Knit Sisters

Those faithful blog readers among you (and there are many, bless your hearts!) may have noticed that my posts have been somewhat few and far between lately.  There is a reason for this, although it is complicated and involves others who have as much right to their privacy as anyone else.

Trying to write a good blog is hard, I’ve found, for that very reason.  How much do you reveal about your personal life?  And, because all of us have lives that intersect with others’ lives in a myriad of ways, how much can you, in good faith, reveal about the lives of those close to you?

Do you stick slavishly to the topic at all times?  Most of you know by now that Ellen and I don’t really do that.  It would be easier, in some ways, but I think the blog would be the poorer for it.  After all, why do we read blogs?  For the topic, yes, but also for the glimpse into another person’s life.  And yet, if those of us who write blogs reveal too much about our lives, we risk violating the privacy of those people dearest to us, at worst, or simply becoming banal and tedious, at best.  (I firmly believe that no one really wants to read about how much cereal I ate for breakfast.)

But, and this is a big but, how in the world am I to write cheerfully about knitting or anything else when the top tier of my mind is constantly taken up with a large and distressing problem?  But, you see, I can’t write about that problem openly on the blog because it would mean violating the privacy of another, someone whom I love dearly and believe has the right not to have his troubles written up on the internet for all the world to see.

All of this is a long, roundabout way of telling you all that my presence on the blog will be decreased for a while.  My goal is to write a post once a week; that’s about what I’ve been managing for the last several weeks.  More than that, I’m finding, I just cannot accomplish right now.

My thanks and love go out to my dear sister, Ellen, who has not pressured or chided me in any way during this time, and who has graciously offered to take over the bulk of the blogging for now.  And my gratitude and appreciation go out to all of you as well, our long-standing as well as our new readers.

I ask for your prayers.

When you receive a handknit gift…

Such as, for example, an Elephant Baby Sweater

…from a friend or loved one, you may find yourself wondering, “How should I respond? What does etiquette dictate? How can I express my gratitude in such a way as to receive further handknit gifts in the future?”

Wonder no more!

Below please find a superior response model. Feel free to adapt and modify for your own purposes, but be sure to retain a similar tone of unfettered enthusiasm and unbridled gratitude:

Ellen!!!! Thank you so, so, much for the adorable sweater for A.!

I’m filled with gratitude and send my warmest thoughts,
J.

Now that’s the way it’s done.

There was in fact, more to my D.C. experience last week than just this:

An assortment of scriveners toiling away at the National Archives.

Although sitting in front of a computer with a musty box (or twenty-four) at my side did account for the vast majority of my time.

But the beauty of archives is that they close on weekends. What is a hard-working historian to do but…

…go to the National Gallery and see some rather impressive Calders?

My uncle took me, bless his heart. He is a physicist and probably not in truth that enthused about art, but he went to oblige me.

Uncle is shown here, however, taking a call from his mechanic explaining that my aunt’s car needed some expensive repairs. I frankly thought my uncle was going to pass out from the shock. He does not enjoy spending money. Unlike some of us, who enjoy it rather too much. Particularly given the paltry amount we earn. But let’s not dwell on that, shall we not?

There were traditional D.C. photo ops:

Here’s where it all happens. Or not, depending on the particular Congress.

And then the weekend was over and I went back to the archive. Some historians are what we call “archive rats,” the history version of the “gym rat” of the physical culture world. I am not, however, one of those historians. Once I’m out of the archive, I get great enjoyment out of using my documents and sources toward some bigger analytical point, but I do not particularly enjoy the process of procuring those documents and sources, which involves sitting there hour after hour going through vast reams of paper, most of it totally irrelevant to your topic.

It’s about as enjoyable as working in a zinc mine. But with better lighting. And usually better ventilation, although that is not guaranteed.

Thankfully, I am now home and the fun part of the work can begin.

In knitting news, I sent the Elephant Baby Sweater to its intended recipient on Thursday; she should receive it today. I stopped short of demanding that the child’s mother take a photo of the child wearing the sweater and send it to me immediately, but I was tempted. They are lovely people and they will probably think of it anyway.

I hope.

I also held back from demanding that the child’s mother produce another baby in short order so that the sweater could get double use. That seemed just a tad rude and presumptuous. I mean, just a tad. But it would make me very, very happy if two babies wore that sweater… I’m just sayin’, is all.

