Knit Sisters

It’s been quite a week.  Without going into the sordid details, I’ll just say that I’ve learned anew the truth of the saying, “No good deed goes unpunished.”  And now I know this truth anew as well:  “Do me once, shame on you.  Do me twice, shame on me.”  I don’t intend to get done again.

It’s at times like these that I really appreciate my fiber enterprises as a way to disengage from work thoughts, refocus my mind on something constructive and creative, and relax.  I’m the kind of person who needs to actively remind myself that there’s way more to life than work, and working with fiber does that for me.

I got fired up this week about working with some of my naturally-colored fleeces, so I did some combing last night.

 

This is a grey/light brown fleece which I bought about a year and a half ago.  I finally got it all washed this summer, but just began combing it last night.  Isn’t it amazing how different these colors are?  They really did come from the same fleece. 

 

Wool is astounding.  (When I combed these, I took them over to Rob.  “Look at this!”  I said.  “Look how different these colors are!  They’re from the same fleece!”  “Hmmm,” he said.  Yes, it’s true.  I am a fiber dweeb.)

Then I worked on some black Shetland which I also bought a year and a half ago.

 

(It’s hard to take a good picture of this wool, because it really and truly is black.)  I have almost all of this combed, yet I haven’t started spinning it.  It’s such beautiful wool that I want to be sure about what I’m doing with it before I start.

It’s starting to get cold here.  I need my hat, coat, and mittens when I walk Hugo in the morning.  In honor of Ellen’s first foray into stranded knitting, I dug out this UFO that I nearly finished late last spring:

 

A stranded hat from a pattern in 45 Fine and Fanciful Hats.  This is a good example of what I was talking about the other day; to make this hat I dug around in the stash for single balls of wool that were about the same weight, going more by color than anything else.  The dark brown is handspun, naturally-colored wool from a sheep named Cinder.  All the hat needs is some kind of finish on top (in the book she makes little stuffed bobbles for the tops of the hats–pretty nifty) and a good blocking.  Maybe a couple of ends worked in, too. 

These hats are great fun to make, and if you have a good stash they don’t even cost anything.  (Since I already bought all that yarn, now it’s free.  See?)

Have a good weekend, everybody.  The Knit Sisters will return, renewed and refreshed, next week!

Eastern Massachusetts: In other news today, there have been unconfirmed reports that so-called “KnitSister” Ellen Bales has begun the fourth and final chart on Icarus.

The shawl, a.k.a. “Mr. Icarus” and “Dr. Wax Wings,” has been known to be travelling with Bales since mid-August, when he was first spotted in her company in Denver, CO and Las Vegas, NV. A representative of the Clark County Sheriff’s Office in Las Vegas noted that a “Mr. Icarus” had been arrested on August 18th at the Luxor Hotel Casino for public indecency and had been fined an additional $500 for impersonating an angel at the high stakes gaming tables.

In recent weeks, however, there have been no further reports of Icarian misbehavior and it has appeared that the once rocky relationship between Bales and her young charge has smoothed considerably.

In one recent interview, Bales stated, “We’ve put Vegas behind us now, particularly that unfortunate incident involving the backless feathered chaps. No matter what the rest of the world may say, I believe that Icarus is basically a good boy. And there’s more of him to love all the time!”

I have been working away on Blue Bamboo and on her leaf motif on the upper back.  My progress thus far:

 

This would make me feel pretty good except for the fact that I’ve already decided to rip back the entire leaf motif once I get to the top of the chart, shown here:

 

I made a couple of mistakes, you see, which will forever haunt me unless I correct them.  Plus, this motif has been such a raving bitch an extraordinary challenge to chart that I’m still not sure if the chart is correct.  Therefore, I feel I must knit the thing at least once more to make certain of my charting.  Sigh.  Things would be sooo much simpler if I didn’t feel I had to follow my vision for this garment.

I’ve also had a renewal of interest in spinning, and have been working diligently away on the angora blend.

Can you see the progress?  Can you, can you?  Well, say that you can even if you can’t, OK?

I have a couple (har, har–yes, I know I can’t fool you) of fleeces upstairs that are calling my name now that the cold weather is arriving, and I can’t help but think it would be fun to spin some singles that would go a little more quickly than this laceweight angora nonsense.

Oh, and sis? I can’t believe that you’ve never done any stranded colorwork!  Are you holding one color in each hand or holding them both in your left hand?  (For those that might have wondered, Ellen and I both knit Continental, aka picking not throwing.)  The great thing about colorwork, among other things, is that you can feel entirely justified in picking up one or two skeins of some beautiful yarn, as long as you stick to about the same yarn weight with all your purchases.  “Well, I’ll just include this in my next multi-colored project,” you might think.  You understand, I’m speaking completely hypothetically.  I myself have never justified a yarn purchase in this manner.  I’m just helping the rest of you out, is all.  All part of the Knit Sisters package.

In spite of some lovely weather and the ongoing amazement of the fall leaves,

things have been a little—how shall we put this?—suboptimal Chez Mad Dog this past week.

I have a cold, which would be bad enough even if I weren’t the world’s worst and most impatient patient. But I am.

Let me offer you this bit of perspective on precisely how bad I am: last time I had a cold, we were in the midst of watching Bleak House on PBS. Alex thoughtfully pointed out that Esther Summerson was behaving more nobly and courageously about having smallpox than I was about weathering a minor respiratory virus.

That might seem like a mean thing to say, if it weren’t so true.

Shelley doesn’t care if I’m sick and still wants to be walked:

We are also experiencing major leakage in our basement due to a corroded pipe. I think. But how would I really know? Our landlord (who we shall call Mr. Lee), a personal favorite of mine as you know, took an entire week to send someone out to look at it.

Last night, this lovely Chinese handyman showed up around 8 p.m. He immediately won my heart by declaring Shelley “so beautiful,” in spite of the fact that she was trying to jump up and kiss him.

Unfortunately, despite the immediate bond we formed over the indisputable beauty of my dog, we proceeded to have some communication issues.

Alex and I don’t speak Chinese and Mr. Yu spoke limited English. But everyone involved was giving it the old college try. Alex took Mr. Yu down to the basement to see the accumulated water damage of the past week. Yu seemed a bit puzzled.

Alex said, pointing first upstairs, “I will turn on shower,” then at Mr. Yu, “so that you,” now pointing at eyes, “can see.”

Mr. Yu nodded, still a bit puzzled. Alex ran up the stairs with Yu in pursuit. Alex turned on the water in the shower. Alex and Yu ran back down the stairs to the basement.

“Ah!” Yu said. “Too much water!” He seemed delighted with the flood. Or maybe he was just pleased that we had finally clarified the problem.

Yu worked for a while then emerged from the basement.

Mr. Yu: Okay, you call Lee.

Alex, puzzled, pointing to self: We should call Lee?

Mr. Yu: You call Lee!

Alex, puzzled, again pointing to self: I call Lee?

Mr. Yu, pointing to himself: No, no, Yu call Lee.

Who’s on first?

I’m not sure when the basement leakage will be fixed, but I do feel a bit better now that Mr. Yu has been here.

Icarus has a few more feathers:

Please say that you can see the progress. Even if you have to lie to me.

And I’ve been making my first efforts at Fair Isle knitting, with the help of the marvelous Kat from Woolcott:

Yes, it is embarrassing that I’ve been knitting since I was about six or seven and I still do almost nothing with multiple colors. But as you know, I’m sick right now. We can discuss the full shame of this multiple-color avoidance in depth at another time…

And now I must sign off so that I can swig some more DayQuil and make another pot of tea and sniffle quietly in the corner.

And yes, I would like some cheese with that whine. Thanks for asking.

Ellen and I had a chat over the weekend and decided that, seeing as how neither one of us has finished our own submission for the leaf-themed Fall Challenge, we wanted to extend the deadline for submissions.

So we are pushing back the deadline until October 31.  Yippee!  (And there was great rejoicing throughout the land!)

Because, after all, it is still fall.

So, knitters, when you get your designs finished, send a pictures (or pictures) along to one of us at:

ellen at knitsisters dot com   OR

sarah at knitsisters dot com  OR

pastryknits at cs dot com

I thought I would take this opportunity to entice you by picturing the handspun yarn that I have picked out to offer as prizes.

First prize:

                             The cabled yarn (100% wool)

Second prize:

                                                         The tufted yarn (75% superwash wool, 25% rayon, approximately)

Third prize:

                                                    The purple wool and mohair 2-ply (60% wool, 40% mohair, approximately)

Sisters’ Choice Award:

                                The skein of handpainted wool and mohair 2-ply (60% mohair, 40% wool, approximately)

So, Deb, you have a couple more weeks!  I can’t wait to see the shrug/sweater!

You know, graduate school is mostly an enriching experience. Except that sometimes you spend a whole day reading things like this:

“The future, which as an open, multiple, contested, undefineable site, never exists in general, but is always pluralized in singularities—each future being different. The challenge to the sub-politics that thrive in a risk society, then, could be formed more effectively if we were to find ways of actualizing particular connections between technologies and their futures.”

I would like to actualize a particular future singularity in which these people would no longer be allowed to write books.

I’d rather be nosing bees than reading that crap. Even if I end up getting stung.

In the event—unlikely though I’m certain this is—that the above quote was not completely clear to you upon first reading, I, having had the benefit (if that’s the right word for it) of context, have rendered the following translation from Jargon into English:

The future hasn’t happened yet, so any number of different things could, in fact, happen. It would be better if some of those things happened rather than others. I sure wish we could figure out how to make the positive things happen rather than the negative ones!

See how simple?

My advice to you is this: as soon as some Jargon Cowboy starts talking about “multiple, contested, undefineable sites” that are “pluralized in singularities,” you should reach for your gun. Them’s fightin’ words!

In light of this obscurantist garbage abstract material that I am confronting, I’m sure you’ll see why I say that it is good for a person’s soul to knit during graduate school. Because knitting is an activity that is both sensual and concrete. I have, for instance, “actualized particular connections” between my yarn and needles to make this sock for Alex:

This Trekking XXL sock is most assuredly not “pluralized in singularities.” Although there are multiple, open, and contested feet in this picture, some have been actualized as paws.

Close-up:

Specs: Trekking XXL, color 71; “designed” by me from various sock components including eye-of-patridge heel flap, pointed toe (instructions from Nancy Bush), and k2, p1 rib for the leg and foot. U.S. size 1 needles, 69 stitches.

To soothe our (or maybe just my) troubled spirits, I have composed the following haiku, which are dedicated to Icarus, who has recently sprouted some new feathers and is taking a truly unseemly delight in draining away my life force with his 400+ stitch rows and his incessant demands for vodka tonics:

Yeah, I got feathers. And by the way, that’s “Mr. Icarus” to you.

Icarus Haiku #1:
Forty rows left now
Your feathers: pink agony
What was I thinking?

Icarus Haiku #2:
I think I hate you
although you are so handsome
in fall’s dappled light.

Icarus Haiku #3:
Five hundred stitches:
even the fabric of life
itself has fewer.

Icarus Haiku #4:
Night passes to day.
Autumn to winter then spring.
I’m still knitting you.

Have a good weekend everyone! I’ll be—does this sound familiar?—knitting Mr. Icarus. But you knew that already, didn’t you?

I wrote on Tuesday about how I really like mohair.  I got to thinking about that, and about how much mohair really is in the stash.  In the interests of full disclosure, I offer the following photographs.  Keep in mind that I have photographed a representation of each yarn, and that many, many more balls of each exist in the stash unphotographed.

My name is Sarah and I am a fiberaholic.

 

1.  The cone of purple mohair.  I have two of these cones.  Someday I am going to make a beautiful little cardigan/jacket out of this.

2.  The white half-ball of mohair.  Actually, this yarn is almost gone. (Although there is more than I have pictured here, naturally.)  That’s because I made my sister a sweater set out of white mohair several years ago.  (You’ll have to pester her for a picture of that one.)

3.  The ball of lilac mohair.  I have about 12 of these balls.  One word:  Ebay.

4.  The ball of black mohair.  About 15 balls.  Same word.

5.  The primary handpainted mohair.  This is from Ellen’s Half Pint Farm (not our Ellen) and it is beautiful.  There are 3 big balls.  It is awaiting a fate as beautiful as itself.

6.  The ball of sage green laceweight mohair.  2 balls of this.  It is gorgeous and someday I will make something gorgeous from it.  Promise.

 

7.  The green ball of mohair.  I think I have twenty of these.  It was on a great sale on elann.  What can I say?

8.  The grey ball of mohair.  See #7, above.

 

9.  The gigantic Ziploc bag of unspun kid mohair.  We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?

10.  Not pictured:  lilac/teal/pink handpainted mohair.  Purchased at Rhinebeck many moons ago.  I was swatching with this in a quilted pattern this summer.  Remember?

Okay, this is the meat of it.  What I haven’t included:  yarns that are wool/mohair blends, like Brown Sheep’s Lamb’s Pride, of which I have a largish amount destined for a sweater.  And then there’s the blue mohair blend, and the handspun mohair skeins, and the Dale yarn which I’m pretty sure has mohair in it…

I can quit any time.

I’ve really done very little knitting, what with Red and her mom in town and all those wonderful tombstones to photograph.

I have a bit more of Alex’s Trekking XXL socks:

Their most exciting feature is their eye-of-partridge heel:

Get a load of that, will ya?

Eyes of patridges aside, I believe the fall weather and the turning leaves have gotten me into a rather Proustian mood.

Red’s recent visit may well have been my own personal madeleine, conjuring up tableaux of the past that I had not revisited for a long time. Tableaux in which she was a baby, and I was her twenty-one-year-old babysitter. So much had not yet happened.

Now the seasons are inexorably shifting.

Then again, my autumnal mood may have to do with my experience of campus as an “older” graduate student.

There are many strange and wonderful things about going to graduate school in your thirties, but the most magical and poignant moments occur in the fall, in September and October, when there is a slight edge to the air in the mornings but it isn’t really cold. Yet.

All the students are back on campus. There is a sense of renewal and possibility.

You feel the diffuse promise of the new school year even when you are nearly forty and you don’t have quite your whole life ahead of you.

And yet, my life on campus creates frequent Proustian moments when the past and the present collapse into a singularity. I look across the quadrangle and see a boy with curly black hair leap athletically into the air to catch a frisbee and I think, “Oh, look. There’s Phil.”

For just an instant, my friend Phil is there, embodied, eighteen years old, lithe, full of good cheer, airborne.

Then I remember that Phil would be forty or nearly forty now himself. He’s probably greying a little, his shoulders are rounding slightly, he is most likely more earthbound, he probably has his own children.

The leaves are turning.

In keeping with this bittersweet theme, on our way back from our walk yesterday afternoon, Shelley and I passed by the former Dame School:

The Old Dame ain’t what she used to be.

But then again, there’s the very real possibility that she’s becoming something better.

I took the little skein of tufted yarn and knit up a little swatch last night, just to see how it would look when knitted.

The knit side:

 

The purl side:

 

It’s kinda cool-looking, I think, although for me it was really more fun to spin than it would be to knit with.  For that reason, I am going to offer this tufted yarn as one of the prizes in the Fall Challenge.  Someone should have lots of fun with this yarn, I hope.

In general, I think I lean more toward smooth yarns and the kind of detailed knitting one can do with them than the fuzzy, hairy, and otherwise bumpy novelty yarns.  With a couple of exceptions, of course.  I have a minor love affair with mohair, of which I have lots in my stash (and covet more, especially laceweight–are you listening, she-who-works at-her-LYS?) and I can see that angora is fast sucking me down as well.

I finally made it to the underarm division of Blue Bamboo and started the fronts.  I am knitting these simultaneously, since that ensures that they will both be the same length.

 

 

Uh….I’m starting to think I might not have this sweater done by Oct. 15 for the Challenge.  This is somewhat lowering, since I am the one who issued the challenge.

I’ve said it before but I don’t mind saying it again:  working really gets in the way of my knitting time.

If you come to visit us in Boston, you will have to visit the large number of 17th- and 18th-century “burying grounds” with which Boston is richly endowed.

It’s frankly non-negotiable.

We are historians by trade so we are fascinated by these memorials to early Bostonians.

Certain individuals have maintained that we are just morbid and temperamentally macabre, but they will not be invited back.

This Columbus Day weekend, we have been delighted to host Red and her mother (who you will remember from the Outer Banks adventure of early August).

Red here comments to her mother on how much she enjoyed the last four cemeteries we just visited and how eager she is to visit a few more. At least, I think that’s what she was saying…

Alex, meanwhile, contemplates the grave of Joseph Tapping. By the time Tapping was Alex’s age, he had been dead for two years.

It is a sobering thought.

Here’s the detail of the carving on the Tapping stone:

Time and Death put on their boogie shoes.

What with all these rather grim reminders of our own mortality, a trip to our nation’s oldest continuously operating pub was clearly in order:

Said oldest pub is the one to the left, but the one on the right isn’t any spring chicken. These pubs are located directly across from Boston’s quite affecting and powerful Holocaust Memorial, which probably hasn’t hurt business either.

Then it was off to Quincy Market:

Paul Revere used to have lunch at the food court inside here almost every day. He especially liked the surf ‘n turf combo, including as it does one selection from the land category and two from the sea category.

Stick around folks! We got a million of ’em. And we’ll be here all week!

Red enjoyed some fried dough with extra powdered sugar:

Happiness on a plate.

Speaking of reminders of one’s own fleeting days on this planet, did I mention that I used to babysit Red when she was a baby? Now she’s here in Boston looking at colleges. Because she’s actually going to college next year.

How is this possible?

When I was a kid, I used to hate it when adults said things like that.

But to everything there is a season:

At the end of our long day out in the city, we returned home for a revivifying spot of tea. Fortunately, I had, at Alex’s request, just knitted some highly functional hexagons to serve as a teapot trivet and matching coasters.

The yarn is Main Line from Knitpicks, 75% cotton, 25% wool, in colors “Red Velvet Cake” and “Cocoa.”

I must have been feeling peckish when I put in my order.

The idea for the hexagons and the basic instructions came from Norah Gaughan, whose wonderful book arrived shortly before our guests.

So many delightful arrivals, and such a lovely weekend.

Burying grounds and all.