Knitters-Knitters

Appearances

Sabina requested a tower of florentines instead of a birthday cake.  Despite my adherence to Giada's recipe, these really don't look much like florentines.

And though delicious, I'm not sure I can say they tasted like florentines--not nearly crispy and lacy enough.  (I tend to be suspicious of Giada's recipes overall, not because her physique suggests she lives on dry arugula but because of the odd way she peels back her lips in a grimace before taking a bite, as if the very act of ingestion pains her.)

This expanse of seed stitch bears little resemblance to the coat it will eventually become (before the end of the Olympics--that's my goal). 

And this is not a horticultural alien invasion, but apparently, a natural denizen of earth called Ligularia.  Now emerged from its pod state, it's kind of pretty.

But I'm thinking this is actually recognizable as yarn.  Spun and plied by me, on my drop spindle, from Blue Faced Leicester. 

I'm going to make Olive a little Olive-colored vest (probably just a basic, stockinette in the round pattern with a v-neck and a bit of ribbing at the sleeve openings).  I'm not sure I have enough yarn to complete it, but I've got tons more of the roving if I need it.

Speaking of Appearances, tomorrow is the open-house for Olive's school.  Seeing as how it'll be held at 11 in the morning and in an elementary school, I'm guessing there'll be no alcohol.  Not that my colon lets me imbibe, but I always find these things easier to endure if everyone else is tipsy.  My main concern is that I have already met the principal of the school, and given this, she will probably expect me to recognize her.

I am Bad With Faces.  Not just bad with faces in the sense that it takes me a few seconds, but then I can eventually place the person.  I mean really, really bad--the kind of bad where people assume I must be snubbing them.  When LB and I attend social functions together, he helps me out with little reminders like, Why, hello Mr. and Mrs. Joel Shlabotnik!  Jen and I haven't seen you since that Milwaukee Chamber Music Society get-together in '04.  Or even, Nicole Dillenberg, Tom Chao's former roommate whom I met once 14 years ago but whom Jen has known since 1989.  What a rare treat! 

This second incident has never actually happened, but it could.  And if it does, Nicole, don't take it personally.

Still Spinning

It may be difficult to discern this with the naked eye, but this hank of yarn actually shows progress on my part.  The park and draft method of spinning makes sense to me now; I can get my brain around it.  I'm not good at it, but I understand, at least, what it is I'm not good at. Besides, learning a new skill is what will keep my brain fresh and resilient.  This is what I tell myself during those humbling, contemptuous moments of working very hard at something I'm not good at.

As you can see, my main problem is still over-twist.  For those of you who don't spin, the over-twisted bits are those warbly, stenotic lengths of yarn in the hank, the ones that look like they've been through some sort of traumatic experience.  And like all things that have been through traumatic experiences, those lengths of yarn are more likely to snap during the next part of the process.  If not during the washing and drying, then perhaps during the actual knitting.  Or, God forbid, the wearing. 

With apologies to Nietzsche, Kanye West, et al, the saying  That which does not kill me makes me stronger has always irritated me.  Rather, that which does not kill me--at the very least--leaves me shaken, and, most likely, a poor emotional risk.  I think we all know this, or we'd be telling our children to quick!  snap up life partners who'd been through as much previous emotional and physical upheaval as possible. 

During our adoption home studies, at no point did the social worker sigh deeply and say to LB and me, "Well, we really prefer to work with couples who've had at least one legal separation, a bankruptcy, a history of childhood abuse, or at the very least, a potentially fatal illness."  In fact, for both adoptions I had to get my doctor to write a reassuring letter saying my Crohn's was in remission and did not impede my ability to parent.  Note: he did not write that Crohn's made me, in the long run, healthier.  He did not say that anastomosis gave me a new and improved illeum.  And he did not say, "I bring you tidings of great joy.  Not being able to process most fresh fruits, vegetables, and Total cereal with raisins has actually made Jen stronger."

It's probably apparent that my level of spinning expertise has not reached a point where the process leaves me serene, optimistic and confident.  I'm still in the bowels of this exercize, where my efforts cause unilateral arthralgia of the wrist, and the results put me in the mind of loops of diseased viscera.  Spinning is not yet a hobby for me--I'd call it more of a risk factor.

