Knit Sisters

A brief note from Eugene, Oregon—a lovely place, though rather overcast—where I am conducting an oral history as part of my dissertation research.

There will be photos and updates very soon about my week on the road, which has included stops in Houston and College Station, Texas, and now Eugene, but with the first game of the World Series set to begin shortly, it seems only fair to point out that I have won my sock yarn bet with Laura.

Granted, this occurred last Sunday night, but it seemed in poor taste to mention it until the immediate sting of the Indians loss had worn off.

So, Laura? Pony up?

Oh, and, I’ll say this just this once, but if you bring it up later, I’m going to vehemently deny it: “Go Sox!”

Well, back here at the ranch, some of us (dare I say), are not really quite as interested in baseball as others.  I know, I know, bite my tongue.  Sorry, sis.

I did manage to get out this weekend, though.  Howard and I went to the Renaissance Festival in Kansas City, which was great fun.  I have many happy memories of going to the Festival when I was a pre-teen and a teen, and it really hasn’t changed all that much, except that it’s more crowded.  Both a good and a bad thing, I suppose.

Of course, many people come in costume, like these little children.

You can see from their little shoes that at least one aspect of the Festival was authentic–that is to say, the mud.  In some places it was practically ankle-deep.  I really felt kind of bad for all the women in beautiful period dress whose skirts were three inches deep in mud.

Then there were the Festival performers, like these ladies holding gorgeous and deadly birds of prey.

That second picture is a bit blurry, but she’s holding the cutest little owl you can imagine.  Deceptively cute, if you’re a mouse.

Lots of people brought their dogs for the day, which seemed like a great idea and made me wish I had thought of bringing Hugo.

Until I remembered his unfortunate penchant for picking fights with other male dogs.

Huzzah!

So there I was—a weary and broken Yankees fan in exile in the Puritan North—thinking the unthinkable: that my bet with Laura on the American League Championship Series was going to bust me down to being a de facto Red Sox fan. But then I really got to thinking.

In fact, I realized, this is a win-win situation!

To wit: if the Red Sox win, I get sock yarn. And if Cleveland wins, the Red Sox lose. Sending sock yarn to Laura will be my pleasure.

I’m not sure why I didn’t see this before.

In any case, I think we can all agree that it would be poor form to dwell here on the staggering 10-3 victory of Boston over Cleveland last night. Besides, as Laura has pointed out, it is a seven-game series and baseball is proverbially not over until it is over.

Before I head off to watch Game Two, however, here’s what I did during Game One:

Completed scarf for Alex. Three skeins of Rowan Cocoon in color Mountain.

Close up:

As you can see, the pattern is really quite simple—perfect for knitting during a baseball game! For all its simplicity, it also shows off the fiber.

And now, fifteen minutes to game time… Gotta run me down a frosty brew (we drink Sam Adams over here, natch!) and some CrackerJack.

As you know, if you haven’t been living under a giant moss-covered stone for the last few weeks, the Boston Red Sox and the Cleveland Indians are inaugurating the American League Championship Series tonight, here in Boston.

In about 25 minutes, to be precise.

In “celebration” of this fact, I have proposed a bet with Laura, of Affiknitty fame. The terms are these: if Cleveland wins, she gets a ball (or two skeins, depending on the put-up) of sock yarn from me; if the Red Sox win, I get sock yarn from her.

Wanna bet?

Now, I want to make it VERY clear that this in no way should be taken to indicate that I support the Red Sox (clearly, nothing could be further from the truth), but I do live here in the greater Boston area (having been, obviously, cast into the baseball equivalent of the Outer Darkness when I left NYC) and Laura is a true Cleveland fan, so for the purposes of the bet, it is a temporary stance that I will endure.

Much like a difficult yoga pose, this may increase my flexibility. And much like a difficult yoga pose, it will certainly be excruciating and damaging to my dignity.

But for sock yarn, I will do this terrible thing!

Real time update: Laura has accepted the bet.

Now, 12 minutes to game time!

After that whole Minnie debacle, the pain of which is still well in mind, let me tell you, I have decided that in lieu of never knitting again (which I briefly but seriously contemplated), I will do a couple of simple projects before tackling another sweater.

