Mine mine all mine

I’m going to show you some mittens that got finished today.. and I’m going to confess to you that I think they are my bestest favourites.  I love them. I love them so much that I would marry them, take their last name, and happily do their laundry for the rest of my life and that’s saying something.
I started with some very pretty mawata- that’s another way of saying silk hankies.   (My painted ones came from Blue Moon.)

I pulled the mawata apart, one layer at a time, then attenuated them into a something (very vaguely) resembling a light worsted weight yarn, and made mittens.

Plain mittens. No bells, no whistles, no cables, no lace –  just the ordinary mitten pattern I keep in my head for emergencies, but the results are so very anything but ordinary.   The mittens I ended up with weigh only 30g- which isn’t so terribly light really, for reference, the beer mittens from yesterday were 35g, so they aren’t freakishly light, but the difference is in the warmth.

Silk is about 4 times warmer that wool- closer to cashmere, and so these babies are hand ovens.  100% pure silk, super, super soft hand ovens.  They’re cozy like cocoa, they’re soft like silk (duh. I bet you saw that coming) but because they’re unspun mawata, they’re totally cushy and fluffy.

Beyond cushy.  They’re like – hand oven pillows or something.  There have already been several attempts to steal them, so I’m thinking about putting strings on them.  Not so I don’t lose them, but as a security measure because I think it’s going to be what it takes to keep people from making off with them.

These mittens are in fact, so high-risk, that a friend has offered to wrestle me for possession.  I have reminded her of several things.  I reminded her of the definition of "friend" and how it generally excludes violence. I reminded her that one does not – in a moral and just civilization, usually have to wrestle another middle-aged woman in your kitchen to maintain property.  Furthermore (I suggested) that’s not a good offer.  Wrestling totally isn’t my style.  I’m not very big, but I am quite quick.  That makes me more of the fleeing type than the wrestling type.

I have a full on, flat out, crush on my mittens… and no.  I won’t wrestle you for them.  They’re mine.

Beer O’Clock

Another little finished thing tripped off the needles last night, or technically it was two things… but it’s mittens so I guess like socks, it only counts as one finished object when really it’s two. 

Done and done are Spillyjane’s Mittens with Pints on, and I think they’re beyond charming.  I rather like the idea of frosty pints of beer keeping ones hands toasty warm.

The yarn is the very lovely Satakieli, procured from Schoolhouse Press, from which only good things come.

I used (I think) #894 for the background, #97 for the Stout, #385 for the Dark, #288 for the Amber and 184 for the Lager – along with #3 for the creamy heads on all those little perfect pours and the enchantingly stripy thumbs.

I love them. My only regret now is that they aren’t the right size for my favourite barkeep,  so I suppose I’ll have to keep them- which isn’t exactly a sad turn of events,  and in retrospect, may have been an unconscious decision, since I could see how wee they were all along, and just kept knitting them in my size. 

That’s another project off the needles, and leaves me with one pair of mittens in the bin, although I had a close call last night.  I went out for a walk, and my old and well loved pair of mittens simply weren’t warm enough, and I had a screechingly close call with the stash.  I came in from out and went straight to the wool closet, and began pulling out everything I needed to make a pair of thrummed mittens, which I can see now was just a reaction to the feeling that my fingers were going to fall off.   I pulled it back from the brink and plunked myself down to knit the thumbs on these mittens instead. (I mean I did that as soon as my fingers thawed enough to let me knit.)   They won’t be as warm as thrummed mittens, but maybe I can layer.  New mittens underneath, old mittens overtop, and the pride of having tidied another thing out of the basket as whipped cream on a little mitten cake.

PS. I tell you something I figured out last night.  I don’t know SpillyJane very well, so there’s little I can say about her with certainty- except this.  
That woman doesn’t mind weaving in ends.