Knit Sisters

Although I haven’t been actively working on the Handsome Triangle shawl for a week or so, I have been thinking about it a good deal.  Especially thinking about how much fun it will be to wear it and how flirty, coy, and feminine that ruffled edging will be. 

 

Actually, I don’t think that many people who know me well would describe me as flirty or coy or even that feminine in the traditional sense.  Yet I find myself drawn to these ultra-feminine shawls–in fact, I also own the pattern for the “Flirty Ruffles Shawl” from Fiddlesticks Knitting and a large cone of Zephyr wool/silk with which to make it.

Who among us hasn’t fallen in love with a project that just doesn’t really fit the public image we’ve created for ourselves?  It’s part of the magic of knitting–the ability to create a new persona for myself with yarn, skill, and my own two hands.  To create the persona while creating the cloth–to craft a new self and be able to literally try it on for size.  To give myself the gift of living, for a little while, a different kind of life as a different kind of woman:  the kind of woman who wears ruffles, who flirts outrageously, who is unabashedly selfish, who can make strange men fall in love with her on sight.

It’s a lot to expect from a ruffled shawl, I know.  Some day, when the shawl is done, I’ll let you know how that woman is doing. 

I am zipping along (well, relatively speaking) on the Handsome Triangle shawl, despite having had a stunningly bad day on Saturday and spending most of the day in tears.  If I sound like I am making a shameless play for sympathy–well, I guess I am.  Nevertheless, I knitted through my tears and made some real strides.

 

I think this will be really beautiful when it’s all done and blocked.  I am planning to put the ruffled edging on it, like the Handsome Triangle shawl pictured in the very back of the book.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the shawls I have knitted, what I like about them, and when and how I wear them.  One of the ones I have worn most is the Kimono shawl (I think that’s what it’s called) out of Cheryl Oberle’s Folk Shawls.  (This is a terrific book, by the way, that I recommend to anyone who is interested in knitting shawls.  She includes a great range of projects, and they are all gorgeous.)  Anyway, I made this shawl out of a laceweight cotton/silk that I bought from Elann many moons ago.  I just kept knitting on the durned thing until it was tremendously long, but as it turns out, that’s one of the things I like about it.  It’s long enough to wrap around you more than once, and the cotton/silk yarn is also fine and drapey enough to be wound around your neck like a giant scarf.

 

A detail of the lace pattern:

 

Another long rectangular stole that I own was not knitted by me, but was made by and given to me by my own dear sister.  This is from a Knitty pattern, and the yarn is 100% silk.  This stole is much heavier than the one above, and it has a wonderful drape and flow when worn.  (Of course, it goes without saying that the workmanship is superb, as well.) 

 

Diane asked if I had a shawl pin that I wear with my shawls, and I do, indeed.  It is a turquoise pin from Designs by Romi, and it is truly beautiful.  I get compliments on it whenever I wear it.  In this photo, you can see it adorning the front of my Nicola cardigan. 

 

I usually do wear a pin with the burgundy silk stole, because I find that it really helps it stay in place.  The nice thing about the Designs by Romi pins is that they are sharp enough to be pinned through the shawl to the clothing or even a bra strap beneath.

But what I like most about wearing my shawls?  The romantic heroine/glamourpuss feeling I get when I wrap up in one of them.  At these times, I feel confident that I really can be the star of my own life.

I’ve been working diligently away on the Handsome Triangle shawl.  However, like Icarus before her, she really doesn’t show that much progress in photos.  That didn’t stop me from taking one, though.

 

Also, like all lace, she looks quite unpromising unblocked–all shrivelled up.

When I started knitting again as an adult, and by that I mean really knitting–always having more than one project going, thinking about knitting when I wasn’t actively knitting, and most of all, stashing–I got back into it with the purchase of Shawls and Scarves: The Best of Knitter’s Magazine.  I spent many happy hours looking at and reading that book, and dreaming of the beautiful lace shawls that I would make.  I’m a bit embarrassed to say that in actuality I only knit one scarf out of the book.  It served me as more of a “gateway” book, really.

I did knit this variation of Elizabeth Zimmerman’s Pi shawl, though.  (Instructions for the basic Pi shawl can be found in Shawls and Scarves.)