Thank goodness for knitting.

Again with the Knitting!

It looks like all my commuting energy has channeled its way into knitting, because I don't remember a time when I actually finished this many projects.  Started yes, but finished--no.

This is another Elizabeth Zimmermann fair isle yoke sweater (from Spun Out #4), this time using color charts from Poetry in Stitches. My model is especially charmed by the butterflies.

Yarn: Satakieli from Nordic Fiber Arts.  I love this shop, but I don't order from them often because they have a disconcerting habit of holding the entire order until back-ordered items have come in (invariably, at least one of the colors I want is not in stock), as opposed to mailing the yarn piecemeal and charging me extra shipping.  I think they do this to be kind and save the customer money, but if they only understood the urgency, the desperate need to have at least some of the new yarn, they'd abandon this practice immediately.

I suppose I could just let the proprietress know I want my yarn sent in separate mailings, but this hearkens back to the hot mustard conundrum.  It is embarrassing to admit--even to another yarn person--that I'd happily pay to have my yarn over-nighted to me.

The Discomfort Zone

I've discovered that by aggressively hammering a nail into the bottom end of my drop spindle, I can turn it into a top-whorl instead of a bottom whorl.  For some reason, this works more easily for me--much less leaping and skittering on the part of the spindle, and each twist of the wrist seems to last longer.

This is, I think, my fifth attempt at producing yarn.  I'm not sure the end result looks any better than tries 1-4, but the process is coming a little more naturally, and I feel like I have a clearer understanding of everything I'm doing wrong.  For instance, as you can see from that stray loop near the top, I've over-spun in many places.

I'm a long way from enjoying myself though.  The other night, Olive woke up at around 2 a.m. and snuck downstairs to commit all sorts of mayhem in the kitchen and crafts area.  And I confess, I was a tad disappointed to find that my bag of roving was not among the early morning casualties.

This is much more within my comfort zone: another Elizabeth Zimmermann yoke sweater, this time for Agatha.  The flower pattern came from a chart in Poetry in Stitches.  The yarn is, I think, Hifa 2 from Nordic Fiber Arts.  I haven't chosen the color patterns for the yoke, but basically, I plan on flipping through Poetry in Stitches and finding charts that fit the same numbers of rows and stitches as on the EZ pattern instructions.  I'm not sure what color will predominate the sleeves--I'm on a bit of a fiber diet right now and it'll come down to which shades I have the most of.

Speaking of the discomfort zone, last Thursday LB, Olive and I went on a tour of what will be Olive's new school -- the little Kindergarten through 3rd grade school 40 yards from our house.  Judy, the director of Autism Academy, came with us for moral support and to ask all the questions we were too ill at ease and nervous to remember.  The program met with her -- and Olive's -- approval.  I did have one moment of, Wait a minute -- I have a kid who's going to be in Special Ed?  Those moments still take me by surprise, but I tell myself they'll eventually stop.  And if not, I don't want to know that in advance.

Olive was downright reverent while walking through the hallways, holding hands and smiling the whole time.  We had taken Olive to the school a few times since moving here to play in the playground, but she had no interest in the jungle gym and would hurl herself at the door of the school, wailing piteously to be let in.   

She seems to know it is to be her school.

Fair Isle Yoke Sweater

Daisy's fair isle yoke sweater is finished! 

The pattern is Elizabeth Zimmermann's Child's Fair Isle Yoke Sweater, with only the most minor tweaks here and there in the color patterning.  The yarn is Dale of Norway, Heilo, on 3.5mm needles. 

I made the near-tragic error of using up every inch of the cream color before doing the weaving at the underarms, so I had to fudge it a bit. 

I had expected the sweater to run a bit large, but it turns out that 26" around really does mean 26", so I stretched it during the blocking.  This is probably the 8th time I've made this particular sweater, and it never disappoints.

