I spent this last weekend at Port Ludlow, hosting and teaching at the Strung Along April retreat, but you all know that – and I don’t want to go on about it (although it was seriously one of the most awesome things and I am not even kidding you a little. A fantastic combination in every way. Great students who were a perfect foil for each other, great teachers, great food, great goodie bags, great wine, great weather… I’m on the edge of gushing, I know, but it really did go just so perfectly well. I’ll shut up.)  Instead, let me tell you about this.  I got my new camera.

I’m so thrilled I can barely hold it together. Look.  See what I just did there? I’m so excited about my new camera that I took a picture of it with my other camera. (Also, it is not the first picture I have taken of it. There’s a smallish gallery developing.)

(See that? I did it again.  Be glad we are not friends or there’s an 80% chance that I’ve been texting you pictures of a camera for days, just like it’s a new puppy or something.) That second picture is part of what I want to talk about.  From the front, this camera looks a lot like my old one. From the back though? Holy smokes.

(I’m pretty happy with this picture. I took it at the Community Marketplace on Saturday night. That’s ridiculously beautiful Local Color Fiber Studio yarns, and yes. I did buy a little. I’m only human.)

It came with 374 page instruction booklet and I’m only on  page 89, and It’s clear to me now that I’m going to have to read the whole thing and go to school on this.  It does so many things that I keep turning pages in the book and waiting to find out that it’s not just a camera, but a tiny little coffeemaker – because really, I think that’s the only thing that could make it better.  Right now – the experience of taking pictures with it is super exciting, but the pictures aren’t.  I’ve managed to take only a very few great ones.

(I’m almost happy with this picture.  It’s my current project, or what was my current project until I discovered that somewhere between Toronto and Port Ludlow my tiny little crochet hook for beading departed my company. Super frustrating – and now this is on hold until I can get another.)

(This is a picture of the table set for dinner the last night of the retreat. We had such beautiful party favours, courtsey of Habu – but it took me about 26 shots to get this one.  I have 25 others that are too light, too dark, too blurry, and one that is spoiled by the presence of Debbi’s arse, which is not to say that her arse isn’t perfectly nice, or that the camera screwed up that one. It was just an accidentally intimate picture.)

(The weather was so nice that we set up the ball winder on our balcony. It was nice to be out there, but more fun to watch people below try to figure out what we were doing.)

The first bunch I took were out of focus (then I figured out that it was on some crazy 39 point autofocus thing that predicts the movement of objects like birds – but somehow can’t cope with yarn.) Then the next bunch had the white balance all wrong, and I looked up those pages. Then the bunch after that were all screwed as I figured out how I wanted the metering set up.

I can admit that the last few days have been disappointing – I think there was a tiny little part of me that really hoped that money could buy skill, and that my photos would automatically go up in quality in a way that was directly related to the quality of the camera.  I saved up for four years to buy this, and I think that I had the experience built up in my mind into something totally unfair.

On some little level, I thought that out of the box, this camera would be just like my other one (even though it is nothing like my other one) and everything would work the same way (which is nothing short of insane) and that it would solve every photographic problem I’ve ever had without me having to learn anything new – which is also a big fat slice of crazy pie, complete with a nice dollop of delusion right on the top.

(That’s Judith finding two really big slugs on a bracket fungi.  I am in love with the look on her face, and I’m just glad that I was able to get the exposure right fast enough.)

The truth is that this is going to be a lot like anything else. It’s new. It’s complicated, and that means that I’m going to have to do three things that aren’t instant.

I’m going to have to learn. I’m going to have to practice, and I’m going to have to suck for a while while those first two things happen.  (That’s the part I hate.) I think maybe things will get worse before they get better. Stand by.  I’m reading the pages on “Bracketing” today.

(PS. I updated the gig page.  In the next few months I’ll be in Minneapolis, Buffalo and at Squam.)

