Knit Sisters

I actually finished a couple of small projects yesterday.  The striped scarf for Rob:

 

(The artwork to the right of the scarf is a piece of Rob’s that hangs in our living room.  It’s one of my favorites–so spare yet so evocative, somehow.)

And the orange cabled socks for me:

 

Obviously, I decided that the scarf was going to go to Rob, although I began this year with the stated and firm intention that this was “The Year of Knitting for Me.”  You see, I keep a running record throughout the year of all the projects I have finished, both big and small.  Last year’s count was a total of 28 projects; only five (5!!) of those were for me.  I decided that this was a pitiful and paltry amount and that this year I would knit only for myself.

I began the year by finishing up all the projects that were hanging over my head for other people.  A sweater vest for my dad, a cardigan for Rob, a cat bed for Alex’s cat, a pair of socks for Rob.  Since then, I have made three sweaters and two pairs of socks for myself, two baby blankets (for other people), and a scarf for Rob (see above).  It seems I have a problem sticking to my resolution.  I would like to think that this is because I am a naturally generous and giving person, and not simply because I am weak-willed.

In my defense, however, I have done lots and lots of spinning this year.  Somehow, giving myself permission to be selfish with my knitting opened the door to spending my time spinning.  And I have loved spending that time at my wheel.  I’ve completed nine spinning projects, large and small, this year.  Plus lots of washing, combing, and otherwise playing around with fiber.

So perhaps a better title for the year would be:  The Year of Spinning and Knitting for Me.  And the year’s not over yet, is it?  The fall has terrific possibilities.

Like this one:

I’m playing around with another idea here, a kind of wrapped and belted jacket with a quilted pattern and double knit edging/neckline treatment.  The yarn is a wool tweed (the solid green) and a hand-painted brushed mohair that I bought long ago at New York Sheep and Wool.

Here’s a detail of the quilting pattern:

 

Lest you wonder about Blue Bamboo, I have a master plan for that pattern which I will be announcing later in the week.  Stay tuned!

It’s great to be back and have a chance to get caught up on the development of the Blue Bamboo and the fine points of copyleft vs. copyright. Thanks to Sarah and Alex for keeping the blog fires burning in my absence!

The Outer Banks of North Carolina was a magical place, replete with beautiful beaches,

wildlife refuges that doubled as refuges for derelict buildings,

delightful beach houses,

Our house, “No Regrets,” shown here with my young friends who, for national security purposes, shall be known only by their code names: Red and The Cardinal.

vicious mosquitos and biting flies,

The Cardinal slaps demonically persistent mosquitos who are thwarting his attempts to photograph the scenery.

state parks that looked remarkably like the Sahara Desert,

The Cardinal and Red at Jockey Ridge State Park. Although the heat index that day was 117 degrees, they appear cheerful and sprightly. Because that’s just the kind of really swell people they are.

handy clotheslines,

Because occasionally some of us had run-ins with ocean waves and ended up just the tiniest bit drenched and encrusted with sand and small stones. But we learned a valuable lesson: if you fight the sea, you will be schooled by the sea.

and picturesque paths to the beach.

Wait! Come back! I can explain everything!

Red took her first surfing lesson,

Laird Hamilton’s got nothing on her.

while The Cardinal, his mother, and I took photos and loafed on the beach.

During the week, we discovered a unique retail outlet for beer and various libations called The Brew Thru. I have not yet gotten over my amazement at the existence of not just one, but multiple Brew Thrus in the Outer Banks. Because what this is—and if you haven’t seen it you might be tempted to think I’m exaggerating (which heaven knows I would never do here on the blog)—is a drive-though beer store. I am not kidding.

There’s something more than a little Darwinian about allowing people to buy a case of Coors from the driver’s side window of their Ford Explorer.

Speaking of Coors (aka “Colorado Kool-Aid”), should you find that your favorite Outer Banks beach shop is fresh out of Confederate flag bikinis, there are still other tasteful and dignified options for beach wear:

Truly, there are no words.

