No sooner do you get the mittens on

And they say they have to pee.

I gave the little monster to his new Mom, who named him “Alot” in tribute to the post from Hyperbole and A Half. And despite my not saying anything, she knew this week’s doctor appt did not go well, so she set me the task of babysitting him for the weekend. We had a strange little snowfall Saturday so I gave him a grapefruit spoon and sent him out to shovel the walkways. But being a mother at heart, I had to knit him some outerwear first.

As complex as small scale knitting is, those little pieces didn’t take long, so I also worked on my shawl. I’m at the point where each round is 1000+ stitches. Which means that I promptly trashed the patterning and needed to fix two entire rounds before moving forward.

In lace knitting there are 3 ways to fix a grievous un-ignorable error. And they mimic your options when a friendship has gone wrong. Which isn’t that odd, given that capital-K knitters talk about their “relationship” with their knitting.

If the yarn is forgiving enough, and the pattern has lifelines or breathing rows built into it, you can pull out the needle, rip back to before the error and then carry on as if it never happened. Just like a small error in a flexible friendship.

If the pattern is really complex, multi stitched, or just too daunting to pull the needles and get back on track, you can drop down each repeat and reknit it correctly onto a third needle, with an almost forensic intensity. This requires looking very hard at each stitch, seeing where you went wrong, and having the patience to correct each error. Tedious, painful, and depending upon how much you care, worth it.

If you’ve chosen the wrong pattern/yarn/needle/gauge combo, you can finally admit it to yourself. Pull the needles, rip, rewind, and forget it. Which is always a shame after you’ve invested time and effort; plus dropped a day’s wages on handpainted yarn that you’re not sure what you’ll use it for, now that this project is derailed.

I did get the shawl back on track, and I think the little wonkiness in gauge will block out nicely. If not, in the big fabric of the project, no one who didn’t know will be able to see it; just like all the best relationships.

And there went October

There is a line in Crime & Punishment which states “We will talk ourselves to truth one day.” I don’t know that I always believe that. I believe the concept is possible, I don’t know that the timeline will always span one relationship.
I prefer to paraphrase the statement as “We will knit ourselves to silence one day.” I’ve been depressed and overwhelmed lately. Between health, work, and economics, I misplaced my smile. Things are wrong that I can’t fix. Things are right that I can’t enjoy. But knitting lets me step back from all of that, if I remember to pick it up.

As a result there’s been a lot on the needles and some things off.
I had dabs of Malabrigo Merino that became Milanese lace toppers.

I would highly recommend the free pattern to anyone knitting chemo caps. In a soft yarn they’re snuggly and soothing, but have just enough laciness that you don’t feel that your noggin isn’t getting air.

I did a test knit for Spencer Hill Spin Dye. (the lovely orange swatch) Her specialty is all natural plant dying. That delicious orange is from madder root. And for pity’s sake – someone buy that Charlie in Butter before I break down.
I cast on a shrug in Dream in Color Groovy “Gold Experience.” But I forgot how much chunky yarn bothers my hands so I don’t think this will progress as quickly as a bulky weight implies.

There was a tiny monster that had to see what was in my cup. (Newborn and already addicted)

A beaded hat that went to live in Texas. May the mojo be manyfold.

And the shawl progresses. I have two sweaters 75% done, sweaters I should finish and wear this winter. Do I? No. I keep knitting this deeply repetitive pattern. The original plan involved 1.36 miles of yarn. I decided to revamp it for 2 miles instead. Is the project practical? No. Logical? No. Useful? No. But the knitting of it is saving my life.

L'shanah tovah tikatevi v'taihatemi 5772

May we all be written.

Sometimes in looking forward, we see only the distance to go. We fail to look back and see how far we’ve come.

So often we resolve to live only in the present, this moment, only this moment. Then we come to situations that ask us to plan for the future, to forgive the past, to change. Which is difficult when we’re living the frustration of the situation right this minute.

5771 was a rough ride. And I found myself this morning looking at my list from last year, and feeling angry with myself for being further behind on it than when the year started. So many more transgressions, so many angry words, so many tears, so many apologies to make. Times when I was cruel or unkind merely because someone was human. I found myself angry and disappointed in myself.