This last weekend, I did something I don’t get to do a lot.  I went away with some people for the sole purpose of knitting.  Knitting is pretty much the thing I’m most interested in, and I believe certainly and fully that to keep the creative well full, I need to spend time with other knitters.  Most of the time this has me in the role of teacher, and I get lots of creative input and ideas from my students – and you can ask around, I bet most teachers would say the same thing. The bounceback that happens when I teach you something, and you have an idea based on what I’ve told you, and I end up learning? It happens all the time.  This though, this was a little different. It was like an informal mini-retreat. A bunch of knitters gathered in the woods, and all we did for two days was talk, and knit, and talk, and spin and knit, which made total sense, because outside it still looked like this.

Winter is loosening, but it’s not gone.

One thing I noticed was that everyone brought their A-game. Without the distractions of family, kids and jobs, everyone had loaded up their best knitting, their best spinning, their best ideas.  We all brought questions, and concepts and I’m pretty sure that everyone left with more of both.  These women are some of the best textile artists I know, so I brought up a complex plan for modifying  Sweet Dreams (the pattern I settled on for that gorgeous silk and bison) and asked simply “Would this work?” The braintrust settled in on it, and three conversations and a little bit of googling and mathematics later, the braintrust had checked my work, and improved my idea. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

I’d be nowhere as good a knitter without these times. The times that I gather with the people who care about what I do all in one place – without distraction, without concern, without competing forces.  (There was excellent wine and good food too, because… well. These people care about the same things I do.)

There was also something amazing, which is that wonderful thing that happens when you don’t get to hand pick who you’re with. When new people turn up, with new ideas and new ways of doing things and you see them execute something a way you never have, or put forth an idea that your brain wouldn’t have ever, ever come up with on its own.

(Because someone will ask, that yarn is this.)

Often when I teach, I remind students to have an open mind. “Your ideas have gotten you this far” I say. “You need someone else’s to really go to the next level.”  I took my own advice this weekend.  Every person there had an idea or way of thinking to offer me – if I was listening. (Actually, this crowd is a bunch of strong, opinionated women. You don’t have to listen very hard.) They all brought their A-Game.  By the way, if one of the textile artists who brings their A-Game is Kim? It looks like this.

It was a freakin’ mosh pit of yarn. It was amazing.

I’m home now, and packing like a fiend, because this weekend is Strung Along’s April Retreat at Port Ludlow, and I find that after this weekend, and remembering what it is that retreats are for? I’m so, so looking forward to it.  Amazing things happen at retreats, and they’re an amazing treat, and a leap for the soul.

By the way, in case you’re feeling bad you can’t be with us this weekend? We’re doing it again.  We’re having another retreat in June, and by popular demand, this one is just for the knitters. (We heard that not everyone is or even wants to be a spinner, and while we don’t understand that, we sure do respect it.)  Textile artists are creative makers, so this time we’re inviting another special kind of maker to be with us.  We’ve named our theme for the three things we’ll be doing.  Knit (That’s me) Play (that’s CAT BORDHI) and Cook – and that my friend, is Chef Dan, executive Chef at The Resort at Port Ludlow – and we’re so excited that Cat and Dan will be with us.  There will be a day of knitting – where I’ll teach you some finesse and special techniques to customize your knitting and make it more  beautiful, and take a look at (and sample) some amazing yarns. Cat Bordhi will have another day of teaching, and well. It’s hard to describe what Cat’s going to do, but she’s turning her inestimable brain towards a class called “The Joy of Cooking up a Design From Scratch” where she’ll talk not just about designing garments you’ll love, but stitch patterns you’ll love – and take your knitting to a deeply personal place. Her class is all about making what YOU love, and figuring out how to express it.  Finally, Chef Dan will teach a gourmet cooking class – along with a few other wonderful bonuses.  You’ll learn about selecting ingredients, creating a menu, prep, cooking – serving and choosing wine to go with it. You need absolutely no experience in the kitchen for the cooking class, and only solid beginner skills for the knitting.  The retreat will run from the evening of Friday June the 20th, and finishes the evening of Monday, June the 24th.   If you’d like more information about this special treat – email me at strungalong@yarnharlot.ca.  I’ll send you out details.