Neat, clean, brief projects with minimal chance of abject failure.

Exhibit A:

Scarf for Alex in Rowan Cocoon, Charcoal Grey—yet mysteriously labelled by the company as color “Mountain”…whatever on God’s green earth that means. 80% Merino Wool, 20% Kid Mohair, 100% Amazing. Also knits up on a U.S. 10.5 so fast that it actually makes you feel like a semi-competent knitter again and not the kind of person who would churn out an ugly, semi-unwearable sweater…but enough of that…

Exhibit B:

Socks for Nasser in a basic 5/2 rib. Knit from Classic Elite’s Alpaca Sox, one of the greatest gifts to sock knitting ever devised. Also in charcoal grey. (See, stick around and a pattern will develop…)

I figure the successful completion of these items should smooth my ruffled feathers and make Minnie a distant memory. And then…Tangled Yoke, here I come!

Meanwhile, it has not been a particularly auspicious week.

First of all, the Yankees have been eliminated from the playoffs. (And yes, Laura, I can sense your gloating all the way from Cleveland, so don’t think you can fool me. I know the ways of the Cleveland fan, and they are the ways of the gloater.) Secondly, I have been ill with this mysterious “sleeping sickness” and although I am better, I am still not feeling as well as I would ideally like.

Ever just want to sack out and put your dogs up?

I can stand the fatigue and the general feelings of physical malaise, but what is really intolerable is the virus-induced black humour I nearly always find myself in when I am sick.

I currently feel, for instance, that civilization is in decline, that we are living in a moment of collapse of empire, that human beings are an overwhelmingly dismal species, and that I myself have made a series of irrevocable but mistaken decisions that have diminished my life.

Personally, I just like to get in a good nap as often as I can.

These may be slight overstatements. I mean, just slight.

Of course presently I will be well and all of this will seem utterly ridiculous. Well, okay, maybe not the collapse of empire business, but all the rest of it.

Then again, did I mention that the Yankees have been eliminated from the playoffs?

As my sister suggested in her last volley, I just got home from a week in California—a week full of fun and hijinks, old friends and good conversation, new sights and new viruses.

Yes, yes, it’s true. I came home not only with a completed pair of socks…

Cherry Tree Hill Gems Merino in colorway Peacock, US Size 1 needles, my own pattern, which I will publish on the blog presently.

A little closer in on that pattern.

…but also some kind of viral ailment.

As a result, I have learned how much distress I can cause in this household JUST by sleeping until 10:30 a.m. To be fair, I am generally awake, up, and—to Alex’s mind—intolerably chipper by 6:30 a.m. Furthermore, I never sleep more than eight hours.

Except for the last two nights, when I have slept twelve hours. Both nights. Asleep 24 hours out of the last 48.

Clearly this is a disturbing sign, quite possibly of my imminent hospitalization and death. Shelley and Alex have been expressing their worry by unhelpfully hovering over me in the mornings, beginning around 8 a.m. Shelley hops up on the bed, installs herself at my side, and looms over me with a concerned and puzzled look. She is sometimes moved to place a paw on my chest, presumably to see if she can still register a heartbeat.

Alex, on the other hand, has taken to rustling around in the bedroom until I stir, at which point he asks, worriedly, “Are you going to get up anytime soon? It’s really late.”

This from the man who can easily sleep until 11 a.m. when he is well.

I pointed out to them that they might well be hastening my untimely demise by disturbing my restorative rest, but improvements have not been forthcoming. They mean well.

So until I am better, I will attempt to entertain you with photos and stories of the Golden State.

The Campanile at the University of California, Berkeley.

Our very own on-campus redwood grove. Harvard, eat your heart out.

My ride. I have since decided that I love the Mini Cooper so much that it shall be appointed the “Worldly Motivation” for finishing my dissertation. That is, I finish the dissertation and get a job, I can get a Mini. No dissertation, no job, no Mini. It’s just that simple.

