Knitters-Knitters

Getting a Life

Today I was reading one of my favorite blogs, and saw that the blogger had posted photos of a sweater she had designed, knit, and even made the buttons for from polymer clay.  It's absolutely gorgeous, and I can't wait until she offers the pattern for sale. I will buy it, and, if I'm being realistic, probably never complete the sweater myself.  But that's a whole 'nother issue.

In her blog today she made a passing reference to an IRL friend telling her she spends too much time on her projects and needs to "get a life." 

Reading that stopped me short. To my eyes, it looks like she has a very full life: her children are grown.  She knits, crochets, weaves, draws beautiful and whimsical little animals, designs knitwear and now, apparently, makes her own buttons.  If her project requires a skill she does not already have, she learns it.  She is clearly in love with her art, and I imagine she wakes up every morning excited to jump into her current project.

There was a time when I was in love with sewing.  I made children's outfits and sold them on eBay.  Every now and then I'd have an outfit sell for a high price, but I lost money overall: especially when you consider the hours I spent.  I didn't care because I loved those hours.  I would take apart Hanna Andersson dresses or any outgrown dress that I liked, then design my own pattern template from the pieces. I thought of my sewing room as my laboratory.  Every morning, the thought of what I was currently sewing got me out of bed.  I mean, I had to get up because I had all those little children and they had to be fed and taught and all that, but it was the sewing that made leaving the bed palatable. 

Occasionally someone would tell me to get a life, or more often, ask the question, "How do you do it?" which is really just a more polite way of saying, "Why do you do it?"  Both remarks conveyed the fact that the speaker did not consider what I was doing to be compelling, satisfying, or even a valid expenditure of time.  I didn't mind it, but sometimes I'd pause and wonder why being very engrossed in a particular hobby implied a lack of life.  It sure felt like a life: I had a family I loved, and something extra that made me happy and had nothing to do with them. 

My love for sewing disappeared as suddenly as it had started, and now I have a whole lot of fabric and machinery locked in a storage closet in the basement.  I feel envious of my former self: the work and care that I was happy to put into a garment, that feeling of being inspired.  It isn't that I had more time then or more energy.  It's simply that my enthusiasm created its own energy, which in turn made me find the time -- even if it was 2 a.m.  And yet, how I was spending my time involved much less outside world and was thus deemed Not A Life.

I do love knitting, but it's not the same as what I felt for sewing. Knitting and I are long past the honeymoon phase.  And as much as I enjoy it, knitting is rarely enough to make me skip the siren's call of the nap.  Years from now I'll probably feel like I gave myself way too much grief over these naps, and that I shouldn't have wasted energy on the question of, did I have the right to nap?  Should naps be based on a meritocracy?   I would say that I'm in love with napping, except that -- right or wrong -- napping makes me feel too guilty to enjoy in that same, pure way I enjoyed the sewing.

Now I'm more in the world, and I don't much care for it.  There are lots of meetings and conferences, and lots of assisting in the growing lives of growing people which translates, somehow, into driving and waiting. 

I miss being so excited about something I'm going to make that I actually attempt a drawing of it in advance.  That last year on eBay I used a photographer and a model (Olive became less cooperative with age) and I would wait for the photos to appear in my inbox, so eager to see what my work had inspired on the part of the photographer.  Then do it, you might say.  Set up a sewing room  and dig in.  I have the time, and I have the equipment.  I'm simply missing the desire: the only part that matters.

So, what is Having a Life?  If I get one, would someone let me know?  I have a feeling it's the sort of thing where if a person's not paying attention, she could easily miss it.

Valderah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha

I'm running out of ways to say we like camp.  Now that I think about it though, I may not have actually put it quite that way before: we like camp.  Here's Friday's wrap-up, from Aliza:

Your camper especially enjoyed: singing songs with her friend R. at lunch.

We had an amazing first week and can't wait to see what next week has in store.  Olive cleaned up after herself without me asking.  Her constant smile and wonderfully bright clothes are such a breath of fresh air and it's a pleasure to be with her.  She has started to use sign language with me and her listening skills and the ability to follow the group is exceptional.  Her friend R. made her a [not legible] that is being sent home.

And Monday:

Your camper participated in: swimming, nature, music, sports, dance.

Week 2 started off with a blast from hockey where Olive scored a goal to dancing to the Alef Bet song.  She was sneezing and had a runny nose for most of the day but her determination to have fun was wonderful.  Tomorrow is picture day.  If you could, send a purple shirt for our theme of colors of the rainbow.

Aliza's updates are often hard to read and have the unmistakable appearance of having been written using the back of another counselor as a writing desk.  Yet, every day there's an update--and never one with just boxes checked on the form.

