Knit Sisters

As I wrote last week, I finished a pair of socks for Rob recently.  He has put them into heavy wearing rotation, which of course warms the little cockles of my heart.  There’s nothing like having someone really enjoy what you have made for them to make a knitter feel good.

What doesn’t make me feel so good?

 

The wear and tear that one area of the ribbing has received.  Can you see it in the picture above?  There are matching pulled/fuzzy places on each sock from one particular pair of boots that Rob wears.  Evidently these boots have a rough place on their upper edge that plays havoc with socks.

This really brings the issue of gift-giving into question for me, especially handknit gifts.  On the one hand, when I give someone a gift, it now belongs to them.  No strings attached.  Theoretically, they would be within their rights to throw it in the trash, use it to polish their furniture, give it to their dog to chew on.  It’s not mine anymore, right?  So why should I care?  After all, I’ve had the pleasure of making it, and knitting is all about the process.

“But wait!,” the other, more selfish part of me says.  I spent lots of time on that handknit gift.  There are many, many stitches in those socks.  The truth is, I do care what people do with the handknit gifts I give them.  If someone actually polished furniture with a pair of my handknit socks, I would be completely outraged and hurt.  That person would certainly never, ever get another pair of socks from me.  I think we all know that knitting is also about the product.

Of course, the truth in this case lies somewhere in the middle, as is so often true.  If Rob didn’t like those socks so much, he wouldn’t wear them at all, which would really make me angry.  One could argue correctly that those little pulled/fuzzy places are just natural wear and tear, and not a result of carelessness on his part. 

I once heard a story about Maurice Sendak that went something like this:  Sendak drew a little picture for a child and sent it to him.  He later learned that the child had loved the picture so much that he had eaten it.  Sendak said that he thought that was truly wonderful and the best compliment he could receive.

So this is what I have to tell myself about handknit gifts:  the best compliment I could get would be for someone to absolutely use up my knitting–to wear or use it to shreds.  To contact me some time later and say, “Uh, you know those socks you made for me?  Well, I wore them so much that they’re full of holes.  Can you make me another pair?”

Just not in the first week, OK?

First of all, many thanks to Ellen for taking over the blog last week.  “Time” is looking seriously beautiful!  As always, she does good work, doesn’t she?

I myself have finished Rob’s striped socks,

                                                               and he has already worn them once.  They even match exactly, a first for me in knitting socks from self-striping yarns.

Yarn:  Regia 4-ply Patch Antik Colors, 75% wool, 25% polyamide  

Pattern:  My standard sock “recipe” taken from Priscilla Gibson-Roberts’ Simple Socks Plain and Fancy.  (Clearly, these are of the “plain” variety.)

And I have started a new pair of socks for me,

                                     from a pattern in Charlene Schurch’s Sensational Knitted Socks.  This is Cherry Tree Hill Supersock which I acquired on ebay as a mill end.

I got 10 oz. of this colorway, which equals over 1,000 yards–more than enough to make two pairs of socks.  This seller has these Cherry Tree Hill mill ends all the time:  check it out!  She regularly has both solids and variegateds.

I’ve done a bit of spinning on the Suffolk wool.

                                              Not a full bobbin yet, but it’s getting there.

The one knitting project which has gone nowhere over the last week?  Why, The Handsome Triangle shawl, of course!  But never fear, I will return to it in time…

It’s good to be back!

I refer you to Resolution No. Nine of my original resolutions list, something along the lines of doing foolish things and doing them with enthusiasm.

And maybe even completing them:

To me, that’s a nice, neutral glove.

The gloves strike a rare ladylike pose:

Specs, in case you wish to duplicate my folly:
1 ball Trekking XXL in colorway 131,
2 24″ circular needles, U.S. size 1,
2 jazzy buttons,
1 pattern from Not Just More Socks.

I now know that pattern like the, well…

back of my hand.

