Guinevere Knits

The lovely and talented Guinevere, the Irish wolfhound.

Perhaps feeling a little intimidated by the virtuosity of her hero, the inimitable Gromit.

Mother's Day

Today was a lovely Mother's Day. Mimosas in the tub, with a little treat from LUSH to perfume the air and soften the skin, while the DH cooked brunch.

Despite the "help," it turned out spectacularly: Eggs Benedict with lox and Hollandaise sauce - made by the Man himself, from scratch - smooth and creamy and perfect. No, you can't have him.

No Mother's Day post would be complete without a tribute to my own mother, although I won't encroach on her privacy with pictures. It was she who taught me to sew, as early in life as I can remember. She invited a friend over to teach us both crochet when I was six, and encouraged me as I taught myself to knit a few years later. Most importantly though, she taught me not to be afraid to try anything that caught my eye. She instilled in me the notion that there was nothing I couldn't make if I just took my time, read the instructions and worked at it patiently. And if there were no instructions, or we couldn't afford to buy a pattern? That just meant some careful measuring and a bit of figuring, that was all. Although she delegated the task of math teacher to my father during the early home schooled years, it was she who taught me the "can do" approach to problem solving that resulted in my aptitude for algebra. Her seemingly inexhastible stash cupboard always yielded up just the right bit of fabric or yarn for my projects, and though money was tight, she was unfailingly generous with materials.

Arthritis prevents her from doing much needlework any more, but as always, she has adapted and moved on - painting now. I hope with all my heart that I can pass on her legacy to my own children.

Steek Snipping

I unearthed my baby from the studio this afternoon. My mother bought this little Elna Lotus in Switzerland in 1966, a year before I was born. I learned to sew around the time I learned to walk, and its velvety hum was part of many of the happiest hours of my childhood. To my utter astonishment, she bequeathed it to me when I left home. I couldn't imagine how she could ever part with it, but unconditional love is a powerful thing. It has never failed me, never fussed, jammed or broken a thread, and runs as smoothly as the day it joined our family - truthfully, I have never met a quieter machine. It has sewn drapes, doll clothes, quilts, graduation dresses - and now, steeks.

Stabilized, snipped, and the shoulders grafted:

My daughter demonstrates, to my relief, that the neck is appropriately sized. I'm thinking it shouldn't be any smaller, though - perhaps this would be a good opportunity to try a simple rolled edge.

Blue Heaven

I am in love. (Yes, with that guy too, but this is different.) I was, until today, a Fleece Artist virgin - an admiring onlooker, but not yet consumed with the heady lust of hand dyed wool. Then Yarn Forward had their 25% off sale and praise be, it was not excluded from the sale items... and I dipped my toe in the ocean.

I wonder, did the mailman have even an inkling of the glory contained in that plain brown box? Did it perhaps make him tingle inexplicably, flush just a little as he held it?

But how to use such a treasure? Only 250 gms (125 yds). Observing the outcomes of others' hand dyed projects, I believe it will likely be happiest in a very plain scarf, as close to the the natal glory of the simple skein as possible. Perhaps a funky / loopy edging on either end à la Nicky Epstein. The universe will reveal in good time whether there is enough for a hat.

Paying Attention

Early this week, after a few deep cleansing breaths, I ventured into the territory of lace and discovered, at last, an antidote to monkey mind.

For as much as I like to sanctify my knitting habit as a form of meditation, the truth is that I have achieved sufficient technical proficiency to permit me, in most cases, to Not Pay Attention. I knit serenely in the rocker by the sunny window and contemplate: what's for dinner, what on earth could be causing Mrs. B's elevated potassium, and whether the odd whirring noise in the next room indicates irrevocable harm being inflicted on the CD Rom by my three year old. All perfectly valid avenues of intellectual inquiry, but missing the point of mindfulness.

After ripping back to the beginning four times over, two wonderful things happened: I sorted out the mystery of chart reading, and I began to Pay Attention. Thankfully, the Jaegerspun Zephyr retained its essential being and remained unfuzzy.

In lace knitting, the consequences of monkey mind are concrete and irrefutable - none of this "gently and uncritically draw your awareness back to the breath" business. While I make an effort to be gentle with the ripping, I simply can't be uncritical of the crooked set of eyelets five rows back. So I Pay Attention. To every stitch.

How many shawls to enlightenment?

Wild Rover

And it's no, nay, never......