In the meantime, I’m going to figure out what I can sell to get myself to a few more of these retreats as a student.  I need the braintrust.

The cleaning bug has left me, as quickly as it came – leaving in its wake a much cleaner house in general, with the exception of a few chores that got abandoned mid-stream when the urge faded rapidly at about 7pm last night.  (That means that the upstairs closet is sort of worse, but closets are like that. They get worse before they get better, so even though it’s spilling out into the room, I’m considering the job half done.) A big bag went to the bin, an even bigger bag out to Goodwill, and today I’m absolutely totally going to think about how to attack the stash room to get the new yarn in.

I had a bit of a “thing” in Texas as the DFW Fiber Fest.  Before I’d left I had decided that I was going to buy yarn. I’d set a budget – because I’m totally like that. I have a thing for yarn, and if I bought all that I wanted I’d be broke and buried in a heartbeat.  I was thinking of this as mostly buying most of the yarn for this year (considering the wee yarn accident I had in February at Madrona) and I was totally committed to project based buying, not affection based buying, which is absolutely how I got in the pickle I’m in now – many fabulous individual skeins, but not enough for projects really, unless you’re talking about an endless parade of hats and socks – or a million striped things.

This trip I sat down before I went to the market, and I laid out some of the things I’d like to make this year.  Sweaters for Lou and Myrie, a gift for a very special occasion coming up, some solid or semi-solid yarns to go with some of the brilliant single skeins I have to turn them into projects, and my a skein or two of yarn that Joe would approve of.  I wrote down the names of the projects, the weights of the yarns I was looking for, and the amounts I needed.  I made a yarn shopping list.

Off I went to the Marketplace, and it went great. I didn’t have much time there – maybe 15 minutes here, 20 minutes there, and that was a great help. There was no time to lose control and fall down on the plan. There was only time to get what was on the list.  I got some great stuff from MadelineTosh, Alisha Goes Around, Brooks Farm Yarn, Knitting Rose Yarns and (be still my beating heart) these two skeins of Sexy from The Buffalo Wool Co.

The colours were beautiful, but the natural knew my name. It’s 50% bison down, and 50% silk, and it’s just the right mix of soft and shiny, light but drapey – when I’m done with it the bison should bloom beautifully, making a little halo that will make the beads even more subtle and beautiful…

Oh, didn’t I mention the beads? Whatever this ends up being, it’s going to be beaded. Last night I started Lilac Wish,  which is lovely – and might totally end up being what I make (despite the lack of beads in the pattern – I’ll slam them in as I go) but this morning I’m possessed of the idea that this pattern is too curved, too crescent-ish (which was predictable, it’s a crescent shawl) and I think I’d like something a lot like it, but more like a stole, but still worked side to side, not end to end. I imagine this going on over a strapless dress (clearly, it will not be me wearing it) and I think it needs to be something else.

Ideas? I have 730metres or 800 yards, and it’s a laceweight – and I’d like to use up most of the yarn. It’s too lovely to have leftovers.

The perfect pattern is out there somewhere.

(PS. It turned out that all they yarns I bought were from Texas. How about that.)

Last night I dreamed I was cleaning. I’d wake up, turn over and find myself right back in the same place, over and over again, cleaning and cleaning.  You would think, what with me feeling about cleaning the way that I do, that this dream was more of a nightmare, but it wasn’t.  In the dream all the cleaning was that satisfying kind, you know what I mean? Not the sort of cleaning where you’re running a vacuum around and wiping a little spatter off the bathroom mirror, but the kind of cleaning that’s real change.  Like running a soft cloth over something really, really dusty, and revealing glowing wood beneath, or wiping a countertop that’s so dirty that you see a different colour when you do it.  Back when I was younger it was in vogue to sprinkle the carpet with baking soda to freshen it, and then vacuum it up. I loved it. It was the only vacuuming I’ve ever felt any affection for at all. There was something so intensely gratifying about it – the clean tracks where the vaccum had been, it was dramatic.  In this dream I was working clockwise around a room, sorting, throwing away – organizing and cleaning as I went, and I was doing nothing short of restoring order out of chaos – reducing the load.  It felt amazing.