Since doing foolish things with enthusiasm is not mutually exclusive with admitting that, as the Reagan Administration used to so skillfullly put it, “mistakes were made,” I will now review the list of things I would have done differently.

1. Although it isn’t that obvious in the photos, the lower part of the hand is somewhat too big for me and the gloves are therefore rather ill-fitting. All of this even though the pattern claims to be sized for a women’s medium! I would have thought my hands were nothing if not medium, but perhaps I have been laboring under a delusion all these years. Anyway, if I did it again, I’d either reduce the number of stitches I cast on or knit the pattern using U.S. size 0s.

2. We have previously discussed my struggle with the mitten top. Nothing further shall ever be said on this subject. If you bring it up, I will deny that it ever happened.

3. I cast off a couple of the fingers while watching rather tense parts of the BBC’s production of Smiley’s People. Do not try this at home. You’ll regret it the first time you wear the gloves and your index finger turns purple from reduced circulation. Then you’ll have to reknit those fingers while “hanging loose,” something not all of us are really that good at doing, in order to avoid gangrene. Ugly.

I am nonetheless pleased with the unabashed riotousness of the colorway,

Brother, can you spare a dime?

and the general unconventionality of the finished article.

Unhappily, I have bad news to report. Coming on the heels of the sudden removal of our derelict truck—from which we have, as you can imagine, barely recovered—the revelation that Shelley had been “invited to leave” her graduate program in paleontology came as a terrible blow.

My advisor never liked me.

I regret to inform you that the derelict truck is no longer with us. As is so often the case, he hung on through the holidays and saw in the New Year with us, only to be cruelly and suddenly taken from us in the early, bleak days of January.

Zeno meditates upon the grievous loss of our derelict truck, which sat for so long just outside this very window, the window where now there is but a void!

The derelict truck lived a good life, and an exceptionally long one—much longer than most would have predicted or, in some cases, even wished—although in his declining years his mobility, which indeed had meant everything to him, became extremely limited. And yet he never complained, even as his tires sank into the asphalt and all of his oil leaked out onto the driveway.

Or onto Zeno’s back when the cat took shelter under his rusting engine, which was nearly every day. In jest, the derelict truck once suggested that Zeno had absorbed so much oil into his fur that he almost qualified as an alternative energy source. But we knew that under that gruff, rusted exterior and behind the joking suggestions that we convert Zeno into heat or fuel, the derelict truck truly loved his kitty friend.

Exactly the way we all do.

I am SO still in the anger phase…

Born circa 1980, the derelict truck is survived by his best friend Zeno, of the home, by some of his own tires, of the garage, and by his loving family Ellen, Alex, and Shelley, also of the home.

I’ve seen all I can bear.

“Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang…”

Your time with us was too short, but we take comfort in the sure knowledge that you have passed on to your reward, and are now providing transportation for James Brown and Gerald Ford on that Great Highway in the sky.

Rest in peace, derelict truck.

I told you all that the Jordana Paige knitting satchel was going to change my life. And how! Look what crawled up out of that bag today:

The first acid green Trekking XXL glove makes it appearance on the great stage of life!

Close-up:

That button was a stroke of genius for which I have my friend Kat to thank.

And finally, on the hand:

I am only carrying on and behaving so shamelessly triumphal about this single glove, whose mate is currently on the needles, because it turned out to be more difficult to complete than I thought.

That mitten top? The convertible piece? I knitted that sucker three times. Third one was a charm, but the first two were complete bollocks.

And why? Simple. After knitting the cuff and hand according to the pattern instructions and finding it a tad large for me, I lost faith in the pattern and decided to strike out on my own. I felt I knew better.

After two attempts, both of which resulted in a mitten top that was painfully short, I ripped it back for the second time and—now chastened and at least moderately wiser—reknitted it…according to the instructions.

You know what they say: if all else fails, read the directions!

Sometimes I just have to do things my own way, even if they are destined for disaster. I am reminded of an incident when I was a very small child—maybe three or four—involving an ice cream cone. I felt at the time that it was overly hidebound and unimaginative always to approach the ice cream cone from the top, where the ice cream sits. Why not, I thought, eat the cone first? What a brilliant innovation!