Dumpster Diving

And it came to pass that the Dulaan sweater reached the top of the shoulders and, wishing to postpone the task of unearthing my long disused sewing machine in order to stabilize the steeks, I turned my gaze elsewhere. And it became apparent that somewhere in the long mists of the last ten days, the current Vogue Knitting had passed out of all thought or knowledge. Things were forgotten that ought not to have been forgotten, and though I searched high and low, yet it eluded me.

Then the Man arose, and said "I tell you, the giant stack of paper recycling which thou hast been sorting these many days resides yet in the big blue dumpster by the garage." And being consumed with my need for the patterns to two half-finished sweaters, I did venture into its depths. As I pawed through the murk, my inner eye became aware of a strange flashing behind me, and turning, I beheld with dismay that the Man stood with camera aloft and a strange smile - nay, a leer - of triumph on his visage.

"Man," I said, "doubtless thou art fond of thy sword and would desire future occasion to unsheath it. I have, therefore, a proposition. Ere thou return tomorrow from thy labours in the sky, thou shalt venture - in uniform - to the Drugmart of Shoppers and purchase a replacement copy of that which I seek. For such is the doom of Men."

Sitting

Falling down and falling down,
pebble in the azure sea.
Weightless as the sum of being,
falling to the end of seeing,
lucent blue lucidity.

Good Enough?

The Dulaan sweater is almost ready for neckline shaping. You can see one of the steeks in all its glory on the left side of the picture.

Now the dilemma. I can only presume that it was a stray electron jumping the wrong synapse in my brain, because I decided, two rows ago, to start a new pattern off the top of my head. By halfway through the second row, it suddenly became blindingly clear that this was not going to be the pattern I thought it was, and I would have needed a 6 stitch repeat, not the 5 I had established. Still, if I press on, I may have serendipitously invented a thing of beauty. Or not. I hate ripping two color knitting (OK truthfully I hate ripping), and you can't exactly tug on the Lopi either.

But what if it's Not Perfect? My logical brain points out that this is for an orphan trying to keep warm while living on the street - this sweater will not likely be judged on the finer aesthetics of two color knitting. But my inner child, the one who had to attend an affluent school clothed in the hideous cast-offs that were "good enough for poor people" has a hard time giving away anything substandard.

It is also entirely possible that I am WAY over thinking this, and will miss the deadline for submitting it at all if I don't press on.

Womanly

With all the spring fervor percolating lately, Madrigaia (Viva Voce) has found its way back into the CD rotation. This is an incredibly talented seven woman vocal / percussion group from Winnipeg. What I love about them is the voluptuous, raw womanly energy that permeates their songs - the very antithesis of insipid, male-created girly pop.

The album never fails to remind me of a pivotal experience in my sense of what it means to be a woman. It was a bridal shower, given by a patient of mine in honor of her eldest daughter. She was Syrian, a single mother and devout Muslim who had taken her children and fled for her life from a bad marriage. The majority of the guests were women who had immigrated from Pakistan, India, and other Aisian and Middle Eastern countries. These were not women with easy lives - many were my patients, and I had spent a great deal of time observing and working through the pain and isolation of cultural restrictions magnified by language barriers. Many had non-specific chronic pain conditions that I believe were their only viable means of expressing distress.

In that hall though, filled only with women, they seemed lighter - embracing, laughing - Sikh, Muslim, Hindu - there were no barriers. We shared a wonderful feast... and then the dancing began. I suppose it would properly be termed belly dancing, but it was not about costumes - it was spontaneous, unselfconscious, joyful, and thoroughly, vocally, loud. I was drawn into a sense of strength and community that I had never before experienced. My constricted, "escape oppression through achievement" idea of feminism had never entertained the possibility that being "womanly" could be anything but a state of socially imposed deficiency. I felt at once ashamed for having underestimated them, and tremendously privileged to be included in such a sisterhood. I began to see myself and the women I cared for with new eyes, and to celebrate things womanly. I began to see the tremendous creative power in childbirth, and the curvaceous beauty of milk filled breasts nourishing a child.

Innocence

Today was the best sort of running day - warm, sunny, lightly breezy, and best of all, fragrant with spring. Through the fields where the warm earth cushions my feet, down to the creek bottom where pairs of geese glide serenely to and fro between ecstatic choirs of frogs. My favorite, though, is the green of the barely-new leaves, a miracle of painfully intense purity like new love and baby skin. It lasts only a few glorious days, before settling into multihued maturity, sobered by dust and insects and the tasks of bearing fruit. And like mature love and growing children, the foliage will be beautiful in a different way, but always there is that tiny pang of loss.