 

A detail:

 

I made this shawl out of handspun which I purchased on Ebay, before I knew anything about handspun.  It’s not bad yarn, by any means, but it’s alpaca which has a lot of guard hair in it, which makes it pretty rough to the touch.  It’s very warm, though.

Now I own many more lace knitting books, and about a year ago I finished this Faroese shawl out of Stahman’s Shawls and Scarves. 

 

An edging detail:

 

I highly recommend this book if you have any interest in shawl-making at all.  This is the shawl that I wear most, because it’s so warm and substantial, and because it stays on the shoulders better than most shawls.  (A design feature of Faroese shawls.)  The circular shawl above, for instance, tends to slide right off your shoulders if you move at all, which, let’s face it, is pretty hard not to do in everyday life.

Next week:  A discussion of rectangular shawls (or stoles, depending on which word you like better).

My father and I have a running joke (one of many, it should be pointed out) about the burdens of being a “lifelong learner.” We’ve often thought how great it would be if we could just declare that by golly, we know what we know, we’re sure of it, we don’t have to think about it anymore, we don’t have to defend our beliefs against counterargument, and we don’t have to read or learn anything new ever.

Wouldn’t that be restful?

Actually one of my grandmothers was exactly that sort of person, may the good Lord rest her soul, and she was one of the most incorrigible people you’d ever run across. When I think of her, I am, alas!, led inescapably to this comedy routine by Moms Mably, on the subject of a not-excessively-well-loved husband who has at last passed on to his reward:

They say you shouldn’t say nothin’ bad about the dead. (Pause.)
He’s dead. Good!

I accept that I will probably go to hell.

In the meantime, however, my father and I are, I’m afraid, condemned to an exhausting existence of constant self-improvement and enlightenment. Our burden, friends, is heavy. Why, just this past week, I have learned so many new things!

I have prepared a list, as it happens, because I anticipated that you might like to help me shoulder the weighty load of this new knowledge. What’s that? Oh, good! I knew you would…

Item 1: It is more blessed to give Jade Sapphire Mongolian 2-ply Cashmere mitts than to knit them for yourself.

Even as we speak, these are wending their way through the holiday mail to their intended recipient.

Item 2: That said, it is nonetheless a thing of incomparable joy to make a pair for yourself.

One down, one to go…

Item 3: The existence of cashmere has been used in rigorous philosophical discourse to prove the existence of God.

Item 4: It will be easier for those members of your household who were born and raised in California to tolerate a stringent “energy conservation” program during the New England winter if they have handknit wool socks.

One and a third down, two-thirds to go…

Item 5: It is a little known fact that the native language of the Californian includes forty-seven different words for “surfboard,” but no word for “storm window.”

Item 6: Thanks to Blogless (or is that “blogfree?”) Kristy, I learned this week that some scientists think that modern day people are a tad more zaftig than their ancestors because they live in a comfortable temperature year round through the amazing technologies of air conditioning and heating. The theory is that if you are in an environment that is too cold (or too hot, for that matter) you will burn more calories. Given that Chez Mad Dog we only have the faintest suggestion of heating this winter, Kristy has argued that I may yet be able to “drop a dress size” before the wedding.

Dearly beloved, could science have produced more welcome knowledge for the blushing and fleshy bride-to-be? I daresay not!

Item 7: Trekking XXL comes in this colorway:

Buying this yarn is like spurning the nice guy in your high school class to go out with the black-leather wearing, Harley-Davidson riding bad boy. You know it’s wrong and nothing good can come of it, but you just can’t resist.

Item 8: I have eight projects in process right now. I have counted them, you see. I feel proud of the restraint this number reflects. Had I guessed off the top of my head, I probably would have ball-parked it at about seventeen.

Item 9: Graduate school is grinding, soul-destroying, and miserable. Sometimes you really, really, really want to quit. But the shame of quitting four and a half years into a six (or seven, but who’s counting?) year program is so great that you quickly dismiss the idea and begin working on an elaborate scheme for faking your own death to avoid having to spend another two years on your degree.

It seems like a completely reasonable solution at the time.

Item 9a (corollary to Item 9): Nobody has any patience when graduate students, who have so many reasons to count themselves among the fortunate in this life, whine and complain. It’s boring and self-indulgent. Worse yet, it’s a cliché. So shut up, Ellen.

