and embarked on the knitting of the socks. I enjoyed knowing that I wasn’t going to run out. That I had nipped this in the bud and that I was breaking the cycle of knitting/spinning stupidity.
Then the planet heard that I was confident and happy. It decided to punish me for my imperious attitude, and not only have I run out of white (my fault…I estimated. I take the hit on that one) but I have run out of GREY. That’s right, I don’t have enough grey. Even though I was a good little spinner and I did what I was told and I spun the exact yardage that they told me….I do not have enough. Clearly I’m being punished. Now I’m right back in the knit-run out-spin-knit cycle again. Let this be a lesson to you all. The planet hates a smartass. To make sure that I get the message, it is gently misting/raining in Toronto today, and that particular brand of humidity has given me enormous hair. Country singer hair. It’s all part of the plan to make me look stupid, to remind me that I am stupid. I get it. Me and my hair the size of Kentucky are washing the fleece rats, I will not try to escape the planets plan for me again.
New business
lacereject
I can’t make up my mind. This is half a scarf I knit out of some handspun, there’s no pattern, I just sort of cobbled it together from a couple of stitch patterns. I don’t know if it’s worth knitting the other half. Do we hates it?

The scarf heard round the world

Or at least it felt like it was heard round the world. I find it hard to believe that after the scarf fight last night, I could still be contemplating moving to Belize…but nobody else heard it. This innocent looking scarf started it all.
bluescarf
I finished the scarf last night (Sirdar snowflake magic, pattern here) and chaos ensued. Samantha (10) and Megan (12) both want the scarf. “Want” may be to weak a word, for it turns out that both of their lives will be completely ruined if they do not singularly possess this scarf. It also turns out that they may be willing to kill for it, they are at least willing to scream for it, and as this scarf quickly became a symbol for all that is wrong with the world, and their relationship and me…..I was sorry I ever knit it.
Sam feels that she should have the scarf because she has a blue and white coat that it would match, and she has no scarf. Having this scarf would mean that she could stop mooching my scarf, and she notes that I would like that. Sam also has blue shoes and blue eyes, and this proves the “rightness” of her having the blue scarf.
Megan counters with an argument so solid that Sam can scarcely manage an answer. “I want it”.
Samantha responds to this by upping the ante and including not just the reasons why she should get the scarf, but also begins a negative campaign which include things like, Megan has two scarves already, Megan is (get this…only in my house is this a possible insult) “a wool-pig” and just got socks a couple of weeks ago, and besides, Megan is less tidy than Sam and Sam will show the scarf the respect it deserves by always hanging it on her hook, while Megan will never hang the scarf up. (As an aside…while it is not relevant to the story I’d like to point out that I’m the only one who is ever going to hang this scarf up)
Megan still argues only with “I want it” but adds the ever eloquent “Give it to me”.
It is at this point, when the children are screaming at each other and I’m starting to think about the sunny beaches of Belize that I make my error. I attempt to help them resolve the situation. I try the following:
1. Why don’t you two share the scarf? Big mistake. Clearly I don’t love either of them. I hadn’t realized that I’m being asked to demonstrate my favouritism.
2. Why don’t I knit a second one, exactly the same. Bigger mistake, I am not respecting their uniqueness. (As another aside…They want the exact same scarf. They are fighting over the exact same scarf and I’m going up the river for not respecting their uniqueness. Does somebody want to mail me the handbook for this one?)
Both of these elements only inflame the hell-sent upset children, and serve to bring attention to me as a target. Belize is looking better and better as I realize that I’d really rather put the needles I knit the freakin scarf with into my right ear than try to express my love in wool ever again. Samantha brings to the fight to the next level by arguing that If I am even contemplating giving the scarf to Megan than it is all the illustration that she needs to understand that I love Megan more than I love her. Megan has been clearly showered with knitted love her whole life while Sam has received Nothing. Absolutely Nothing. Rejected by her own mother, abandoned to live a life of lonely, cold, desertion…the least I can do is GIVE HER THE SCARF.
Megan responds to the elevated debate style and the inclusion of Tactic 47b (you love my sister more than you love me) by screaming “It’s always like this, it’s because I’m the middle child”, which of course is Tactic 4c. (My life is being ruined because you gave birth to me second on purpose).
It is at this point that I stuff the scarf into the back of the linen closet and employ Tactic 17a. Pouring a glass of wine, picking up my knitting and turning up Billy Crystal real loud. Anybody want a scarf?