Junior Knits by Debbie Bliss arrived yesterday (along with one or two or.... um three others - did I mention I'm on a bit of a book buying bender?)

Perhaps ill advisedly, I elected to give my children some say in what I make for them next. "I want the purple one" said my daughter. "I want the blue one" said my son. End of story. "What about the darling Guernsey hoodie that I've been dying to knit for years?" "But it's white." "I can knit it in purple." "But I want the purple one." And so on. There's nothing wrong with the sweaters they chose, I was just hoping they'd explore their options, perhaps opt for something a little more challenging for me. Well, here they are.

Eye of the Beholder

Little jars, drinking glasses, and anything else that will hold water are full of these at our house. Apart from the sad fact that they are virtually the only thing blooming at present, they remind me every year of the beauty that may be seen by the unjudging eyes of a child.

On a more knitterly note, and now that my order is safely placed, Yarn Forward is having a 25% off sale. I picked up some sock yarn, including the intriguing Step by Austermann - wool / nylon with aloe vera and jojoba oil. They claim it remains after 40 washes, and I'm thinking it can only be a good thing for hiking socks. A pair for me and a pair for hubby, I think.

It Arrived!

Knitting progress has temporarily stalled, as my copy of Knitting Rules arrived yesterday. Interestingly, despited being listed as "shipping in 1-3 months", it arrived before all the other knitting books I ordered at the same time that were listed as 24 hrs. Guess Amazon has their priorities straight! Aside from (not surprisingly) being terribly funny, it also contains one of my longtime fondest wishes - a recipe for a no frills, knit - to - fit sock. Thank-you Stephanie!

To Steek or Not To Steek?

Day 2 (well, technically 3) of the Dulaan sweater, and rapidly approaching the armholes.

To steek or not to steek: that is the question:
Whether 'tis easier on the nerves to suffer
The flings and tangles of two color purling
Or to take scissors against a steek of stitches,
and by cutting, end them?

At this point, I will now admit to owning a copy of Alice Starmore's Fishermen's Sweaters and to having one of the ganseys knitted all the way up to about halfway through the steeks, though I haven't picked it up in a couple of months (ahem years) and am not entirely sure where the book is - possibly under the debris in my perpetually reorganizing studio or else in a box in the basement helpfully marked "miscellaneous" by the last set of movers.

However, I just found a brief description of the procedure in another knitting book, and really, how hard can it be? Plus I can't face flat knitting the back to match the front on a free spirited sweater of this nature.

Steeks it is.

One day's knitting

Here's the progress on the Dulaan sweater. The Briggs and Little is not the softest wool, but I think it will wear well, and the lanolin content will add to the weather resistence. Also the amount of Lopi carried on the reverse makes the effect considerably softer. This will be fun to post day by day, because I'm not sure myself how it's going to look in the end.

Dulaan

I've checked the deadlines, pulled the yarns, and made the commitment: I'm going to knit a sweater for the Dulaan project. It will be an all wool, knit in the round (thank-you Jacqueline Fee), make it up as I go along, multicolored Fair Isle style (I love working with color this way), with Briggs and Little for the the background and my stash of Lopi Lett oddments for contrast (love love love the colorways of that yarn). That combination should be both warm and durable. I'll size it for my 6 year old daughter - firstly, because it's easier to have a live model in front of me when creating from scratch, and secondly, because my DD thinks the concept of knitting for a child halfway around the world who lacks adequate clothing is the coolest thing ever, and making it her size will be that much more personal. I've never knit for charity before - primarily because it has taken me more years than I care to think about to trust myself enough to finish things - especially something on a deadline for someone else. And because (to be brutally honest) I was stuck in a perfectionist gotta save the world in a big way to justify my existence mindset that disdained a single sweater as too small a contribution. Coming to terms with drastically scaling back my Important Healing Profession in order to attend to raising "just" my two children has forced me to think about making a difference in a whole new way.