After I woke up, I waited for the feeling to abate. It hasn’t.  I’m sitting here writing to you, and usually given a choice between blogging anything and cleaning, the anything is going to win.  Today though? I want to empty the fridge entirely, hose it down and then put everything back in neatly, throwing away the seven year old yellow mustard and that strange hot sauce we’re never going to use while I go.  I want to go into my closets and haul everything out and scrub the floors of them and send clothes to Goodwill.  I feel like it would be a great idea to dust. I want to wipe the piano keys with water and vinegar. God help me, I want to wash the stairs.  I have all this new yarn that I got in Texas (actually, I should show you all that. There will be more details tomorrow. The DFW Fiber Fest has a KILLER marketplace) and all I should want to do is knit, and instead I want to reorganize the shelves I keep yarn on to make all of that fit in a charming way. Maybe reorganize it all by weight. (With subgrouping by colour?)

I’m sure this feeling will fade, but what ever the cause, I’m going to run with it.

The urge to clean isn’t something someone like me can afford to ignore.

It must be spring.

I got up early this morning, 4:50am – and I hear that’s normal for some folks, but I’m just terrible at it. Terrible.  Later this summer when Jen and I start training for the Bike Rally in earnest I’ll get better. It wasn’t so bad when the sun was coming up and off we’d go, full of purpose, riding 40 or 50km before work several days a week.  This though? Getting up, the world still dark, no purpose beyond a trek to the airport? This is not my best thing. I’m fragile that early.  I drink coffee slowly, go over my class checklist one more time…

I got into the taxi when it came, and the cab driver made a few tries at conversation, and I tried but couldn’t summon up much.  I was polite, but couldn’t quite get the groove of it, and after a few minutes he said “Ah, it’s still nighttime. Let’s go quietly.”  I sat in the back and knit on my sock, staring out at frozen Toronto, and thought about the cat, who was looking at me with a curious rage when I left. I think she noticed that Joe and I both had suitcases out. He’s leaving for the Junos and I’m for the DFW Fiber Fest (which is sort of like the Junos, if you approach it the right way, which I do, although travelling together would be cool if it happened) and when I left I am pretty sure the cat was trying to figure out who’s side of the bed to pee on as revenge.

As much as leaving again unsettles me, so soon after the book tour, I’m really looking forward to this weekend. I love teaching and speaking, but really, I’m serious about the marketplace this time.  I was going through my stash the other day and realized that a lot of my yarn is wrong. How you can have that much and have pretty much all of it be breathtakingly, spectacularly wrong is beyond me, but I’d noticed over the last year or so that a theme was developing, one where I think about knitting something, go to the stash and then mysteriously find myself in a yarn shop with a big bag and a vaguely dirty feeling.

I think I’ve regressed, fallen back into a nasty little single skein habit, thinking that it saves me money to buy a little of what I like, when in reality it doesn’t save me a dime. There’s no savings if you buy the single skein one day, then the sweater’s worth another day. I see that now.

I’m going to fix some of that this weekend.  They’re calling my flight.  See some of you in Dallas.

(PS: Yarn: Abundant Yarn and Dyeworks Weld/Indigo. Pattern: Tiny Tea Leaves. Buttons: Aren’t they perfect? Vintage buttons from my grandmothers button bin.  Perfect tiny tulips on a spring sweater for wee Myrie.)

All right, here we are. This post is going to be about blocking a wee sweater, not blocking all the things in the whole world. (If you’re truly in the weeds about blocking, can I recommend Kate Atherley’s crafty class about blocking? It’s solid. I’ve seen it.)