Tamara was kind enough to ask after Clover, Spaniel of Joy, and how she's adjusting to the move.  I'd say she enjoys her new digs overall, but is suffering from that metaphysical crisis of wherever she goes, there she is.  It is Clover's greatest wish to scare someone, anyone.  She didn't scare the two elderly dogs down the block when we lived in Milwaukee (in fact, when they walked past our house and heard her bark, they'd roll their eyes in doggie derision).  She couldn't scare the Indian food delivery guy in Chicago, or any member of the cleaning staff, and when she tried to frighten the gardener, he actually scooped her up and tucked her under his arm like a parcel.  For hours afterward she hid in her puppy house, ears hanging low in shame.  This new house has a big back yard with rabbits--lots of them.  At first Clover was very excited by this and did her special pointing at one (very cute--using her little elbow), but the most she could inspire from the bunny was a casual backward glance.  Our next door neighbor was enthused to see we had a dog, and asked us to walk Clover into her yard sporadically to deter rabbits from eating her plants.  We perform this task dutifully, but with little hope.

Clover does bark and jump, and although small is at least 14 pounds--hardly a chihuahua.  And yet, no one cowers in her presence.  It's a mystery.

Chenille Protrusions

Last night I cast on a sweater for Daisy: an Elizabeth Zimmermann yoke sweater (pattern can be found in Knitting Around and at Schoolhouse Press) using Dale of Norway, Heilo.  The cream color may seem an unusual choice for a 12 year old, but Daisy is one of those unusual children who never gets dirty or even sloppy, never trips or falls down, and has an air of composure about her at all times.

Case in point, Daisy's workspace:

Daisy has wanted her own bedroom since she was old enough to understand that she could indeed carry on brain-stem functions when not in the same room as older sister Sabina: Sabina, who happens to feature clutter, and the long-limbed tendency to knock things over with broad, sweeping gestures.  Now that Daisy has her own room, she happily sits on the edge of her bed for long, silent stretches of hand sewing.

Here's a little dress she made for dolly--early work, as you can tell by the stitching.

Note the hand stitching around the perimeter of her current project, which she informs me will be a cake.

As I was prowling around her bedroom taking pictures, Daisy quietly materialized behind me.  You'd think someone as private as she would mind finding me in there snapping away, but she was, as always, bemused.  No, she did not mind me taking pictures, and happily brought out one of her recent works for me to photograph.  She made it with knitting needles using a stitch of her own unvention.  She has given it no name, but  it's a satchel of some sort, distinguished by chenille protrusions. 

Here's a digital painting of Daisy, created by Carys using the photo I posted last week.  Click here to see it in its fully expanded glory:

I Want to Like Yogurt

...if for no other reason than the packaging.  It comes in those cute little containers, in just about every flavor: not just fruit, but also dulce de leche and chocolate.  Sometimes it comes with attachments: a separate compartment containing granola, or whole chunks of fruit.  There's non-fat yogurt, custard style, full-fat, fruit at the bottom, fruit pureed throughout, yogurt made from goat milk or even soy.  And yet, in that sea of flavors and styles, I find nothing I like.  The only thing more distasteful to me than a container of yogurt would be one with granola mixed in.

I want to like yogurt because everyone else seems to enjoy it...or do they? If people really liked it, would it need to come in so many varieties?  Would we need to have it sold to us with a promise that it'll increase our longevity and cure, as Jamie Lee Curtis informs us (sternly, and with a hint of secrecy) whatever it is that we women all suffer from?

My children (except for Daisy--Daisy is the exception to all Sullivan eating preferences) eat it every day without question.  But do they like it? I've never asked them for fear it would awaken a mass rebellion, like at the end of Tommy when the mob of campers realize they don't have to wear those blinders and ear plugs.

If so many people like yogurt, then why is it that at Trader Joe's this morning, less than an hour after opening, there was more yogurt up for grabs than you could shake a box of granola at, but the 5-layer taco dip was all gone?  When I asked a clerk about it, he assured me they still carried the taco dip but that, "We got shorted this morning."  He looked a little nervous, like I might say,  "Really?  Just how shorted were you?" 