Fuzzy

No, not the yarn - I've never actually been much of a fuzzy sweater person. My state of mind. DH and I did in fact get out of the house last night (last time was - let's see - the Christmas party. We're not that exciting.) It's not that I even drank very much - just that we stayed out (gasp) past midnight. Waaay past our normal 9:30 bedtime. And my body has been thoroughly programmed to wake at 0600, regardless of the fact that it only fell asleep 4 hours earlier. Normally I'd feel better after a nice long run in the warm spring sunshine, but I decided to wear these to the party:

Because I thought the slinky little white lace dress I bought deserved (for once) uncompromisingly sexy footwear and besides, how bad could it be? I endured the pain with good grace, and (heroically, considering that I spend 99% of my life in sensibly clunky Clarks and Rockports), managed not to fall down or walk like a skinny gorilla on stilts. All was well until the end of the evening when we hurried to nab a taxi and... here I sit, nursing my sprained ankle. I choose to see this as an excellent excuse for frequent knitting breaks.

Freshly baked muffins and strong black coffee on the patio offer some consolation, but you've got to mind your muffins carefully at our house.

Book Frenzy

In a little over five months, my DH is retiring from the Canadian Forces (at 43!) and we are going to "live the dream" and move to Whistler. To an 800 square foot 2 bedroom apartment. With our two kids, our Irish wolfhound and the cat. It will be wonderful for so many reasons - the climate, the natural beauty and outdoor athletics, the opportunity to purge our lives of clutter and unecessary possessions (the stash is NOT in this category), the blessed relief of not being looked on as freaks for eating organic food, attachment parenting and engaging in artistic pursuits. But.... we will be living on his small pension and whatever I (choose to) bring in from my burned out can't stand another minute of it but don't know exactly what I want to do next profession.

Which brings me to the point of this post - knitting books. I figure whatever resources I can't live without for the next few years have to be bought in the next three months. Yarn - well, that will have to go in the monthly budget, because the land of milk and honey know as the West Coast actually has such wonders as LYS's and organic sheep farm hippie commune things where they grow their own plant dyes and spin barefoot in the sunshine of the Gulf Islands while performing tantric yoga. Of course the down side with books is that knitters keep writing new ones that we can't live without (not mentioning any names) but I figure a basic library would be a good thing to have. I already have a few, but to round out the collection here is my final (ha!) wish list (bearing in mind that my DH reads my blog daily from work and was until now, blissfully unaware of my plans):


It's only $1.99 (why is this, I wonder?) And I already meditate (see yesterday's post), so it just seems like a good idea.








I've been eyeing this book for a while, but after reading some excellent reviews and checking out her website, I think I must have it. It appears to be funky, innovative AND fashionable (ie not shapeless.)









My daughter would LOVE these for Christmas. And we could have such fun inventing outfits for them together / teaching her to knit.









Because I don't own any EZ books and also the Harlot made me want the pattern for the baby surprise jacket.








Because the majority of my extended family has no interest in or appreciation of hand knitted garments but I still feel I ought to knit for them anyway.








Would I wear a mohair bikini? I dunno. It looks to have some cute stuff in it and DH will likely be appeased by the possibilities suggested by the cover.








That's all. For now.

Disco Enlightenment

So there I was yesterday morning - cross legged on my tranquil early morning living room carpet - and in toddles Liam. I generally suggest that we do "sitting" together when this happens, and he was content to hang out quietly in my lap for - oh - 10 seconds. Then he got bored and came back with something to entertain himself whilst waiting for Mom to attain inner harmony. His keyboard. The electronic toy wonder that a certain in-law thought would be a great gift since we are a musical family (never mind that we own an actual acoustic piano), the keyboard with the special button that plays Christmas tunes to a cheesy disco beat and the other button that speeds up said beat to a frenetic rate (so that kids will learn what, exactly? Button pushing? Bad taste in music?) I can rise to the challenge, I thought. Breathe through Jingle Bells. Breathe through Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Suddenly I understood why the vast majority of books on meditation (well, all the ones I've read anyway) are written by men. Men who either have no children, or have wives to keep them out of the way while Dad attains enlightenment.

No wonder we knit.

Oh, and while I'm in a curmudgeonly mood, why does Modular Knits consist virtually entirely of scarves, a couple of hats and 2 or 3 shapeless poncho thingies when the write-up in Vogue Knitting shows a darling little body hugging shell? Can it be true that every innovative color and construction technique out there is fit only for making long rectangles and "oversized" garments?

I'm done. Back to inner peace now.