Then I started thinking about the apologies. Why do I apologize? To acknowledge to the other person that they are not invisible, that they are a person, and that I know – in some way - I have invaded their dignity. To give them a chance to speak their piece/peace, to accept responsibility for what I’ve done. And to give them an opportunity to atone for their own things that might be related to the misunderstanding. To make the world a better place; by so doing we choose life.

Suddenly I realized that my list needed one more name: my own. So much of what I’ve done wrong to others this year, I’ve also done to myself.
Pushed myself, mocked myself, berated myself for the flaw of being human. Yes, 5771 was a rough year, and I cracked under the pressure more than once;

but there were also times when I did the right thing as well. And so did the people in my life. At the center of the truth, I love them all; and just as they accept and forgive my foibles, I need to practice demonstrating that core compassion…for all of us.

Three bags sewn.

Ostensibly this is billed as a knitting blog. And there is some truth that Rav has killed the knitting blog. I had been thinking lately of killing the blog, but decided that even though it hasn’t been much about knitting this past 6 months, I enjoy the private party feel of it. I have to organize my thoughts for public consumption, though it’s a small public, some of whom I’ve known for years. And from looking at the stats I can see where I get repeat visitors who never comment. So while life has been very full lately with plenty of reasons to shut it down...

The blog lives another day.


I had some time off of work recently so I whipped up three little project bags using fat quarters. They're just the right size for a small project. With a little pocket inside for my phone and a lipstick. Nothing fancy, just a touch of whimsy and colour for the coming days of grey winter.

Apoptosis

As a child you have imaginary friends. As an adult--well, perhaps you shouldn't. Or, more likely, you have imaginary friends that are real people. Not the people as they are, but the people as your mind makes them, interacts with them. Sometimes this can happen in knitting too.

If the project is off, you can keep knitting and blame reality at the end. Or you can accept the truth and try to use the actual parameters available as a basis for reconsideration:

When you're a child you escape by going to imaginary places in the mind. As an adult, you've been places, you just revisit them mentally. As a knitter you rip and reknit. With some blocking-in-the-wild to check your hypothesis.

Equanimity

It's been quiet on the blog front lately.

On the knitting front I cast on an "epic" shawl in cobweb weight merino. Merino that fought me every inch, snarling back on itself, strands grasping the center of the ball desperately. Still I knit on, really enjoying the focus required. Enjoying the fabric rippling off my needles. Still a little voice would nudge me occasionally, trying to tell me something was wrong. Except nothing was wrong, the stitch count...perfect, the patterning...perfect, the colours...delicious. All other knitting lies abandoned.

About 600 yards in, I awoke one night realizing what was wrong. Gauge, desperately wrong. I jumped out of bed and blocked it in the wild - that wedge shown from about 9 to 11- blocked. Unpinning and measuring in the morning confirmed it. Should be a 23" radius, measures a scanty 11". But I like the fabric, yet didn't want the epic part to be neverending knitting. So I cast on in a larger gauge from one of the other balls. And loved the fabric. So the ripping began. Which the merino disliked even more than being removed from ball form.

Delicate cobweb weight threads, tangled.
Only beautiful when smoothed and entwined.
I want our threads to unsnarl, to relax.
To be transformed into something that,
if not beautiful, is useful and functional.

We're not enemies, yet so often we are tangled in misunderstandings.
The small scales of our surfaces caught on each other, creating a situation that will hurt or break one of us if not handled carefully.

Why don't people and relationships come with
clear pattern instructions?

Gallimaufry

Not really a coherent post this week.
Life and knitting have been a hodgepodge the last couple of weeks.

I did get two more things off the needles, without casting on anything new:

And one thing off my mind:


"Sorrow has been my roommate lately.
Grabbing me with a tightness in the throat
Tears that course, silently.
Without clear reason, without fear.
It isn’t loss, or longing.
Nor loneliness or isolation.
Just sweetness that touches an unnamed need,
Languishing in a corner."

Pettine Pettiness

Despite the fact that both skeins of Malabrigo Silky Merino claimed to be the same colour/lot they were about as alike as homemade marshmallow candies are to the marshmallow root - which is to say - Not at All. Even TAO looked at the shawl & questioned the juxtaposition of abrupt colour change. The first skein really emphasized purple hues and the 2nd was very much orange. I carefully weighed the first skein & when I was close to the halfway mark I switched to the other skein, thinking that when worn the colour change would not be so obvious. But it bothered me a little. It's knitting--not neurosurgery--so it shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter. But it's knitting--not intracranial shunt placement--so I can also have greater control over it.