Four important things about blocking that are totally true

1. Blocking and stretching are not synonyms.  They do not mean the same thing. Blocking can sometimes involve stretching, like with lace, but most of the time it’s important to remember that blocking in knitting is like blocking in the theatre. The director will block the scene, choosing where the actors go, and putting things in their proper place – and that’s a good comparison for knitting. Blocking is finishing the piece, and that usually means a) getting it clean and b) putting all the elements in their proper place, whatever that place is.  I don’t know who started the idea that blocking and stretching are the same, but I think it screws a lot of knitters up, because they think that if something doesn’t need stretching, then it doesn’t need blocking – which is totally inaccurate.

2. Blocking will not fix essential problems with the construction of your knitting.  For example, if you’ve chosen a pattern or type of stitch that curls, unless you’re using a fibre that’s easy to convince and has little mind of its own (think of silk here, and the way it just lies where you put it) blocking will not fix the problem. Some knitted fabrics curl because stitches have a flat side and a curved side, and if you put all the curves on one side then that thing is going to curl up, and blocking can tame it a little, but cannot change that reality.  Similarly problems with rowing out can’t be fixed with blocking, and only very minor problems with fit can be truly fixed with blocking – if a sweater’s too small in the bust, then you can stretch it there, but the fabric is going to look different in that area if you take it too far.  (That’s because of #1. Stretching is not blocking. It’s stretching.)

3. Blocking involves cleaning. Yarn is dirty when you are done with it. Sometimes it has spinning oils or sizing in it, sometimes it sat on a shelf for a while, and it certainly picked up oils and dirt from your hands while you were working on it.  Yarn is effected by the spinning process, often compacted – and it doesn’t reveal  its true character until it’s been washed. Remember, blocking is finishing the work, and if it ain’t clean, it isn’t finished. For a lot of stuff, washing and laying things out nicely is all the blocking they need. Even if I am going to steam block something, I wash it and let it dry first – then go in with the steam. Think of blocking as an activity that is all the stuff that you do to a project after it’s done – not just something you do with pins and wires.

4. You know how some people’s work always looks beautiful, smooth and even, and you think they’re probably a much better knitter than you? If you’re not blocking, then the odds are that they’re not a much better knitter than you. They’re just doing the last step that you’re skipping.  (This is 100% always true when we’re talking about stranded colourwork. In that case, it’s not just tidiness. You can’t even tell if you’ve done it right until you block properly.)

So, here we have a wee sweater. I took it off the needles, wove in the ends, tidied things up and placed it on the table, letting it be what it wants to be.

Clearly, it wants to be untidy. The fabric isn’t particularly smooth or even, the yarn has a lot of body and opinion, and the edges don’t want to lie down.  It’s also a lot smaller than my (washed and blocked) gauge swatch told me it would be. Nothing is wrong with this sweater though. It’s just not finished.

Step one: Bathtime. I filled the (clean) sink (I’d use the bathtub if my sweater was bigger) with tepid water and a little wool wash. (I like Soak and Eucalan equally – depending on what I’m washing.) I tossed the sweater on top and walked away.

It’s important for knitted stuff to be fully wet to both get clean and be persuaded, and wool in particular takes a while to get really wet through. I wait for things to sink of their own accord, and that usually tells me that they’re good and wet. I let it soak for about 20 minutes, and sometimes a little longer.

Step 2: I retrieve the wee sweater from the sink, and hold it all together, all its parts supported, and squeeze out the water gently.  Then I put it on a towel on the floor, roll it up inside, and press on the towel to dry it a bit. If it’s a sturdy thing I sometimes step on the towel. I think the fabric looks better already.

Step 3: I lay a clean towel down somewhere flat and big enough, and start blocking.  This sweater has no elements that I want to stretch (like lace) and nothing that needs opening up. As a matter of fact, this sweater has that delicate ruching on the yoke, and if I stretch it, it won’t be as textured and pretty.  That means that for this, I won’t need any pins. The most important part of blocking has already happened for this sweater. The bath has smoothed and evened the stitches, helped the yarn settle in to its new shapes, and finished the wool.