Everyday Lovely

While perusing the Interweave site, I picked up the current issue of Knitscene and fell immediately in love with, well, most of the projects - but especially the cozy long textured cardigan on the front. It is precisely the comfort cardi I've longed for lo these many years. I envision stumbling out of bed on chilly mornings when the blood runs sluggishly and wrapping myself in this cardi while sipping that first steaming mug of coffee and stealing a few precious moments to myself before the household comes to life. Away with the dowdy grey fleecy that should have gone to the thrift store years ago, and the stained 10 year old robe that I ought to respect myself enough to throw away. Why shouldn't the mundane be beautiful?

I will not, of course, knit it in the illustrated fire engine red, which turns my complexion a sickly yellow color and makes every imperfection glow alarmingly. No, my comfort cardi will be dark tweedy blue - to delight my eyes and soothe my soul.

(Another) Knitting Bag

We made the trek to the big city and hit Old Navy yesterday to stock up on summer clothes for the kids, and this caught my eye. For $14, I think it will make a splendid knitting bag. It is deep and has a little toggle closure, and when slung over the head, sits on the hip very comfortably, so it could (if one were so inclined) be used for knitting on the go.

That's it for today - another 12 hrs of coughs and colds and cholesterol await...

Plan B

Three days of hard knitting has netted me this:
And that's just the plain jane stockinetted back - there's still the complex lace patterned front to go. The worst part is that time pressure + kids = mistakes. Did I mention that knitting this stuff is difficult - well frogging it is sheer hell. You have to get every one of those devilish little threads (and none of their neighbours) back on the needle in a fashion that resembles a whole and unblemished yarn. My beloved DH pointed out that knitting was supposed to be stress relieving, and suggested (really!) that I pick up an alternate outfit for this week's function and wear the camisole to the next function, some 8 weeks hence. Truly I am blessed to be married to the most wonderful man alive. Here he is trying to get out the door yesterday - the kids were not impressed with the need for weekend flying.

Blue is the Happiest Color

Well, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself - just the upper bodice of the camisole to go and then I could start assembling it. Didn't look real closely at the gauge in which that portion is knit - yikes! The recommended needles were 3.5 mm, but by the time I swatched and reswatched I was down to 2.5 mm. The yarn I substituted for this portion is Mystik DK by Estelle, which splits and snags horribly on these little toothpick needles, so every stitch has to be painstakingly inspected for stray threads before sliding off the needles. It does make a nice looking fabric (thank goodness) but what a nightmare to knit. I can see I have my work cut out for me to finish this in time.

On a happier note, my Louet Sales order arrived yesterday and I adore the color mix. The one benefit to shopping the Internet rather than the LYS (which I would frequent if I had one - sigh) is that you never have to settle for your second best color choice because there's not enough of what you really wanted. I can never truly give my heart to a sweater whose yarn I "settled" for.

Foggy

Sadly (for my thighs), I am still too sick to head out running. I finished the back of the simple tunic yesterday - holding it up, I'm beginning to think I could wear it without pants - the stillettos are still out, though. I didn't photograph it, because 31 inches of navy blue stockinette is not substantially more interesting than 8 inches. Got back to work on the lacy camisole, since the function I plan to wear it at (if I ever get around to phoning a babysitter) is exactly a week away. I still don't know whether I will look like a free-spirited fashionista or an afghan gone terribly wrong. Oh the suspense.

Since I have no knitting photos to post, here are some inspirational foggy morning shots from yesterday - I love foggy mornings on the prairies - they are rare, but they make me feel like I'm back on the coast. Either coast would do, although the West is warmer - I spent 2 years in Newfoundland and Labrador (not just politically correct provincial name dropping either, as I spent 7 months in Goose Bay, where I met my DH, and the other year and a half divided between St. John's and Cornerbrook) and 7 years on southern Vancouver Island. Where by now, my garden would have been a riot of color for weeks already, and the trees would be showering me with scented petals..... Never mind, the grass here turned greenish mere days ago.

The Shiny Side

There's really no knitting to show from yesterday - it was a long and painful day at the office, trying to keep up the usual earnest and perky pep talks in a hoarse croak - you CAN quit smoking, you CAN eat real food, exercise WILL make you feel better than expensive herbal stimulants, honest.

So, I thought I would post a shot of the other (shinier) side of my fibre addiction - that is to say, knitting with silver. This is a simple lace pattern - some of them are more technically feasible than others, but they do look quite lovely in the ultra-fine gauge fine silver. I crocheted pearls around the edge which gives it a nice Victorian air and also makes it considerably sturdier.