Camp Ramah also has a weekly newsletter where parents can read snippets of what all the children are doing, and each week a different age group is spot-lit with extra photos.  Last week was not spotlight week for 2nd grade, but there was still an adorable photo of Olive and her new bestie.  NB stripey sweater:

Back to the knitting.  I've begun a swing coat from Easy Knits for Little Kids, but am using Rowan DK cotton instead of the recommended alpaca.

Yes, I am actually choosing to use cotton when the recipe doesn't even call for it.

I'm not sure what's happening, but lately I've felt cottonish instead of sheepish.  For many years I've railed against knitting with cotton: its lack of elasticity, its tendency toward dreaded Hanginess, its resemblance to butcher's twine.

I'm glad it can't read all the nasty things I've written about it.  For that matter, I'm glad cotton can't hear.  Sheep and alpaca can hear, of course.  If you're listening, little ungulates, I still love you best.  This is just a phase; you're the ones I'll keep coming back to.

What hasn't changed is that my favorite color combination is red and aqua.  I see it all over my old eBay pictures, back from when I used to sew.  I haven't flipped through those photo files in ages, and I'm left with that Alka Seltzer feeling of I can't believe I made the whole thing.

I have no memory of knitting this fair isle vest and sewing that skirt, but given the fact that I also have professional photos of Madi wearing it (my former model, and daughter of photographer Carrie) I know I must have made this set twice. 

Thank God I don't remember what it sold for; I have a feeling I'd be quickly depressed.

I do remember knitting this poncho set...

...the little aqua shrug, and the hoodie.

Both the hoodie and shrug are Rowan kid mohair.

And here's red and aqua again, sewn this time.  I made that set for the Boutique Birds first eBay launch.  I loved that outfit, and if Olive's eczema hadn't necessitated her wearing long sleeves and long pants at all times (before we discovered the miracle of Mometasone cream), I'd have kept it for her.  

Where are you now, ruffled skirt and matching top, and are you being worn and appreciated? 

5 Minutes

When we lived in Milwaukee, my sewing room was enormous.  So big, in fact, that the walk-in closet served as a second sewing room, for Agatha.  The sewing room in our Chicago house was significantly smaller, and the sewing room in this house is smaller still.  So small, in fact, that I put off unpacking it until January.  For five months it was a room for hiding Christmas presents, storing large, daunting boxes, and sitting on a small chair with a very narrow area cleared away for resting one's feet, while watching soccer on a little television set.   After Christmas, I decided to spend five minutes in the sewing room every day, unpacking.  Agatha served as my conscience, asking me every night at dinner, did you do your five minutes yet?  Five was a good number.  Any longer and it would have been easy to beg off and claim I didn't have time that day. 

The photo above was taken before today's 5 minutes.  Now the low table has been cleared, and my serger is set up in the place where the detritus used to be.

The room's almost ready for actual sewing to begin.  The TV will have to find someplace else to sit, and the industrial straight-stitch machine requires a new slider plate (thankfully, easy and cheap to replace).

Some of my yarn got organized in the process.  This (above) is the standing bag where I keep all my Shetland.

Here's my drawer of Norwegian Hifa (as you can see, I don't have nearly enough of it).

Next, I need an all-lopi area.  Maybe I'll create it during tomorrow's five minutes.

On the knitting front, my Hanne Falkenberg project has grown considerably.  Now I can tell which part of the sweater I'm actually working on. 

Above, you see the left front and part of the left sleeve.

I love the yarn that comes with the kit.  I've heard it described as looking and feeling like Shetland, but it's actually softer and smoother.  The color is an unphotographable (for me) heathery melange of pale-to-yellow greens.  The photo above shows what an uneven and downright warbly knitter I am, and why I'm such a strong proponent of blocking. 

I'm looking forward to working on the peplum, even though the knitters on Ravelry who've completed this sweater have all sorts of unfavorable words to describe how long the peplum-process takes.

Dixie's wee newborn dress has a complete yoke now.  It's all downhill from here--literally--as I work my way down the sleeves and skirt.  You may remember this red Chinese yarn from its brief career in motion pictures.

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:

Kiddie Pool

Lisa Made Me Do It

All this talk about the banished place coupled with the fact that Olive's camp schedule allows me an extra hour of sleep in the morning means that I have more energy to sew, and less of an excuse not to. 

First things first: Monday is "wear green" day at Olive's camp.  I think this is meant more figuratively than literally and perhaps the idea was for the children to wear recycled hand-me-downs, but I had a beautiful green and red cotton knit that's been sitting on my cutting table for months now.  Plenty of green here, and sort of green in spirit (since it was made locally, after all).

I don't usually topstitch knits, but in this case I decided to decided to forgo stretch in favor of structure.

The entire top is lined and interfaced, and the buttons at the top don't actually button--the whole thing slips over her head.

Matching shorts are a must.