One of the places I got to in my Mini: Tilden Regional Park. I went up here three to five times a week with Shelley when we lived in Berkeley. I used to like to pretend, Walter-Mitty-like, that we were Lewis and Clark, an adventure fantasy encouraged by the frequent and prominent postings warning of wildcat attacks.

The trees where you park your car before you head out on your hike.

Trail and clouds.

And last, but certainly not least, my father-in-law:

Shown here with a Baked Alaska in the low-lighting conditions (elsewhere known as “atmosphere”) that prevail at Trader Vic’s in Emeryville.

And finally, my first experience with Bananas Foster, made tableside. See above regarding low-lighting conditions.

More soon, but right now I’ve got to get some rest…

Ellen has been in California all week, and every day for the past week I have been saying to myself, “I need to write a blog post.  I need to write a blog post.”  But it hasn’t gotten done.  Until today.  So, herewith, I offer these thoughts.

A.  I have been working on the blue Corriedale that I wrote about last week.  Mostly combing, but also a bit of actual spinning.

B.  It has been in the upper 80’s and almost 90 for several days this past week.  In early October!  I don’t like it.  I’m not one of those nuts who actually enjoy hot weather.  When I run the world, it will be against the law (at least in NW Missouri) for the temperature to be above 75 F after September 15.

C.  The grass needs to be mowed.  Again!  No doubt due to those unseasonably warm temperatures.  Another good reason for it to get cool in the fall and stay that way.

D.  I have finished another sock and started work on the second of the pair.  Here’s the first:

The yarn is Claudia Hand Paints, fingering weight 100% merino, in the colorway John B.  Purchased in California this summer.

E.  I came home one day this week and found my home invaded by tiny ants.  They were all over the floor in the back porch area and in the kitchen as well.  I grabbed the vacuum before I even sat down (a first for me, I’ll tell you) and ruthlessly vacuumed all those little suckers up.  I blame it on the warm weather.

F.  I’ve gotten back to work on the design/swatch inspired by (I almost hate to bring this up) the sweater from The Holiday.  I haven’t pictured it here because I have a goal of sending this design in to one of the knitting magazines, and I don’t think it’s right to put designs on the blog when my goal is to get them published. 

G.  Focus.  Set goals.

H.  Hugo gave me the raspberry earlier today.

I guess he’s unhappy with the service.

Phhhppppppp!

I have been happily spinning away on the dyed Corriedale lamb’s wool, which, as I mentioned last week, I obtained from the Homestead.

Here’s the drill:

I take out a big handful of locks (while sitting on the couch watching movies, naturally), and comb them up into a series of beautiful rovings.

                                          A representative sample held by Harvey.

When I fill up this red bag with combed fiber,

I start spinning.

I filled up an entire bobbin this week, which I wound off into a ball.

I am planning on making this a 3-ply yarn, for several reasons.  One, I’ve never spun a 3-ply yarn, and life is all about new experiences, right?  (Sure, whatever…)  Two, I have read that 3-ply yarn is actually better for use in knitting than 2-ply.  Supposedly, it fills in the stitches more and is rounder in cross-section.  Three, I saw a photo of a 3-ply handspun yarn in the new Spin-Off magazine that I just absolutely think is gorgeous, and I got inspired to try my hand at a 3-ply yarn.

I’m really, really enjoying spinning this fiber.  It’s very soft, and each little combed roving is slightly different, which I think gives the yarn a sort of richness and also holds my interest as I’m combing.  I’m looking forward to seeing the finished yarn, which I think will have enough color variation to be visually interesting while still having enough cohesion to read visually as one color. 

Till next week…

While the debate about Minnie’s suitability for me continues to rage in the comments, I did want to say a couple of things:

1) I think the decision to knit something is often based on the level of interest one has in the pattern (here, the beading, the interesting stitch patterns, the rather interesting shaping of the garment) and the yarn one has chosen (here, Classic Elite’s Classic Silk, which I still love and stand by fully). The question of knitting challenge, however, is often tragically ill-matched with the question of the wearability of the garment in question.

In this case, particularly with the question of the whether this interesting garment was really going to look good on a short, curvy woman who frankly needs to accentuate her waistline lest she look like a small, peripatetic sausage.