I have also decided that this fall will be “The Fall of Finishing.” Some of the more loyal and astute readers may have noticed that there are several items that have been introduced on the blog, but never unveiled as finished objects.

There’s a reason for that.

But now them U.F.O.s are going to land!

First, Minnie. Remember Minnie?

Her lovely beaded front.

Green beads and green buttons.

The back.

Fortunately, I am still feeling the love for Minnie and I am very nearly done. Although not quite as done as it looks, unhappily, because once I finish this second sleeve, I am going to frog most of the first:

Respectable in its way, but there’s no way around the ugly fact that I made it too short. I had some goofy idea about how I was going to accidentally drag the bell sleeve in my soup or some such nonsense and I got carried away with this notion and now the sleeve is grievously stunted and there is only one solution. Ribbit.

Horrifically, I also did this at the underarm:

Blech. Too much stockinette where I should have continued the lacy pattern. What was I thinking?

All by way of saying, the completed sleeve leaves much to be desired.

We can rebuild it. We have the technology. We also have the motivation. And plenty of extra yarn, something I bet the Six Million Dollar Man never had.

Minnie completion is my immediate goal. Then I’m going to tackle my version of Bristow, which has a back and two fronts, but has never been seamed or sleeved, and return at long last to Rogue, another sweater for which I am still feeling the love, but which is another material reminder that love is not all you need.

You need sleeves.

It has pained me to be so long gone from the blog. I was in the D.C. area, working at the National Archive:

Here we have the Reading Room for Textual Records. Feast your eyes, oh ye sons and daughters of man, for truly it is a wondrous place! Lo, a place of pilgrimage for all lowly historians and all the wretched of the Earth, for surely there is no woman so wretched as she who must slog through 600 unsorted boxes of EPA records. Oh Lord, hear her lament about archival work!

I was looking at these:

Only there were many, many carts just like this, chock-a-block with boxes full of musty old documents. Weep, weep, for there is nothing else for it!

There was not, however, internet access. The suffering was very great.

In the evenings, however, I finished the Elephant Baby Sweater.

I am so proud!

Rowan Pure Wool DK and Debbie Bliss Rialto, comin’ at ya! I did this on U.S. Size 3 and 5 needles, the new Addi Turbo lace needles in fact. It was great fun. I even followed the pattern for once. Well, more or less.

More when we return tomorrow about D.C. and my adventures there…

Glad to be back!

Well, yes and no.

As it happens, my new job (well, it’s not really a new job, just a different position in the same old job) looks like it’s going to afford me lots of knitting time.  Of course, the knitting needs to be smallish, portable, and somewhat mindless.  And what fits that description better than socks, I ask you?  Well, nothing, that’s what.  So it seems that I’m going to get lots of socks made this year.

I am virtually finished with the soldier socks.  The second one just needs a bindoff, and then both need to have the ends worked in.

After I finish these, I plan on starting a pair for my friend H., whom I have promised a pair of socks for winter.  (Practically as soon as I told him that, he started asking me, “How are my socks coming?”)  Of course, they will be in subdued and masculine colors, appropriate to his manly pride.  (See here and here.)  Fortunately, I did not have to go through the entire and dreaded “interview” for the proposed socks, just gave him two balls of yarn from which to choose.

In the “something new” category, I have been playing around again with some ribbon yarn with which I have played around before.  (That sounds a little kinky, doesn’t it?  Well, I’ll just let you think whatever you want…)  After much trial and error, I have settled on a simple garter rib pattern with V-neck shaping.

This is just a swatch, although I realize that it does actually look like a little sweater front.  (“Little” being the operative word there.)  I’m envisioning this as a somewhat fitted, short-sleeve sweater with raglan shoulder shaping.  Minimal finishing–just a self-finishing neckline which you can see in the photo above.

For those of you who might be wondering, no, I never have finished Rumpelstiltskin.  It is sitting on my couch in a wad, reproaching me silently every time I look at it.  So I don’t look at it.

I am coming along with projects in my new house, including my stated goal of decorating  with my vast supply of yarn and fiber.

I’m running out of baskets.  Time to a) hit up the garage sales again and/or b) get creative.  Do you think it would be in poor taste to just put giant wads of unspun fiber all around the house?