Today was Picture Day at camp, so all the campers had to wear (gasp) matching screen-printed Hanes tee shirts. But I'm pretty sure no other child was wearing these shorts. I had been saving this very small amount of bright blue and purple for just such an occasion.

I was going to put Olive in her pink high-top sneakers, but her sisters pointed out that the suns on her shoes matched the suns on her shirt better.

Finally, seersucker shorts in pink and green stripes. These are to be worn on "wear pink" day, and will be accompanied by a coordinating tee shirt with pink ribbing.

Sullivan Girls Near and Far

In which Agatha...

...matches her cussies Lily (left) and Rosa!

Some of you may be having fond memories of when Sporties were available to the public.  I'll be listing at least one custom Sporty--hopefully two--at the end of January.  I'll post about it here, and via email to those of you still on the Olivespearls mailing list.

Runs in the Family

I've spent a goodly portion of the last 2.5 days making luxury clothing items for two of the Sullivan girls.  What began as Olive's fur coat project (she needs a new one desperately--the ladies of Autism Academy have run out of superlatives for the last one) took on a special fascination for Clover. 

Apparently, faux mink and napped Polarfleece is what all the happening spaniels are wearing this season. 

Olive's coat project promptly went on hiatus and the mid-season replacement of Clover's new blankie (white faux mink, lined with poly/cotton velour in cream with pink roses) took over. 

Clover feels just like Elizabeth Taylor in it.  Not (chortle) this Elizabeth Taylor, but the one from Sex and the City.

Serious headway was made on Smockulus Majoris, that is, the Elizabeth Zimmermann-inspired smock sweater for Daisy.  Some of you may recognize the wool as the raspberry Malabrigo that set out to become a seed-stitch cardigan, but instead changed its major to full-skirted pullover.

One can't help but notice the eerie resemblance between these two Sullivan girls: the large, liquid eyes,  short and dainty snout and floppy ears demure expression.

Green?

Today was a work day for me, and involved lots of sewing and knitting.  First on the agenda is jammies for the children.  As we all know, Santa Mouse brings jammies to little boys and girls on Christmas Eve, while they are in the tub.  These jammies are then worn that night and Christmas morning.  When my two eldest girls were younger, they usually opened their Santa Mouse jammies naked.  But given the ages and double gender representation in this household, clothing will be the order of the day.

I am also making matching jammies for their cussies in California (they aren't blog readers, so s'okay that I'm showing you these).  I love the splashy floral pattern, and have been obsessively hoarding cherishing this cotton knit for two years. 

I made Agatha a nightgown from this same fabric so that she'll match with her cousins, albeit from a great distance.

Another project I began this weekend: a seed stitch scarf made from Jo Sharp alpaca silk georgette on 2.5mm needles.  For the ruffle, I cast on three times the amount of stitches needed for the main width and knit 5 rows of knit 3 purl 3 ribbing.  Then I did one row of knit 3 tog, purl 3 tog, bringing me down to 45 stitches. 

To finish this, I'll knit seed stitch for the rest of my adult life a very long time.  I'll end by doing one row of (m1, k1, m1), 5 rows of k3 p3 rib, and cast off. 

This particular endeavor is such an eensie weensie finger poking stitch dropping pain in the rumpus that it makes my Malabrigo seed stitch project feel like a nap on the couch with a warm spaniel in comparison. 

It's also by far the most elegant and understated thing I've ever made.  In fact, I think I've gained  5 coolness points just by photographing it.

Despite the number of handmade gifts I'm giving this Christmas, I don't consider myself a Green person.  The very idiom makes me cringe and I'm including in my last requests instructions for me to be buried in the fur of an endangered species while clutching a chunk of plutonium, just to make sure I'm not remembered as Green.  That said, it's appalling how many print catalogs I've received in the mail this month.  Specifically, Hanna Andersson, which prides itself on selling many items made from organic cotton, has mailed me three print catalogs--all identical but with different holiday covers.  I do almost all of my buying online, and don't need ANY hardcopies for shopping.  I'm aware of my recycling and reusing options, but I do wish there was a box I could check on the online order forms that says, "Send me all the spam email you want--just don't mail me any more paper!"

Special Needs Sporties

This was a big sewing weekend for me.  I made Olive 5 zippered jammies, using the pattern I created by dissecting a Hanna Andersson zippersuit and enlarging it.  Apparently, the Swedes in Oregon assume all those over 90 centimeters tall are potty trained, or simply too cool for zippered jammies.  Scoff!

Olive loves hers, and finds them perfect for exercise attire.

I asked Dana if he'd wear jammies like these. He hesitated, then diplomatically suggested I make his 2-piece, and out of boy fabric.  I should have known the day would come when he wouldn't look to his sisters for fashion guidance.  This was the first year when in choosing boots for the winter, he didn't ask for pink.