Item 10: If you are going to write a 300-page dissertation, your first step—and this expert advice, by the way, has a monumental success rate—is to put your butt in a chair.

When I finish my dissertation, I’m going to write an advice book for other dissertation writers that includes this staggering insight.

Item 11: Although I knew this before, I was reminded again that our blog readers are the best! I’m sure that you are all lifelong learners. So…what did you learn this week? Please share.

Emily’s gift mitts are, at last, finished and have been sent to her with hugs, kisses, and best wishes for a happy and bright holiday season (and belated birthday).

But not before a few tasty photos were snapped:

Let’s review the specs, shall we?: Interweave Knits Winter Issue, Wine and Roses Mitts pattern by the marvelous JoLene, Colonial Rosewood DPNs in U.S. Size 1.5, and Jade Sapphire Mongolian Cashmere 2-ply in color Plum-Rose, approximately half the skein consumed, almost certainly enough left for another pair.

Artistic shot with sleeping dog:

Don’t worry, I let her lie.

I didn’t block the mitts, actually. I rather liked their more textured, kinda scrungly appearance (that is, compared to the sample, blocked mitts in IK). I hope that Emily agrees.

I like this pattern and the product so much that I have started a second pair in red for myself, although this time I am doing the cuff and the hand parts on two circular needles, the way I invariably knit socks. My relationship with DPNs has always been a troubled one, and I’ve decided once and for all that it just wasn’t working out between us.

There remains the nagging prospect of the thumb, however.

But we will cross that double-pointed bridge when we come to it.

Due to the Dickensian conditions in our home, however, which I’ve discussed in painful detail previously, I’ll do anything to get those mitts finished—including working with DPNs—because I need something to wear in the house to keep my fingers joints from seizing up in the cold.

The cold, that is, inside the house.

I try to remind myself many, many times a day that we are doing our bit to save the environment through these energy conservation strategies, even though that is only incidental and the truth is that, as graduate students, we are so poor that we’d have to eat kibble along with Shelley all winter if we turned the heat up over our agreed-upon 55 degrees at night (or when we are out of the house)/60 degrees during the day.

There is some heartening news, however. Those of you who were sentient at the time may recall the charming Alpo commercials from the 1970s in which they helpfully pointed out that if you add water, kibble will “make its own gravy!”

Mmm, gravy!

Just when you think that you’ve seen the worst the bridal industry has to offer, they surprise you with some new “innovation.”

What fresh hell is this? Well, cats and kittens, here’s the latest bridal merchandise, marketed under the banner of, “Show Everyone You’re Getting Married!”:

Dearly beloved, there’s nothing like a “got husband!” t-shirt to make you yearn for the bygone days of the 70s, with their humorless “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle” apparel, bra burnings, consciousness raising groups, ubiquitous subscriptions to Ms. magazine, and orange shag carpets.

I’d even be willing to suffer through a new wave of Bee Gees hits if we could get back at least some of that spirit. Stayin’ alive, indeed.

I’m not even going to explore further this t-shirt’s icky connection to the “got milk?” campaign, and the subtextual undercurrents that invoke and link up—at least by thematic association—marriage, the resort to manipulative tactics by an oppressed group, female passivity and objectification, fecundity, and dependence on the male.

Oh, crap. I said I wasn’t going to do it, and then I did. Never trust a graduate student who says she’s going to resist long-winded analysis. It’s always a lie.

Now, in “honor” of this new t-shirt offering and the ongoing, full-court press by the bridal industry to get all brides to “drop a dress size” before the “big day” (discussed in greater depth on this blog here) AND Alex’s recent resolution to start pumping iron in an attempt to look more like Daniel Craig, I have made the following deals with my beloved:

Deal 1: I will wear the “got husband!” t-shirt if, and only if, Alex will wear either a t-shirt that says, “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle,” or “got wife with Ph.D. and power tools who don’t take no crap!” I think it’s nice to offer a choice, don’t you?

Deal 2: I will “drop a dress size” before our wedding if, and only if, Alex will commit to a frenetic bridal-style self-improvement program that will include (among other things, naturellement!—like teeth whitening procedures and regular manicures…) a minimum of five, hour-long workouts a week so that he can package himself for me on our wedding day as an object that perfectly reflects to “The Masculine Ideal.” Something close to, say, oh, Daniel Craig.