Step 4: I spread out the back. I make it straight along the bottom hem, patting everything gently where I want it to be.

Step 5: I close the front, lining up the necklines front to back, and making sure that I’ve closed it so that folds at the sides fall between the decreases that tell me where the sides are.  I fart with the sleeves to make sure they’re the same, folded truly along the midline of the sleeve.

Step 6: I make sure it’s all lined up. Front edges to front edges, patting them into nice straight lines, sleeves extending at their natural angle, I pull a little horizontally, at the bottom edge and the cuffs of the sleeve, for this sweater I don’t want those parts to pull in, but flare a little, so I show the edges how I’d like them to be, fully releasing the cast off edges.

Step 7: I get out the measuring tape. Are the sleeves the same length? No? I pat and push them until they are. Are the two fronts the same length? (You can usually tell that without the tape – but still.)

Step 8: Finesse. Look for anything that isn’t quite right. I noticed this:

The knitting was twisting a little, the sides weren’t even. See the little spiral? Fixed it by just patting the sweater front over a little. Now it’s a nice straight line.

That’s it! Now I just leave it to dry – which in my house involves

Step 9: Keep the cat from lying on it until it’s dry.

Wasn’t that easy?

Convinced? I hope so. That’s a pretty big change for ten minutes of effort. Other kinds of garments will take more effort, or time, but really there’s not much that isn’t improved by this simple sort of blocking, if that’s all you have in you.

There were a ton of blocking questions in the comments yesterday, so I thought I’d answer a few here:

Alison: But Steph, what happens as soon as you wash something? It needs blocking again. Right?

Yup, but usually the first time is the hardest, and after that it’s just lying it flat in a tidy way.  Lace would need a bit more, but well. That’s just the way lace is.

Josiphine: While you’re at it do you want to give me tips for blocking lace in the round?

Go here and have a look at how Judy Gibson did it.  It’s perfect. (I know that link is sort of old school, but it’s still pretty awesome. Judy’s on Ravelry as TiaJudy. You should look at her doilies.)

Robyn: i assume we’re speaking of wool here, not acrylic. which is what i use 95% of the time, with the hats i make and then give away. However, i do wash and dry every hat i make before i send it off to charity, so does that count?

Yes! That does count.  For acrylic, washing and drying is usually all the blocking it needs. It gets it clean, and helps the stitches smooth out. Acrylic totally looks better after blocking. Note: Acrylic (and nylon and polyester) yarn shouldn’t be routinely steam blocked – it’s heat sensitive, and can create permanent changes in the yarn.  There’s something called “killing” acrylic that you can do with steam/heat that makes it lie down forever, but it’s a one way trip, and you should experiment with a swatch first.

A little peek, my pets, at a not quite finished sweater.  Well, let me be clearer – the knitting part is all finished, but in my books the last step of knitting is blocking.

I’ve taught all sorts of knitting classes and blogged all sorts of knitted things here, and I’m always amazed at the number of knitters who don’t often block, or think blocking is optional, or think that blocking means stretching, or block with steam only, or block… well, to be frank, any way that I don’t.  In my not inconsiderable experience, blocking is to knitting as ironing is to quilting – the step that makes your work so much tidier, and shows off your skills to their maximum. I’ve heard lots of knitters say that they don’t block small things, or things that are all in one piece or things that “don’t need it” or things that “don’t need fixing” (here, I suppose the misconception is that blocking fixes knitting problems, which it usually – and sadly – does not)  and I put forth here that everything needs it. All knitted things – with the rarest of possible exceptions, need one form of blocking or the other, and I think (and if you’d just kick that soapbox over here where I can climb up on it) I think that if you don’t believe in blocking, or don’t think it matters, that you might not have all the information, or might not be doing it right.