2) With all due respect to commentators Helena, Cindy, Lorinda, and my own sister (and y’all know I love you), I am not reknitting those sleeves in any way, shape, or form.

Those sleeves are dead to me.

In the meantime, while I decide if I ever want to knit again or if I would rather sell my stash and large cache of Addis and begin a 12-step program for recovering knitters (I’ve already admitted that I have a problem…Minnie, that is…), I’ve been dealing with other issues.

As you may know, this dog

is the light of my life. As a shiba inu mix, she is also an excellent guard dog.

The combination of her need to patrol the perimeter of our property and her need to be outdoors as much as caninely possible has meant that we have always had a dog door for her so that she could go into the fenced backyard at will. She is not a digger or a fence jumper, so I can allow her this freedom even when we are not home. She loves it and it has always worked out just fine.

Last Thursday, however, Alex got home before I did to find that the fence gate was open. And where was Shelley? Sitting right in the middle of the yard as if nothing unusual had occurred. Like the terribly good dog she is.

Nonetheless, I nearly had a brain aneurysm when he told me this. I think I said something measured, calm, and thoughtful like, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

Like my entire family had died in a plane crash.

See, the great thing about me is that I meet every crisis with aplomb. Right. But never say I don’t have a good sense of drama!

Although there was a space for one, we hadn’t wanted to put a lock on the gate for reasons of convenience and the latch had always seemed pretty reliable. Until now. So I began casting about for some sort of intermediate solution—something to keep the gate from blowing open in the wind, something short of a lock.

Here’s where it paid to be a knitter:

Latch reinforcement fashioned of U.S. Size 8 aluminum knitting needle and blue point protector.

Please keep door closed. With a knitting needle if necessary.

This kept me happy for about 18 hours while I searched for a more permanent solution. That’s when it occurred to me that a carabiner would probably be perfect for the task.

So I bought this on Friday:

The Neutrino!

Wonderfully, it had a tag attached to it that read: “Warning, this product is for use only for rock climbing and mountain climbing. These activities are dangerous. You are responsible for your own actions! Misuse can result in SERIOUS INJURY or DEATH.”

I felt rakish and adventuresome just buying such a thing.

I am no rock climber, but this tag has led me to reflect upon the relative merits of knitting as a pursuit. There are fiascos like Minnie of course. But then again, it occurs to me that every time you buy point protectors or stitch markers, they blessedly don’t come with a tag that essentially says, “Fool! Now you gonna die!”

I find that heartening. Maybe I won’t quit knitting after all.

Finishing Minnie (yes, it’s true!) has put me in the mind of that genre of jokes in the good news/bad news form, my favorite of which is this:

Mr. Jones goes to the doctor to get the results of some recent tests. When the doctor comes in, he looks at his patient’s chart and he shakes his head. He says, “Mr. Jones, I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first?”

The doctor brightens and he says, “The good news is that my son got into Harvard!”

By the way, if you ever find yourself working as a college counselor at a high-test private school attended primarily by the children of NYC’s wealthiest people, don’t try to tell that joke at a parent meeting. Unless you enjoy stony silence.

Believe me, I know from whence I speak.

But I digress…

So the good news first in this case: Minnie is done.

Here’s the back. Fairly pretty, I think.

I’ve begun with the photo of the back because full frontal shots can only point us toward the awful truth—Minnie is not a flattering sweater on me. Maybe on someone, but not me. That, my dear, dear friends, is the bad news. After all that work. One could simply weep.

Knitter or Mack Truck? I have even worse pictures, but to post them? The shame is too great!

What have we here? Why, it looks like an unflattering handknit sweater that was furthermore a hellish thing to knit and caused its creator nothing but grief. Woe be she who picks the wrong garment!

Chez Mad Dog is a dark, dark place today.

And in fact, I must run. Alex has offered to take me to see Eastern Promises, the new Viggo Mortensen film in which my man Viggo appears buck naked but for his tattoos.

Apparently, there is a feeling in some quarters Chez Mad Dog that there is nothing like Viggo Mortensen naked to cure what ails a girl and make her feel like her sunny self again.

I cannot, I fear, argue with that logic.