Or you could think of the deal this way: I’ll drop a dress size if Alex commits to gaining a dress size! Or, um, something like that.

All joking aside, however, I’ve been thinking about all these threads—the present day bridal industry, the early days of feminism, the issues still facing women in American society today—and I’ve come up with more questions than answers. Here’s one thing I’ll say, though: upon reflection, I think that when all is said and done, a good man is an awful lot more valuable to a woman than a bicycle is to a fish.

But a woman needs a “got husband!” t-shirt like, well, a sturgeon needs a Schwinn.

I don’t know about you, but even though the 70s are long gone, I still got on my feminist boogie shoes.

Knitting? Still making progress on those gloves:

Back on Monday with some exciting stash enhancement news…

First of all, I would just like to commend Sarah on her courageous, honest, and powerful post yesterday about parenting an Asperger’s child. I hope you’ll join me in extending her, and other parents who confront similar issues, our support in whatever ways we are able.

Maybe this is a good time for me to say this: I’m deeply impressed by parents. I don’t quite know how you do what you do, and it sure doesn’t look easy. Thanks to all of you who are civilizing and nurturing the next generation. Because it is a terribly important and terribly demanding job. And if people like me, who don’t have kids, don’t realize that, well…we should.

Sarah, I fervently hope that the rest of your week, and Harvey’s, is better.

Chez Mad Dog, things have been a-hoppin’. We richly enjoyed a visit from the lovely Emily:

Photographed shortly after each of us consumed a devastating Cointreau-and-Grand-Marnier-laced margarita. With lunch. 2 p.m. never looked so good!

She will soon be the recipient of the plum-rose colored Wine and Roses Mitts, which will be her birthday gift. That is, when I finish knitting them. And yes, her birthday was last week. But let’s not get all tangled up in petty and guilt-inducing details of that sort, shall we not?

One down. Er, um, all but the thumb…

I love to knit for Emily, who is one of the most generous and kind friends a person could wish for and who, furthermore, knows exactly how a handknitted gift should be received. She oohs and aahs appropriately at the moment of the gift presentation and then later reports that she is, for instance, wearing the Regia Bamboo socks several times a week and that they are like having a foot massage every time she takes a step and that they are wearing like iron and that no commercial sock could ever even hope to come close to these fabulous handknit socks that you made, Ellen.

Now that is the kind of response that gets you more handknit socks. And even cashmere gloves. Or someday a sweater. Take heed, ye readers and friends, and follow her!

That’s the right way to treat your knitter.

In honor of Emily’s visit to Boston, we hopped on the T and rode downtown to Newbury Street, home of Boston’s most upscale shopping and, as we discovered, a lone representative of bargain-hunting and frugality—the Newbury Street Filene’s Basement Outpost. Originally, we had planned to do exclusively the “window” variety of shopping. But there it was—right there alongside the Chanel Boutique, Emporio Armani, and Nanette Lepore—shining forth, a beacon of affordability.

Truly, it was a wonderful thing to behold! It was as if you had gone to an auction of Old Master paintings at Sotheby’s and found that Lot 31—in a stunning departure from the norm—was exclusively black velvet paintings, including the classic Dogs at Cards.

But seriously, we love Filene’s Basement. And yesterday, we discovered a truly marvelous fact. I’m not even sure I should share this with you, but…well, okay. The Newbury Street Outpost of FB has the most incredible collection of provocative, yet cut-rate lingerie.

I haven’t spent much of my life thinking about lingerie, but all that changed recently when I read (and I believe this was in the New York Times) that a survey showed that something like 85% of French adults believed that, “lingerie is an important part of life.”

At the time, I thought, “Of course. They are French! Naturally they believe that there should be a line-item in the household budget for lingerie. How could it be otherwise?”

But in the days that followed, I couldn’t shake the thought that the French were onto something. Perhaps it was the dizzying prospect of getting married next June, a commitment that represents my first genuine foray into long-term monogamy—an unknown and, admittedly, somewhat daunting territory for me. Perhaps it was the pervasive notion that the French are simply a more sophisticated people than we are. Perhaps it was the Bordeaux. Or the brie. Or the chateaux. Or the liberté, fraternité, et egalité!