My father tried to tell me that it might not be the best idea. I felt I knew better.

I started eating from the bottom of the cone. Within a few seconds, the ice cream had melted enough to slip through the shattered ruin of the cone and land with a plop on the sidewalk. But not before I myself had become fully enrobed in chocolate ice cream.

I learned my lesson about ice cream cones, yessirree! I never did that again.

But as you can plainly see, the unquenchable spirit of stubborn refusal to see sense, the mulish conviction that the wheel must be reinvented, the obstinate compulsion to climb the mountain just because it is there…or if it is not there, to build the mountain, by God, and then climb it because it’s there now—they can’t take that away from me!

Now, back to that second glove…

Oh, and one more thing. Alex asked me to direct you here if you need a laugh. Naturally, the suggestion comes from him because, as we have learned recently from Christopher Hitchens, women aren’t funny. I was going to write something in response to the Hitchens article, but then I decided that even the minimal intellectual effort I’d need to put into dismantling his woolly-minded “argument” was…beneath me, frankly. Besides, I’m obviously far too busy cracking jokes.

So in lieu of a tedious rebuttal, I’ve decided that it would be entirely more fitting to make my point by rewriting my great-grandfather’s favorite joke:

A woman walks into the editorial offices of Vanity Fair and steps up to the magazine’s editor. “When,” she asks, “will the last misogynist, intellectually shallow, essentializing article that reduces women to nothing more than incubators on legs by means of a windy ‘Just-So’ story cloaked in sloppy, psuedo-scientific reasoning be published by the mainstream press in this country?”

The editor replies, “You should live so long!”

Life is short, and crap is long. And now, once again, back to that second glove…

I finished the sherbet socks and have since worn them twice (and washed them once).  Here’s a shot of them adorning my feet–I call this “Socks with Dog Butt.”

 

And a closeup:

 

As it turns out, I did have enough yarn to finish both socks, thus saving me a painful stash dive for some sort of mismatched odds and ends to finish the second toe.  Whew.  This also bodes well for the remaining 400 several balls of this yarn that I have in the stash.  Now I know I can actually get two full socks out of each ball.  I’ll tell you, I slept more soundly this weekend knowing that.

Unfortunately for my other Christmas break projects, I too have succumbed to the siren song of a new project.  I started the “Handsome Triangle” shawl out of Victorian Lace Today last night.  I’m using the fuchsia merino/cashmere that Ellen sent me in her luxury fiber care package last month.  So far, it’s shaping up nicely.

I also (somehow, I just don’t know how it could have happened) started spinning the brown double-coated fleece the other night.  This is the undercoat, and my goal is a laceweight yarn.  Some of the shawls in the Victorian Lace book are made out of the author’s own handspun yarn, and they are truly beautiful.  That inspired me to spin one of my naturally-colored fleeces into a laceweight yarn, and I think a shawl made out of this fleece would be gorgeous.

 

Oh, yeah, and I also started a new pair of socks for Rob.  I’m almost to the heel on the first one, but I didn’t take a picture, since they’re a bit–um, how shall I say?–boring.  You know, manly colors and all that.  But they’re going fast, because Rob likes his socks quite plain.  It’s actually sort of nice to have something mindless, small, and portable to take with me when I leave the house.

Tomorrow, it’s back to work for me.  All good things must come to an end.

My best wishes for a very happy new year to you all!

On the second sherbet sock:

                    Pictured here next to the ultra-groovy jigsaw puzzle Rob gave me for Christmas.  This is a Frank Lloyd Wright design, originally designed as a magazine cover, now living as an art glass mural at the Arizona Biltmore. 

I have a serious weakness for jigsaw puzzles, and it is my stated goal to work a puzzle over each of the major holiday weekends.  And, of course, one can only work the same old puzzles so many times.  So Rob, being the good man that he is, actually gave me three (3) puzzles for Christmas.  I finished this one up lickety-split, because it is so cool.  Now I’m resisting the urge to start another–Easter weekend is coming.