I’m going to start showing you as much about how I block (and why) as I do how I knit (and why) in the fond hopes that someday, I’ll won’t ever hear another knitter say “I never block, it doesn’t make a difference.”  That wee sweater is off for a blocking.  I’ll show you how I did it tomorrow.

I felt it a few days ago, and I fell for it. The first tiny possible edges of spring. I was walking to the store and I saw water on the ground, seeping out from under the icebergs. The sun was shining, and bought a ticket on the crazy train.  I bought tulips. I got my bike out, I vowed that from now on I would ride it everywhere I went, and then it snowed, and then yesterday morning when I got up the whole city had frozen over again into a wasteland of despair from which we will certainly never be released. Joe and I were heading out yesterday morning, and when we opened the door, we both uttered spontaneous expletives.  It was -18 with the wind, and as we walked, our hearts sank. We glared at the dirty old snow, scowled at the mountains of ice pushed into the cities corners… I did my best to remember where we live, and that this is normal for us, and tried reset my expectations. Of course March is horrible. It’s usually horrible right into April. It is so unreasonable to expect Spring right now that I can’t believe I fell for its flirty little overture.  Spring is a nasty little tease, and today (when I drag my bike across the ice field that is my back garden) I’m going to vow not to get too excited. If this is Spring, it is the beginning of it. It is the part where you go outside without a hat because you so desperately want it to be true, and then worry about frostbite on your scalp.  It is spring in name only. It is a lie.

Even though I got a grip on myself pretty quickly, one little part of it stuck. The urge to knit something quick and springy and fresh, but still warm and cozy, and I realized that if I want to knit a spring thing that fast, there’s only one person in the family little enough for me to pull it off, and that’s my new niece, wee Myrie.

I grabbed something springy from the stash – gorgeous superwash wool, dyed with weld and indigo from Abundant Yarn and Dyeworks, and settled on a quick Tiny Tea Leaves.

I thought I could knit it in one day, but it turns out this little sweater isn’t that quick. First, maybe you can knit that sweater in a day, if you actually sat down for the whole day to knit, which I didn’t. I don’t know who I think is going to do all my other stuff while I’m sitting there, but I couldn’t make it happen. Also, I chose the size two, because that Myrie, she’s growing faster than crocuses sprout (when they finally turn up, that is) and sizes for babies tend to run small.  So many parents with six month old babies dress them in a size one, or larger – and I didn’t want to have it be too tiny, too fast.

Let it here be noted that this pattern isn’t lying at all. It is an honest to goodness size two – so it’s a little more knitting than I planned. (And might mean that if I want Myrie to have a spring sweater, rather than an autumn one, I might have to knit another littler one after this. We shall see how it fits the little Miss- and besides, she’ll be bigger by the time I finish this tomorrow.)  Third, and I can’t stress this enough, the way this pattern works is yarn and knitting intensive – the ever-so-charming gathers on the yoke are created by doubling the stitches, then decreasing again after several rows, and you wouldn’t be expecting there to be many rows with almost 300 stitches on them in a tiny little sweater, but there it is.

Despite these three things absolutely being obvious from the get go, I was a little surprised when after knitting for ten minutes, I didn’t have a sweater.  I think it’s doable today, but then again, I also thought it was spring, that Adriana would finish herself while I knit this, and that the smell in the fridge would go away if I didn’t think about it.

Clearly, the winter has made me delusional.

PS: For anyone keeping track this episode of the annual “snap like a twig and knit a baby a spring sweater” appears to have happened two weeks earlier than the similar one last year, which I blame on the outstanding performance of this winter in the category of “harsh.”

PPS: If you’re in Toronto, don’t forget that Rachel Herron is making a book tour stop here this evening.  She’s lovely.

1. I am still knitting Adriana, despite my feelings. A bunch of you in the comments are right though, Adrian must die. I’m going to wind the whole thing into a ball and toast his demise.