I don’t know. I don’t know. I just know that when I was confronted with racy lingerie at prices that were a good old American steal, it suddenly seemed perfectly legitimate and perhaps even imperative to start including that $15 or so as a line-item in our monthly household budget.

Because here’s what I’m realizing: successful long-term monogamy requires props.

In your heart, you know I’m right.

Now then, when you look at it from that perspective, bargain-basement props with lace, satin, and burn-out velvet details are both a rather tame and an economical place to start. Et voila, as we learn from the old chanson, everything old is new again!

Les Français. There’s a way in which they really never stop helping us win the revolution. Et vive la révolution, mes amis.

I would have posted earlier, but I was in a tryptophan coma until about an hour ago, thanks to, well, Thanksgiving.

Which looked like this:

All courtesy of Molly, shown here opening a bottle of sparking cider and transporting her new baby daughter,

and Ben, who disappeared when the camera was unsheathed, alas.

Among many other things we are grateful for in this life, we give thanks for Molly and Ben and their cooking skills. And for letting us come over from time to time and hog their baby, who is too young to protest much about being hogged.

Alex gave everything the old thumbs up,

while Aaron looked generally cheerful after a couple of bottles glasses of red wine.

Like Ben, I refused to be photographed, but I can assure you that I was wearing Icarus, as I have been at least part of every day since he was finished. Everything was lovely.

We’ve been in recovery ever since.

I haven’t really knitted all that much. For a while, I wondered if Icarus was my swan-song, if I had hit my dinger and was ready to hang up my cleats, but then I started these mitts:

Interweave Knits Winter Issue, Wine and Roses Mitts pattern by the marvelous JoLene, Colonial Rosewood DPNs in U.S. Size 1.5 (hey, don’t look at me…I don’t make up these sizes), and Jade Sapphire Mongolian Cashmere 2-ply.

The green yarn, by the way, is just waste yarn that is holding the thumb gusset stitches.

A little closer up:

There is really nothing bad that one can say about working with luxury fiber, except that someday the project will be over.

Another thing I can’t find too much bad to say about is the new James Bond flick, Casino Royale, which we saw on Saturday—at the same showing, I’ll have you know, as John Kerry, whose amazing silver mane was unmistakeable across the crowded movie theater. For Boston, this was a serious celebrity sighting!

In any event, Casino Royale’s only major deficit (aside from some glaring plotholes and some downright goofy chase scenes), was the minimal number of shots of Daniel Craig emerging, buff and exquisitely rugged, from an ocean swim. There were probably five of these. Fifty wouldn’t have been too many.

Oh my! My, my, my, my, my! How is it possible that I have not noticed this actor before? What has he been in? Did he look like that before or is this a recent development?

I pointed out to Alex, purely academically of course, that Daniel Craig was a stone hottie. This was met with an unfavorable response.

“Well,” Alex grumbled, “he’s clearly been working out a lot, but you can still really tell that he’s pretty old.”

Later in the evening, Alex announced, apropos of nothing, that he was planning to go to the gym several times next week. I may be wrong, but I suspect this may be motivated by the buff-tastic appearance of Daniel Craig.

But I’m not asking too many questions.

Truly, this is a momentous day.

After a nice, long soaky bath,

These Eucalan baths are a little-known beauty secret of the stars.

and a torturous day stretched out on wires and pins (I could not bear to photograph it…it was hard enough to witness his suffering…), Icarus is ready for his debut:

Specs: Three full skeins Alchemy Haiku in lovely “Vermillion,” plus a single, sanity-sparing ball of Kidsilk Haze in “Villain;” U.S. size 3 needles, bamboo; blocking wires up the kazoo; 60+ pins; a case of Jacob’s Creek Shiraz-Cabernet; a bucket of tears; a stream of curses in four Indo-European languages.

But worth it. All of it, worth it. Indulge me, will you, while I show you yet another view?

Measurements: 76″ wingspan, 36″ from top edge to center point.

Aw, hell, days like this don’t come along very often:

A lone wing with portrait of Shelley in the background. Yes, she is the only mongrel in all of North America who has sat for a series of portraits. And yes, I know what you are thinking. But it’s a good kind of crazy.