By popular demand (well, OK, really just Jennifer–hi Jennifer!), I’ve decided to post a little virtual tour of the outside of my new house.

Starting with, naturally, the front door.

The house faces west.

And here’s the entire front side (the west side, as established above.)

 

Looking down the sidewalk to the south.  The cemetery is a block away, and a very nice place to walk Hugo.

See those cool stone (maybe concrete) square pillars?  Those have been there for many moons, and are one of my favorite features of the yard.  Here’s a closeup.

 

This is the southeast corner of the yard; the tree in the back corner is an elm, and in the foreground there are some kind of berry canes–I’m looking forward to finding out what kind next summer.

Moving on around the house in a counter-clockwise fashion, this is a view of the back door and the small back deck.

 

The northeast corner of the house, and some of the trees in the backyard.

 

The north yard.  I think those two trees there are just the perfect distance apart to support a hammock.

 

The large picture window on the north side.

 

And, moving back around to the front of the house, the large tree right outside the front door, which is a favorite with the local cats.

 

There’s one now!

 

This drives Hugo bonkers, as you can imagine.   He can see those kitties in the tree out the front window, but he can’t get to them. 

He lives in a constant state of anxiety tempered with hope, as do I.

I am pleased to report that the Elephant Baby Sweater is no longer just a vest, but is growing a sleeve:

This was the state of things last night at 6 p.m. Sleeve fashioned from the top down on two circular needles—same method I use for socks.

And growing and growing and growing:

Around 7:15 last night. Visible progress!

I love doing sleeves from the top down (and these are particularly easy because they’re just a drop sleeve, no sleeve cap, no short rows, no fuss, no muss), not least because the sleeves get smaller and smaller as you go down. In this case, I started out with only a few more stitches than would be involved in your average sock and before you could say “Is that a trunk you got there or are you just happy to see me?” I was down in the neighborhood of 40 stitches or so.

And then you can just fly along.

For a project that involves the dreaded intarsia, the Elephant Baby has really given me absolutely no trouble at all. In an unusual move, I have actually followed the pattern, improvising only in the area of assembly, where I have done as I damn well pleased, thank you very much. (Mainly, I’ve saved myself from the awful fate of seaming up the sleeves, an activity I find preferable only to eating live worms.)

All this knitting was done on our sunporch in the most gorgeous weather imaginable,

more like mid-September than mid-August. The quality of the light was wonderful—not quite Napa Valley, but for Eastern Massachusetts, about as good as it gets.

Shelley and I were keeping the celebration going,

Still life with champagne flute, cell phone, mechanical pencil and Saturday crossword.

and really, well and truly, relaxing.

And let’s face it, people, it’s not like she’s the most relaxed person OR I’m the most relaxed dog you’ll ever meet.

Alex later joined us for a somewhat peculiar dinner of chicken (cooked on the grill), blue corn chips, guacamole, and bing cherries. It remains unclear what unifies those foods or how they complement each other, but sometimes that’s the way it is Chez Mad Dog. I learned as a child that one is meant to be grateful for even peculiar dinners, and so I am. Especially those of which I myself am the author.

And so concluded another delightful weekend Chez Mad Dog, where the celebration never ends.

Oh, except for one thing: Shelley came in from the yard on Saturday night with just the tiniest flecks of blood on her paws and muzzle. Not a lot of blood, just a little. After I made the nervous-dog-mother’s full body check to ascertain that my adorable little pup was not herself bleeding (she was completely sound and unhurt), I concluded that she must have, well, killed some very small animal in the backyard.

In subsequent searches, no body was found. (As an aside, this raises an inevitable question: did Jimmy Hoffa have any enemies who were…dogs?)

Shelley claims that she was just doing her job.

Me? I’m committed to keeping the celebration going. My dog is my hero because…when she kills a small animal, she’s smart enough to think to hide the corpse.

Bless her little canine heart.

Alex and I read with some interest the article in last Sunday’s New York Times Magazine about couples in group marriage counseling. Well, okay, we read it with some interest and some alarm, frankly, because while it was clearly intended to leave you with the impression that marriage is a worthwhile enterprise—deep, mysterious, complex, rewarding, and so on and so forth—it also led you to the gnawing and inescapable conclusion that it is grindingly difficult.

And nearly impossible to get right.