I intentionally packed it for my vacation, with a dyebolical plan. I enlarged the chart enough to see it over my mojito glass, and finished the knitting. Then promptly consigned the shawl to the dye pot. (After much staring into space to decide which overdye hue to shoot for.)

Ahh, after it's refreshing simmer, and "blocking" (which was really just hanging it by it's little neck edge loops on the clothesline,) it's a keeper. But if you don't hear from me for a while it's probably because the Malabrigo dye police hauled me away for daring to overdye the yarn.

Binary

I always wanted to grow up to be an anthropologist. Specifically a cultural anthropologist. But I couldn’t figure out how I would pay the bills, so I grew up to be other things.

I still love to hear people’s stories though. How they ended up where they are. What happened along the way. What guided them. Finding the back story to the moment of their life that is today.

PreBlocking

Which is ironic, in that I have such lousy skills in actually understanding/interacting with people. I spent the last two weeks trying to sidestep the booby traps. Those situations where what you WANT to do and what you SHOULD do are diametrically opposed and stressful. Even I understand that shaking someone while screaming “For G-ds Sake take pity on me and explain” would be counterproductive.

So I retreated to knitting. Charted, counting, nothing-exists-outside-these-needletips-knitting. The soothing rhythm of binary. Something, nothing, something, nothing, something something something, nothing.
After roughly 47 hours of “math” I emerged with my mind no clearer, but with a finished shawl. 570 yds of Wollmeise and the Trousseau pattern. Luckily I was not captivated by the elusive Wollmeise; I can think of 3 different yarns I’d prefer to have. I am however enchanted with the pattern, and have been considering re-knitting it in Mirasol Tupa. Several people in Rav had noted that they ran short despite having considerably more yardage than the pattern called for, so I used my scale extensively and finished up with less than 5 yds left over. The large calls for 500 yards, and I left out one 16 row repeat and 2 rows of final border. 50" wingspan and 25" back depth.

Sometimes I tell myself I’m just undergoing a vigorous “blocking” from the Universe. I hope when it’s all over the pattern of my somethings and nothings in time/action/choices will reveal a worthwhile life.

There may have been knitting.

Most of you would not be the least bit surprised to hear that “there may have been knitting last week.”

After all, I think of knitting as the ultimate panacea. Want to think? There’s knitting for that. Want to NOT think? There’s knitting for that. Joyous? Knit. Sad? Knit. Apathetic? Browse patterns. Anxious? Wind yarn. Of course, this doesn’t work for monogamous knitters; they must surely have some other coping mechanism? Perhaps they are Opera fans, after all Opera comes in all those flavours too.

I’m still seeking the elusive silence of the mind. The only way I can describe last week would be: Roller skating in a Lightning storm. You have to keep one eye on the tarmac, looking for road hazards, and simultaneously cast a wary eye on the heavens lest you be suddenly cardioverted.

My mind was so cluttered that I totally forgot -until very suddenly today- that Sunday is my daughter’s Birthday. In one sudden swoop, all other thoughts fled. What do you do for a dead child’s birthday, especially when you are far from anyone who remembers her? When you remember that moment of epic joy, that later led to life shattering pain?

               I knit.

Bogged Down

"There you go - all my own work. Contains almost everything except tea." M. Allingham

The nice thing about knitting slumps? They're not important. If you are driven crazy by a co-worker, they are harder to sidestep. If your loved ones are demonstrating the traits that you love them "despite" - short of running away from home - you still have to deal with them. If your own mind is fixated on a single jaw clenching thought, you cannot just hit "mute."

Knitting...that's another story:

If your tiny apartment eats two balls of wool necessary for a sweater; you order more, and while you're waiting you realize that the previously knit part is now 4" too big because you've lost weight. Rip Rip Rip.

If a project is bogged down because you mailed off beloved speciality needles and then the artist had a family emergency; you just mark the chart and set the project aside.

If you left out of work without the chart for another project - meaning all your weekend knitting plans are dead in the water - you pull out the swift, some stash, download a new pattern PDF that Jenny & Nicole are knitting, and

Cast on a new project.


I'm suddenly struck with the thought - if that sweater is too big, I bet the cute dress I ordered yesterday is too. ~Curses~.