Icarus in motion:

I got feathers, can’t I fly?

Icarus on the edge:

I’ve made things in the past that were cute, or functional, or delightful, or even a little ingenious. But I think this shawl is flat-out the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made.

I couldn’t be happier with it.

That pop you just heard? Champagne cork. The untrammelled celebration has begun Chez Mad Dog.

Raise a glass with me? And Happy Thanksgiving to all of our American readers.

True to form, Icarus was my problem child to the bitter, bitter end. As promised, I finished him yesterday, but closure without tears? It was simply not to be.

But first, we shall discuss the fun part of the weekend!

Saturday afternoon Alex and I hit the Harvard-Yale Game, a.k.a. “The Big Game,” although I’ll have you know that in California “The Big Game” is between Berkeley and Stanford, so “The Big Game” is geographically relative, you see, and—as we would say in the academy—this “Big Game” signifier has no stable relationship to the signified…oh, wait…crap, it does. No matter where it happpens, what is signified, in fact, is an afternoon during which the American pseudo-aristocracy gets smashed on sangria and Heineken while wearing insignia gear, reliving their more-or-less distant youth, and verbally abusing people exactly like themselves who happen to have gone to another school.

Like so much that human beings do, it is the triumph of pure reason and good clean fun. Hoo-hah!

We never made it to the actual game, but we enjoyed the tailgate party greatly because we got to see our delightful friend, the Incomparable Kate—up from D.C. for the occasion—and meet her lovely mother and sister.

The Balersteins in full chat mode. (Photo courtesy of the Incomparable Kate.)

So far, a great weekend! The trouble began when we returned home and I decided to power through the last 2.5 rows of Icarus.

In an attempt to ease the pain of 550+ stitch rows, I turned on PBS. Soon Zeno had joined me to watch a semi-fascinating documentary program on Lee Harvey Oswald, a show which attempted to answer one of the age-old questions that still plague us today: Was Lee Harvey Oswald part of a conspiracy?

Ever since I was a little kitten, I’ve believed that Oswald acted alone.

Other questions in this category, by the way, include:
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Did he fall or was he pushed?
What puts the “ape” in “apricot”?
What does she got that I ain’t got?
Shaken or stirred?

Zeno was remarkably attentive to the Oswald documentary, which makes me suspect that he is hatching his own plot to assassinate the president.

But then just as Oswald got his fateful job at the Texas School Book Depository…tragedy struck. Yes, with only two-thirds of the bind-off remaining, I ran out of yarn. Frankly, if someone had chosen to assassinate me at that moment, I might have regarded it as a tender mercy.

Once I had recovered my equilibrium, however, I realized that solutions that didn’t involve bullets might be in the offing.

I trundled off to Woolcott as soon as it opened on Sunday afternoon. My first stab at a remedy went something like this:

Kidsilk Spray in a deeper set of pinks. What’s not to like?

Lots, as it turns out. I bound off about 50 stitches, took a look, and realized to my horror that a beautiful handcrafted item had just been turned into a “Loving-Hands-at-Home” monstrosity. The darker burgundy was lovely, but where it shaded into a loud fuschia, it fought with Icarus’s dusty pink and looked as garish and out of place as a man wearing a clown suit in a cathedral.

For the second time, I tinked back a bind-off in mohair. Only the fact that I was in a public place kept me from howling, weeping, and rending my garments.

In defeat, I trudged back to Woolcott. This time, relief and succor presented itself in the form of a ball of Kidsilk Haze in a deep chocolate brown shade the Rowan folk call “Villain.” Misnomer. This yarn was no villain! It was my savior:

Alchemy Haiku and Kidsilk Haze. Two great laceweight mohairs that look great together!

Pale strawberry feathers with a chocolate edge.

A little stitch detail.

I gotta tell you, although I know that the propensity to rationalize in disastrous circumstances is great, I really am convinced that this shawl looks better with a darker edge than it would in all one color. I am just in love with the contrast and definition that “Villain” provides. Besides, who doesn’t love an outlaw?

And please. This is Icarus. We all know darn well that if you fly too near the sun, you’re gonna singe the tips of your feathers.

Back on Wednesday with a blocked and finished object! The excitement Chez Mad Dog is almost too great to contain!