But now, although the shame is very great, I must confess that I did not knit much at all while I was in North Carolina. I offer in my defense these two obstacles: (a) the heat index was always between 115 and 120 degrees and that’s the kind of meteorological figure that says “Brew Thru” rather than “wool” to me; and (b) I was experiencing some overuse, carpal-tunnel-style pain in my left wrist. I am pleased to report that the latter seems fine now after a week of rest.

Which is a darn good thing, too, because I’m about to go on the road for some dissertation research and after those long days in the archives, I’ll need knitting. I’ll need it badly. I’ll take those same projects—Icarus, the bamboo socks, and Rogue—and hope for better progress this time.

First stop, Tucson. I’ll be reporting from there on Wednesday…

It’s been a quiet week here Chez Knit Sister because Alex, designer of this website, soon to by husband-of-mine, and general all around great guy (shown here looking for all the world like junior faculty at Princeton),

is out in Berkeley for a few days doing, you know, Berkeley things: drinking only shade-grown coffee, practicing Bikram yoga, and haranguing passersby with unasked for and unwanted tirades about attachment parenting. Okay, he’s not. I lied. He would in fact never do such things. That’s why I love him. He’s actually working on a website for a Berkeley professor.

But either way, Shelley and I are making the best of things, mainly by air conditioning the bedroom down to the temperature of a meat locker and enjoying all the things a dog and a girl can enjoy in a super-chilled room: crossword puzzles, books, beef bones, DVDs, squeaky toys, and of course knitting. Progress on Rogue:

Finished those socks:

I knit a lot of socks, as you may have noticed, and this has a direct relationship to the fact that I live in the greater Boston area, home of a functional public transportation system of which I am an enthusiastic and frequent user. I spend a lot of time riding the T and the bus. A lot. And this is time that is well-spent knitting socks. I’m not the first, and I’m sure I won’t be the last, to note that socks make a good portable project. I always knit mine on two circular needles, thanks to the remarkable Cat Bordhi, so I’m never in danger of losing my DPNs on the bus. It also provides a ready-to-hand topic for conversation with other riders and a chance to recruit others to the knitting life.

But most importantly, knitting on the T keeps me occupied, which keeps me from reading public service ads about health issues. Boston is full of public health schools that are eager to spread the word to the people of Our Fair City about disease prevention, screening, and good health habits. All great. Except that some of us, while certainly not what you’d call hypochondriacs, heaven knows!, are susceptible to worst-case-scenario thinking when it comes to health. This is kind of a problem because, when you think about it, the body only has a limited number of ways of expressing its outrage. That means that most symptoms you experience can legitimately be either (a) a sign that you should eat smaller meals and maybe exercise more or (b) the first indication that by this time next year you will be dead.

So without knitting, here’s how it might go: I toddle down to Ye Olde Tea Party Square, head over to Felipé’s, consume a Super Burrito with cheese, black beans, guacamole, salsa, extra hot sauce, and a couple of jalapenos and wash it down with a 352 oz. Diet Coke. Then I hop on the T. I ride a couple of stops, communing with the mellifluous sound of metal-on-metal as the train rounds the curves, and then…I notice the public health ad above the head of the rider directly across from me: “Are you experiencing bloating? Lower abdominal pain? A feeling of fullness? Vague gastrointestinal complaints like nausea, gas, or indigestion? Do not ignore these symptoms. They can be signs of ovarian cancer, the deadliest of all gynecological cancers…”

My heart skips a beat. I am experiencing bloating, gas, and indigestion right now! I feel full. I feel vaguely nauseated. Could it be? Am I truly not long for this world? It says right there that I should not ignore these symptoms. I better get off this train right now and go to the doctor! Or maybe I need to think about “putting my affairs in order.” Oh Lord! Why? Why me?

Just as I am getting hold of myself and preparing to be brave and noble in the face of certain death, I remember. The Super Burrito. The 352 oz. Diet Coke.

As they say in medicine, when you hear hoofbeats in the hall, don’t go looking for a zebra.

Now I could try to work on myself and try to become less crazy and less apt to be convinced I am dying every time I read one of these public health placards and more Zen-like and all the rest of it.

Or I could just keep knitting socks:

P.S. Sarah, I would be happy to take that new skein of mohair/wool blend off your hands. It will be a burden, of course, but one I will gladly shoulder. It ain’t heavy, it’s my sister’s handspun…