Faun with Knitting

Thanks to a rolicking head cold, the simple tunic is coming along nicely. The Gedfrida cotton / microfibre blend (which I substituted for the recommended cashmere/silk) is shaping up very well - firm and evenly textured, soft to the touch. My DS graciously consented to test it.

Speaking of Liam, I was knitting to the happy strains of Aaron Copeland's Appalachian Spring yesterday afternoon, when he flew into the living room stark naked to perform a frenzied and rather primal dance. Perhaps because Mr. Tumnus is fresh in my mind, I thought that with his impish blue eyes and wild blond curls, he needed only cloven hoofs and a pair of tiny horns to be the very image of a young faun. His unselfconscious joy was truly breathtaking.

Mindful Knitting

As an awkward newcomer to the practice of mindfulness and meditation, I find it particularly difficult to be still and focused on my breath when I am ill. When the respiratory tract is inflammed and its every movement triggers compulsive activity - wiping, blowing, coughing - I find it impossible to find serenity in my breath, yet I need it more than ever. I have never seen this discussed in my reading - perhaps the masters don't contract such mundane things as head colds.

Enter the knitting. Knitting creates a rhythm my disquieted body can fall in step with, rising and falling with the needles. I find a simple stockinette piece best at these times - the long inhalation of the knit row - the corresponding exhalation of the purl.

With that in mind, I began the tunic from the current Vogue Knitting.

Where Has All the Magic Gone?

We rented Narnia - The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe this weekend. While some aspects of the movie adaptation left me cold, I am also thankful it wasn't butchered anywhere near as badly as Disney is normally wont to do with British literary classics. In any case, it elicited deep memories of the role the Narnia series of books played in my childhood and spiritual formation.

Narnia was my lifeline. When every part of my waking reality was banal and discouraging, when every message I received said "you are ugly and ordinary and there is nothing more to existence than suburban yards of dirty snow and the dry smell of defeat from the tailpipes of dusty beige cars," when the significant adults in my life told me that it was useless to dream and lofty aspirations were futile to the point of sin, when the churchly version of God confirmed my worst fears that I was forever condemned to apologizing for my existence - C. S. Lewis and Narnia gave me hope. Hope that my nameless longing had an object and an answer, hope that somewhere inside of my frizzy hair and bad skin were the seeds of Being - brave and true and beautiful.

Linen Joy

It took a little careful negotiating (considering I have four recently purchased summer projects on the go) but my DH has a smile on his face and I have a flouncy bohemian skirt's worth of Euroflax Linen winging its way towards me. Not that I couldn't have ordered it regardless (I do contribute rather substantially to the family income), but this is my most expensive yarn purchase yet, and my knitting karma improves dramatically when the DH is happy. I fell in love with the skirt the moment I set eyes on the pattern, and for the first time ever in my life, bought the exact high end fibre it was designed for and (disturbingly, since I like to think of myself as a creative free spirit) the exact colors in the picture.

As for the camisole, it's coming along nicely. A pieced project like this is rather satisfying to photograph in stages, much more so than a row by row account, anyway. I wasn't sure I'd like the way they've done the seams but the effect flows more smoothly than I thought (due in no small part to the number of times I redid them to obtain perfect alignment.)

Progress

I made decent progress on the camisole yesterday, somewhat tempered by the realization that I used the wrong yarn to border the large crocheted squares and have to redo them (hence only one is showing in this photo.) I used to chide myself for stopping to admire my knitting, thinking that if I spent all that wasted time actually knitting instead of spreading it out to see how it looked with 4 more rows, I might finish a project now and then. Well, now I see that devoted knitters not only stop to admire their progress, they photograph it and post it to the Web. I sure hope this camisole looks as good on me as it did on the Vogue model. The only thing worse than a cherished project that looks awful when you try it on is one that is knit on a deadline to wear to a specific event - and only reveals its awfulness after the stores close on the day of the party. To up the ante a little, I used none of the recommended yarns (although I did choose appropriate gauges) and substituted fibres like bamboo and cotton/viscose for the wool. (Yes, I know better, but I still think it will work. The bamboo in particular is knitting up very nicely.)