2. Even though I am still knitting Adriana, you cannot tell.  I am in a black hole.

3. I am thinking about stepping out on her with my spinning wheel for a little. That’s not the same as cheating.

4. Who cares if I cheat anyway? It’s knitting. I’ve made no vows, nor promises. I’ll be as adulterous as I want to be.

5. Sort of. I would really like to wear Adriana in Texas, although in thinking about it, I can tell you I’ve done that weird thing again, where I knit an accessory, but have no idea what it goes with.  What outfit do I think I’m going to wear it with?

6. Thanks for the questions about the retreat that landed in the Strung Along mailbox. You’re right, as always, it would be better if I described it here. Less work too.  Here goes. The Strung Along April retreat is designed to be a spectacular treat, and a chance for textile artists to recharge their creativity by dipping their toes into some interesting stuff.  Our theme is “Where the wild things are” and Judith MacKenzie will be with us to teach you about dying with wild things, and spinning them too. I’ll be teaching “wild” knitting – an exploration of some stuff you might not have thought about before – in terms of materials, and techniques. Debbi Stone is teaching creativity in design, taking knitters for a walk in the woods (there’s a waterfall) and then bringing them back to explore how you can translate the things you’ve seen in the wild into creative designs, stitch patterns and ideas.   As always, there will be wonderful food, as always, there will be fun extras. (Debbi’s totally going to teach some great stuff about ipads, if you have one) and there will be a community marketplace, and some easy, low key, fun optional mat-less yoga for knitters.  There are only a few spots left, so to get more info than that, you can email us at StrungAlong@yarnharlot.ca.  (Beginning knitters and spinners are welcome, but you should have the beginning basics down, just so that it’s fun for you.) The Resort at Port Ludlow is the location, and it’s pretty gorgeous this time of year. (Pro-tip. No snow.)

7. Lou has hidden my ball-winder.

8. Wait, did I show you the pictures of Lou in his new sweater?

Photo’s courtesy of Kate and Carlos (that’s mum and dad to Lou) and I know they’re a little blurry in spots, but you gotta trust me. It’s still dark in Toronto, and Lou’s a fast moving kid who shows little interest in a formal knitwear modelling career.  It makes it hard to get good snaps.

This sweater fits like a dream. Actually, all parts of the sweater are dreamy.

The pattern is Lancelot, which was pretty easy and fun to knit although there is a bit of a whoopty-do around the short rows for the neck. It’s totally fine if you just follow the directions like you aren’t thinking.

The yarn was perfect too. Soft, warm, a gorgeous colour.  Klickitat Hand-Dyed wool from the Artful Ewe.

I think he’s going to wear this one for a while.

I am so sick to death of knitting you that I could die. I look at your endless linen stockinette and I think terrible things. I think of a small fire. I think of burying you in a shallow grave. I think of you “accidentally” being snipped over and over again into a million tiny little pieces with a guillotine paper cutter. (I would need to buy this piece of equipment for this terrible mishap to be possible, but I am starting to feel that this would be a prudent purchase.)  I wish I had a dog so I could set you carelessly on the chesterfield, perhaps smeared in bacon fat.

It isn’t that you aren’t a great knit. I think you are, and although there’s snow forecast over the next little while, I do know that summer is coming, and you’re going to look great and totally be worth it.  The thing is that even though I haven’t technically knit you before (just your tricky masquerading brother – Adrian) that is not how it feels. It feels like you and I are in a relationship with no goals. No future. Just me, you and unending stockinette in linen, and the fact that I’m unravelling your previous incarnation as I go makes it feel even more like you’re a Sisyphean task. I unravel a row, then knit it into a row, then ravel a row, then knit a row.  I’m starting to live for the decreases that happen every so often, because they break up the monotony, and that’s just sad. An SSK is nothing to pin your dreams on.

I want you to know – I’ve started looking at other yarns. Soft yarns. Woolly yarns. Yarns with potential and charm and a colour that isn’t the same as yours. I am starting to feel just fine about the swearwords that have become a natural part of our relationship.  I feel like you deserve them.

I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

love,

Steph