Here’s something I got right, I believe: the neckband of my elephant sweater. This is an in-progress photo of it before I seamed the shoulder and the edges of the band. I like the crisp way the V of the V-neck turned out.

Well, crap. And here I thought that life was going to be a field of daisies, a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou from here on out. Guess my parade just got rained out.

But seriously, we’ve only been married about two months at this point, and I think I can fairly say that I’ve never been happier. According to the therapists in this article, though, that is because at the beginning it is easier to “keep the celebration going.”

Apparently, “keeping the celebration going,” as one of them put it, is the key to long-term happiness. Since this is touchy-feely psychobabbly kind of talk, I will translate. At no extra charge!

What they mean is that you have to openly, frequently, and ebulliently take delight in your spouse’s or partner’s achievements, good qualities, and talents, remarking often and to all who will listen on the heroic qualities of your spouse, his or her exceptional cleverness and preternatural good looks, his or her recent lucrative promotion at work, and how much you appreciate the $400,000 in-ground tiled swimming pool inspired by the pools at Hearst Castle that he or she is building for you in your commodious backyard.

After a few months of this, you will have the best marriage on your block! Which will be important because you will no longer have any friends.

Elephant Sweater, the Vest Years. Alex, if you are reading, I’ll be expecting to overhear you telling everyone about the amazing achievement that this sweater represents. Feel free to embellish. The phrase “master knitter” may be a useful one in that connection.

Okay, they never said anything about boasting about a swimming pool. But they did suggest that you begin sentences, “My husband is my hero because…” That sentence could end any number of ways, of course. How about “…he got paroled early from the penitentiary over in Leavenworth because of good behavior.” Or “…he drank a whole fifth of Jack Daniels in forty-five minutes and it didn’t kill him.” Maybe “…he got in a brawl with a guy up at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally this year but he didn’t use a tire iron.” Or how about “…he was voted the area’s Most Convincing Elvis Imitator at the County Fair and he had the prize pumpkin.”

The point is, you’ve got to focus on the good in a man.

Admittedly, “keeping the celebration going” has become a running joke Chez Mad Dog, but even so Alex says we’re doing a great job of it. Mainly because we still have a case of champagne left over from the wedding at the foot of the basement stairs.

And finally…

…a completely gratuitous canted shot of elephant sweater.

Keepin’ the celebration going, people, keepin’ it going!

Over the past week I have been moving in to my new house.  It’s hard to describe how I feel about this; I wasn’t really prepared for how thrilling it would be to have my own space:  mine, all mine.

I can do things like put beautiful yarn in baskets and set them around the house, just because I like to see them there.

 

Put my spinning wheel in the middle of the room if I want to.  Or both wheels, for that matter.

 

Have Hugo back with me.

 

Put books and bookshelves wherever I wish.

 

Decide by myself where every little thing goes in the kitchen.

Fill up all the storage space with fiber.

 

Buy my own tools.

 

And use them to put up towel bars just where I would like them.

 

As well as an entire closet system.  (I put this up by myself this morning–very empowering.)

If things don’t get done (which is also happening, let’s face it), I have no one to blame but myself.  But as things do get done, it’s incredibly satisfying.

Tomorrow:  mow the lawn and get all my clothes hung up on the new closet system.

Moving on.  Focus.  Set goals.

As you may have noticed, I pretty much never do intarsia. Okay, I never do intarsia.

So I feel the need to make a big ole whoop-de-do about this intarsia elephant I knit a couple of days back:

Humor me, will you? But truly, is it not cunning?

I happen to have taken a close-up…

…because I am especially proud of that eye, which is neither too loose nor too tight, but miraculously just right. Believe me, it isn’t skill. More like beginner’s luck.

I recognize that little malicious tree elves have messed with the tension of some of the stitches, but I remain hopeful that blocking will correct all their sins. And maybe even some of mine.

Meanwhile, from the Captain Obvious School of Package Design and Marketing, comes the text for the thirty-six pack of Mountain Dew!

Just in case you weren’t paying any attention whatsoever in math class. Or are easily amazed by simple mathematical facts.

Note that there is nothing said about a price break or it being a better deal than the smaller packages or anything of the sort. Nope. You are simply meant to rejoice in the exciting numerical truth that thirty-six is half again as much as twenty-four!

And who among us wouldn’t, really? It is, after all, the simple pleasures…