I have a hard time believing anyone got there before me to buy taco dip this morning, let alone 4 or 5 people.  If I had more nerve, I would have asked, "Are you sure there's not more in the back?  You know, the back, where all the Trader Joe employees are noshing on 5 delicious layers of guacamole, sour cream, black bean dip, diced tomatoes and grated cheese while the rest of us are stuck out here with the yogurt?"

There are plenty of things that I'm perfectly happy not liking, such as mayonnaise, Kate Hudson movies, sleeping outdoors, televised women's nine-ball, and the sound of Rachel Ray's voice.

There are things I like that no one else seems to enjoy: those violet pastilles that taste faintly of soap.  Kathy Griffin. And apparently, The Smiths.

But I wish I liked low-rise jeans, whole wheat pasta, Andrew Lloyd Webber, mornings, cooking dinner, and the feel of alpaca. I really, really wish I liked knitting with alpaca.

I made this little number for Olive (instead of unpacking my sewing room) from Blue Sky Alpaca.  As you can see, I'm still deep in my Charlie Brown period.

It's the softest sweater in the world, and Olive loves it.  When I tried it on her last night to check the sleeve length, she not only rubbed her tummy but pulled the collar to her face, just to feel it against her cheek.  Then she ran laps around the room and gave me a bit of a struggle when I removed the sweater.

But I can't say I enjoyed the knitting.  Alpaca is soft, but it has no elasticity, no bite to it. 

The ribbing just sighs with sloth and makes no pretense of grip.  The sleeves are a bit short on Olive now, but will grow four inches after the first wearing.  The colors may be bright, but they misrepresent the yarn's true sluggardly nature.  If I could knit a nap, this is what it would look like:

Finished Sweater!

Pattern: Megan's Ruffle, from Top Down for Toddlers.

Yarn: Heilo, from Dale of Norway.  Purchased at The Sweden Shop in Chicago.  I'll miss this store.  They didn't carry a lot of yarn, but it's the only store I know of where you can purchase Heilo andMoomin paraphernalia.

Size 4T, long (for Olive) on US #5 needles.  I felt this sweater ran wide (Olive normally wears a size 6) and that the neckline was especially loose.  I cast on the recommended amount of stitches for size 2T, and just did more increases across the chest.

My only obvious design changes were using ribbing at the neck, cuffs and hemline (for reasons stated in my previous post) and adding the Charlie Brown-ish saw-tooth design to allow for a color change mid-body (I knew I wouldn't have enough of the gold color).

When I first got this book, I had absolutely no interest in this pattern, because of the clownish colors used in the version on the cover. 

It wasn't until I saw the photo inside that I felt inspired to make this sweater.

It's amazing what a difference color choices can make.  I like this book a lot--the patterns are clear and easy to follow, and I'm a big fan of top-down construction--but most of the yarn and button choices make me grimace.  Here's a stunning example:

I'd like to make this one in sedate colors, but I'm having a hard time imagining it in anything other than flaming purple.  That is, until I turn the page and see it in fire engine red:

I loved making this sweater--no doubt in large part to the fact that I worked on it during moments when I should have been packing, or unpacking.

Speaking of Not Unpacking, today I went to our local yarn store, Three Bags Full in Northbrook.  It's a very nice shop, and the clientele actually appear to be okay with the concept of people entering their store for the purpose of buying yarn.  (Don't worry, LB.  I only bought one bag full.) I will not miss that store who shall remain nameless, back in Chicago. 

Ticky Tacky

For the first several days of living here we had no satellite service, which means no TV.  Instead, in the evenings I watched season 2 disc 1 of Weeds, which was entertaining, but I imagine even moreso if you've actually seen season 1.  My favorite part is the theme song.  It leaves me with nagging questions about ticky-tacky, and if I've been using the word wrong all these years.  I'd assumed ticky-tacky was an adjective ascribed to certain facts that were minor data points--things with which those of us getting the Big Picture should be unconcerned--but apparently, ticky-tacky is also a building material.  And you can use it to make houses.  Perhaps it's something like Spackle, or stucco, or even particle board.