On the topic of unfinished business, here is a sweater I designed for my daughter last summer, using patterns from Anna Zilboorg's Simply Socks. It is dizzyingly bright and busy, just like my daughter. I loved exploring the non-Western design theory that reverses pattern and ground and keeps the eye moving. I'm not happy with the collar, and still need to sew on buttons and weave in the ends but I justified putting it all off because it was substantially too big for Catrionagh and I couldn't stand to spend another minute with it. My mother loved it and immediately began hinting that she'd like a full sized version for Christmas - HA! The only thing I knit again with this pattern will be the Turkish socks it was meant to adorn.

Color Inspirations

Early spring / late winter is not the prettiest season on the prairies. Dirty ridges of leftover wind-drifted snow litter the muddy fields, and last year's stubble emerges sodden and disheveled, like a forgotten washer load. But, as warmth returns to the land and the season progresses just a little, intoxicating signs of hope appear. Today was such a day. I elected to run the airfield perimeter road because the creek trail was too muddy from last night's rain, so I had a fine view of the vast blue sky that Saskatchewan claims as it's finest feature. The stubble in the surrounding fields had dried to a lovely bleached hue of pale cream silk, and made a stunning contrast with the cornflower blue sky. Most definitely sweater colors - I wished I had a camera along, but since it's a military airfield, I'm not sure the MP's would accept my explanation that I was photographing stubble for a knitting blog. As my other running trails dry up, I will have to see about some pictures, although there's only so much stuff that's practical to haul along. I do get some of my best inspirations running.

As far as actual knitting goes, I did get a start on the first cabled panel for my camisole during the weekly coffee / play date with my friend and our daughters. This was my first time knitting over coffee - she's a non-knitter, so I wasn't sure if it was truly polite to do so myself. She elected to fold laundry, so it worked out, but I still felt awkward. I've always been a solitary knitter, and I have no knitting friends in town, so I'm not sure what proper etiquette is. Since I don't have the pattern memorized, I have to look down periodically, thus breaking eye contact - if the other party has no reason to look away themselves, it feels as though I'm not paying attention. Her 5 year old daughter was fascinated however, so perhaps I can make a convert there.

The irony of titling a photo-less post "color inspirations" has not escaped me - I'll do better next time, I promise.

Birthday madness

Catrionagh's 6th birthday went over very well and a good time was had by all. Best of all, since we hosted it (most uncharacteristically, since we never eat there) at the local fast food chain, we didn't have to buy new carpets or repaint our walls at the end. For the record, blue food coloring stains magnificently. I wonder how it compares to Kool-Aid? I made a knitting bag last year out of unspun undyed wool I picked up at Value Village 10 years previously - dyed it with blue Kool-Aid and felted it. The color was nice, but it smelled fruity for months.

Not a whole lot of knitting got done yesterday, but I did unwind by finishing the crocheted flower waistband to the soothing strains of Ladysmith Black Mambazo. This is wonderful knitting music - rhythmic acapella that just sweeps you away to a happier place. I first discovered this group when I spent 3 months in South Africa on a med school elective; oddly, the first time I saw them perform live was many years later in Victoria when we lived on Vancouver Island.

Knitting Bags

It was a glorious spring day yesterday - spring on the prairies is particularly intoxicating because the preceeding six months are so utterly dismal. I treated myself to a lovely 2 hour run along the tree lined creek (swamp) bottom paths of Connor park and the Trans Canada trail. Only the six inches of prairie gumbo glued (I'm not kidding) to the bottom of my runners kept me from skipping and dancing like a fool. I designed a couple of sweaters and a clutch purse on the way and arrived home brimming with happy energy.

Back to the bags - my daughter's 6th birthday party happens this afternoon, so I hit the dollar store yesterday to put together some goodie bags (I gather that is the protocol for birthday parties - I am SO green when it comes to the childhood social scene.) While there, I also purchased four attractive vinyl bags (meant, I think for gift bags, but exceptionally sturdy) - one for each of my summer knitting projects. Why is this so significant? Because it graphically demonstrates the level of maturity I have grown to in my lifelong battle with perfectionism. The old me would have felt that my projects deserved nothing less than the finest hand-quilted and embellished originally designed totes that reside in my head, waiting for my studio to be tidy enough to set up the sewing machine and lay out fabric. Consequently, the yarn would have languished in its shipping boxes, cluttering the top of my piano throughout the summer. Instead, the piano is uncluttered and my precious fibers are nestling harmoniously in their $1 bags - and not one skein has complained that their environs are demeaning.