Anyway, back to the sock.  I also have a stated goal to finish these socks before I have to go back to school on Jan. 3rd.  Since this a yarn that claims to have enough yardage to make a pair out of one ball, I’m now nearing the end of the ball.  The specter of not having enough yarn has reared its ugly little head.  Whatever does one do when one runs out of yarn an inch or less from the end of a sock?  It doesn’t bear thinking of.

My other knitting-related gift this Christmas was some funding from my mom and dad to attend this retreat in March.  I’ve already sent in my registration and am waiting to hear back from them about class availability.  I have a hotel room booked and everything!  Can you tell I’m really looking forward to this?  Perfect timing too, because by early March those of us who work in the public school system really, really need a break.

Those of you within striking distance–wanna come play with me?

First things first. In spite of existing primarily in a state of fatigued haze as a result of Woolcott’s big, big sale (Tuesday) and two days of inventory (Wednesday and Thursday), all of which followed on the heels of a major holiday (Monday), I have somehow stumbled through the week and arrived at Thursday night.

All without telling you about the fabulous handspun my sister gave me for a Christmas gift.

Eat yer heart out…

And that ain’t all:

Simply beautiful.

Thank you, Sarah! It’s so wonderful to work with yarn that you spun. The only question is, what garment and/or pattern is good enough for it?

Suggestions will be taken under advisement, so don’t be shy with your comments!

In the blur of activity, not to mention the excitement of finding out I was famous, I also failed to tell you about other aspects of our holiday celebration and the week.

For instance, as a result of the big, big sale and the fact that I had amassed a certain amount of store credit at Woolcott, I was able to acquire some serious swag over the past week and the beauty part of it was that almost no actual money changed hands.

Jordana Paige bag that I had been coveting for literally months:

I am convinced this bag will change my life.

Highly desirable Teva Durham and Fiona Ellis books along with a representative sample of newly-acquired Malabrigo:

There may be a couple more skeins that are not shown. Or ten.

I may be leaving a few things out, but at some point the shame really is too great. Especially considering that at some point in the coming year, I’ll probably clean forget about this orgy of knitting-related acquisition, get a burr under my saddle about consumerism, and go to preachin’ here on the blog about how we have to simplify our lives and buy less and so forth.

Ah, well. A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds!

Despite long odds, a little progress has been made on the much-maligned Trekking convertible fingerless glove/mitten:

What can one say but, “A triumph of color combination!”?

And finally, this week brought our much-anticipated, traditional holiday visit from Miss A.:

Shown here with her Pop, a fine jazz pianist whose CDs may be found here.

…and her younger sis:

Not to mention their mother, the delightful Emily, featured here raising a cup of French Roast to toast the fact that she got up at 5:30 a.m. to start her journey:

Miss A., you will note, is knitting in the foreground.

A good deal of pandemonium ensued:

Many questions were asked.

The answer, you see, is almost invariably seven.

And thus was Christmas 2006 kept.

Alex’s Trekking XXL socks are, at long last, done.

I’m very proud of them because although they are fraternal rather than identical twins with regard to their stripes, I actually wrote down the pattern I created for the first one and then repeated it on the second! Instead of what I usually do, which is follow roughly the same plan for the second sock and then fudge the rest.

Worked like a charm!

Here’s their eye-of-partridge or, as we like to call it Chez Mad Dog, eye-of-newt heel:

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

Due to a sudden drop in the evening temperatures here, Alex has been wearing these socks to bed. Although I had fondly hoped that he would wear them outside the house once they were done, I am nonetheless pleased with his more limited use of the socks because it spares me the agony of feeling his cold feet on my legs in the middle of the night.

On another topic entirely, in a particularly alarming development, Zeno has started regularly checking his e-mail.

People, there ain’t no good can come of this.

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.