I like my old definition better, and as one who oftens concerns herself with the small stuff, it gives me a perfect jumping off point to share some details about where I live now, and, as the young people say, where I'm at.

It is a 15 minute drive from this house to Olive's day camp.  It's odd that here in the suburbs, where you hardly need them, traffic lights with green arrows abound.  Note to self: stop turning left on red lights.

Olive is still wait-listed at Keshet, and is unlikely to secure a placement there for the fall: at least, not the fall of '08.  We have not heard yet where her public school placement will be, but likely, it's going to be Hickory Point: a very small, leave-it-to-Beaverish school for grades 1-3.  It participates in the NSSED program, and is approximately 40 yards from our house.  We wouldn't want it any closer, really, lest we be trampled at the end of every day by a throng of children stampeding past our house, like in You're In Love, Charlie Brown.

There is a harmonious flow to an attached garage which exceeds, benefit-wise, the aesthetic charm of a house where the garage is not visible from the street.  Especially when one is carrying groceries.  And, undoubtably, this will prove even more true in January.

If an architectural visionary designs and constructs a house with built-in display areas, it is possible that his tenants may choose to show off a very different collection than what he had in mind.

If you run out of yarn for a project and have to order more--even if you pay for expedited shipping--you run the real risk of starting a new project in the meantime.  A project which you have no wish to set aside once the new yarn for the old project makes its appearance.

If in making sure you have enough yarn for your new project, you un-knit a previously abandoned item and use that bit of ravely yarn across the chest, you will see a glaring swath of warbly demarcation.  Intellectually you know that this will not show after the sweater has been washed and blocked, but still, it nags at you.

The fact that the pattern you're using specifies a rolled neck and hemline will not change the fact that leaving off the ribbing (or hem facings) strikes you as a depth of laziness to which you will not allow yourself to sink.  Frozen pizza for dinner, wet towels draped over the radiator and a Hefty bag that doubles as a clothes hamper is one thing, but a sweater with no edge treatment?  You'd never be that sort of mother. 

A Three Edens Day

Yesterday was a very busy day.  As I mentioned last week, Monday was the day Olive's little group was to wear green.  Friday, she's supposed to bring a litterless lunch.  I'm not altogether sure what this means--transferring the Pringles to a Tupperware instead of the snack pack they came in?

As usual, Olive was eager to head out.

She had places to go...

...and people to see.

After arriving home, I had some time to contemplate my garter stitch blanket project, which is taking way, way longer than I expected.  It'll probably be a gift--I have no real need for an enormous wool blanket, but after I saw this version, I felt compelled to stop everything I was doing and cast on.

My version is in Noro Kureyon, and is about 2/3 done.  Ultimately, those two ends in the middle will touch at the corners, but I kept them apart for the photo so you could see the clever S.

I did the wrapping thing so I wouldn't have rows of diagonal holes at the corners. 

I haven't made my mind up about the edge treatment.  Elizabeth Zimmermann recommends i-cord, but the very thought of doing that much cording makes me want to nap.  In fact, doing anything around the perimeter of this blanket makes me want to nap.  At this point, I'm seriously considering knitting up a separate border and (gasp) sewing it on at the end.  I like the idea of carrying around a small and portable strip of knitting for a few days as opposed to creating an edge treatment with this monster in my lap.

After LB arrived home from work, we piled back into the van and went to Northbrook for the final walk-through on the house we're renting.  We are moving on Thursday!  For those counting, that made three round trips on the Edens for me yesterday.  I didn't do the driving on the last trip, but still.

When we arrived, the children of the homeowners were waiting in front, along with several neighborhood children.  Apparently word had gotten out that a family with a bunch of kids were moving in.  Through the windows in the breakfast nook, you can see Sabina and Anatole chatting with a new pal.

Plenty of yard at this house.

Cog et al, you'll be happy to know that this move is in keeping with my residential destiny.  At first I thought this little shop was where one could change baht to sheqalim, but apparently, Currency Exchange is just Suburbian for "Check Cashing Place."

To see lots more pictures of the house in its current, pristine, pre-Sullivan state, click here: