Spittin' Pretty

At least that's what the baby is doing on the floor, wrestling a water bottle into submission and kicking her heels while I try to get down some of what's been happening. She is supposed to be asleep, but she's motorboating instead.

First off, precious little knitting. I wish I could make a little sped-up video of me casting on, trying to work, ripping out, and repeating over and over and over again. That's what it feels like I've been doing.

One of the reasons I finally began blogging was to prioritize my knitting, to make it important in an external, as well as internal way. I also wanted some incentive to make more finished products. Therefore, I made a mental note to try to always have a pair of socks, a sweater, and a something lacy on the needles. [This does not count the things that have languished half-finished for over 6 months.] I've been knitting for years, years, I tell you -- albeit until three years ago rather intermittently. I read blogs of people who have just started knitting (it seems) and they just intuitively "get it." They churn out lovely product after lovely product, and I'm ripping out as much as I'm making. Frustrating. I know envy is counterproductive, and I do enjoy the process of knitting, but I enjoy it when it is process, not effort for no reason. I'm not interested in simply swatching to no end. At least that's how I'm feeling tonight. It's been raining. Maybe that has something to do with it.

So I figured I'd make a pair of Jaywalkers. It seems that everyone else in blogland has. They're obviously not beyond my reach, right? Well, three times 'round now, I've started with 76 stitches, and after one round of pattern, ended up with either four extra stitches or three too few stitches, depending on how you look at it. Instead of weeping with frustration, I thought I'd ask here. Has anyone else had this problem? Help! Help!

This is what my socks ended up looking like after a few tries:

Nice yarn, huh? It's Lorna's Laces, in a colorway called Opal something or something Opal. They'll be lovely if I ever make them.

I may end up emailing poor Grumperina and asking, or going over to the Knitty boards and asking. Or I might try it again -- tomorrow is the day the Sainted Miguel comes for a bit, and I may have time. It kills me that this isn't working. I feel as though I'm just, well, dumb.

So I decided to finally begin working up a sweater that Thing 1 has requested ever since I can remember: a cabled sweater with leaves, in green. I got books made notes and measurements, and got this far:I think I'm going to love this project, IF I ever get it arranged. Pretty wool, pretty patterns, the possibility it will look just fabulous on the wearer. I even learned how to purl without bringing the yarn forward, which makes seed stitch panels a distinct possibility.

Meanwhile, the household continues to obstacalize (if that's not a word, it should be) my knitting. The spouse is very sick, despite badgering a doctor into prescribing antibiotics sight unseen -- a very impressive feat! The kids are. . . well, they're my kids, and that's just the way it goes. Fortunately, I'm well, and have that, plus myriad other things, to be thankful for.

I'm starting to wonder what else I can give up to free up more time to knit. I tried to bring up an old small playpen to put Thing 4 in so I could stop sweeping, but we couldn't get it set up. It's probably a good thing, really. It's only six inches off the ground, and that's only a day or two without sweeping's worth.

Under Duress

Thing 3 is leaping around on my bed, jostling his sister who is trying to use the digital camera to take pictures of her origami whale (displayed on her bedroom door with lots of superflous glue around it. Yippee). All this while I attempt to type and load pictures. It's not always this bad, but this is not an unusually bizarre day.

Despite the pressures under which I work, I managed to turn this:


Into this:



Which finally became this, modeled unblocked by the intended wearer, Thing 2.*



I am quite unhappy with my short rows, despite nona's fabulous tutorial. Clearly I must practice. One of the underarm grafts looks a little bit like the results of enthusiastic but decidedly amateur plastic surgery. I'm going to rely on the inherent cuteness of my kid and the frenetic pace at which she generally moves to disguise the lumpiness.

Or else I'll do a lot of nagging at her to put her arm down, for Pete's sake!

The baby Thing apparently heard my teeth-gnashing and has put in a couple of nights of "consecutive hours in a row" kind of sleep, my spouse is doing laundry in addition to working hard so I have time and money to knit, I've managed to knit an entire repeat of "Dainty Bess" without muffing it up, and things are looking up.

Oh, and the tree is mostly out of the back yard, leaving more room for island excavation. I think the Phillipines are going in next.

*Project specs: Solid yarn is BaaBaaJoe's Woolpak 10 ply #34, Royal Blue, and the kind of flashy/pooly vareigated is Manukau Yarns "Charisma" 8 ply double knit, color 0958. Main part knit on 8s, loosely based on the round yoke sweater from The Knitter's Handy Book of Sweater Patterns. I modified randomly as I went, but really, how much can you do to a classsic sweater shape?

Think Globally, Deplete Locally

According to the American Farmland Trust, topsoil depletion is a serious problem for U.S. agriculture. Although it's a quieter problem than, say, war, losing topsoil faster than it's being created has serious, long-term implications. Goodness knows, I hope that the current war, at least, doesn't last as long as agriculture. While I can't do much globally, I can support farmers who grow organically and practice good topsoil conservation, and support groups who work to change agricultural practices toward more sustainable models. This is a worldwide problem, so no matter where you are, there are local ways to help.

However, in my corner of the world, I know where the topsoil is going.

Down my sink.

That's separate from the portion that is going down the drain from the washing machine, and the portion I'm sweeping up in unconscionably frequent intervals from my floor, and the portion the baby is probably ingesting while sliming across the floor.

Why, you ask, is so much of this nice sandy loam (when I garden -- if I ever garden again -- it feels like soft cake crumbs. This is niiiiice soil) now in my house, rather than in my back yard?

The answer, according to the Things, is Japan and the Koreas. And while I have to laugh and give them points for a) knowing that Japan is a series of islands and b) that the Koreas are, first, two, and second, near Japan, their geography is still a little off.

See? Neither North nor South Korea is actually an island. Never mind that Asia isn't actually in my yard, either. For my little hydraulic engineers/mapmakers, those are the countries they've created.

Digging, planning, naming, riding their bikes through, and generally enjoying the Far East outside is buying me loads of knitting time. Time which, it is true, I pay for in sweeping and mopping, but stitches on the needles nonetheless.

Which leads me to my Theory of Sweater Hatred. I like the planning of a sweater, like swatching and choosing yarn, starting it. Heck, I really like talking about it. And I like knitting it. Up to a point.

That point being when I have completed 1.3 sleeves. Then I begin to resent the sweater. Dully at first, maturing into a white-hot loathing when it becomes clear that no matter how much I talk about a sweater, nothing will finish it until I pick up the needles and knit it done.

Because this is a round-yoked sweater, I'm hating ahead of time, because that yoke is going to take more time than usual. See how sneaky they can be? The variegated yarn should hold my interest. Fortunately, mothering has lowered my excitement threshold considerably. "Ooooh, magenta! Blue! Now it's purple!"

I really want to get that sweater done. It doesn't matter what the sweater is, I haven't ever wanted one to take longer than it did. Partially I'm impatient to see if my vision worked, if it's a design I made up myself. Partially I want to get on to the next project. Partially I want the pleasure of seeing it draped around the recipient. If it's one of the Things getting it, I want to see how long it lasts before it's unceremoniously dropped on the floor.

With the topsoil.

Behind, Ahead, and Right on Time

Some days, life at home reminds me of graduate school. Those late-night philosophical discussions, endless cups of cocoa-laced coffee, roaming the library stacks. . .

Oh, that's not it. What does bring to mind my years in school is the nagging, insistent feeling that there is always something that I ought to be doing. Something more deserving of my time, whether I'm sleeping, eating, sweeping the floor, collapsing in frustration, or heaven forbid, knitting. Plus the ever-present vague level of exhaustion. Of course, now that's because small children wake me every night; then it was because I just stayed up late for reasons of my own.

I've been practicing the pattern for my knitting olympics entry: "Dainty Bess," on some cream-colored kitchen cotton-type yarn. I figured that if I did it in a form I could see, perhaps I could unlock some of the mysteries of matched decreases and YOs. It helped some. It looks fairly lumpy, and I'm not going to try to block it. I still make many mistakes, some out of inattention, and some seemingly because little fairies invade my head every time I pick up knitting needles. As I knit, this odd sensation sneaks up on me, as though the instructions are sliding off some nonstick coating section in my brain. What's most astonishing to me is that intellectually, I have this stuff down. I understand the theory completely. I can see how the patterns work, I can explain it to others. Practice? Ah, well, that's where things get sticky.

A friend told me that no one with small children has "lace brain." I know this isn't true, because there are knitters with small children (even the homeschooled variety) who knit lace. Maybe it's just me.

Yesterday was the first day of the reinvigorated "Knitting as a Spiritual Practice" group at my chuch. I don't know what I envisioned -- would everyone be knitting prayer shawls to selflessly give away? I knew what I would do with an hour of quiet knitting -- yes! the Clock Vest would come with me.

Three whole rows of mistake-free (with a little work) vest came home with me. This despite the lack of quiet contemplation. One knitter seemed to need to talk. At first, I was a little tired of it, but then I realized that maybe she needed me to listen to her more than I needed to knit silently. A couple more knitters joined us, one with a prayer shawl.

The talking knitter had already told me how much it meant when she got a prayer shawl when she was in the hospital. Apparently I was meant to listen and maybe learn just a little bit, with work on the vest being a gracious bonus. As I biked home, I looked forward to getting back to my busy household.

The truth is, there really is too much to do at home. That's the nature of small children and a house and a sheddy dog. I do what I can, with a weather eye toward whatever serenity I can muster.

And sometimes, all I need is a change of perspective. A lumpy swatch can, with the addition of a small chain, become a washcloth.

Although I don't usually ever knit washcloths, if I add some gorgeous handmade soap, then next Christmas is taken care of for lots of friends and family, depending on how many times I swatch. I'm ahead!

When I got home, I realized that sometimes, being right where I am is okay, and sitting in the moment is all it takes. Sometimes I need a bit of a reminder, though, just like this:

Shedding Dog, Swearing Mum

Who, me? shed?


Children can expose the least savory aspects of one's character. At least mine can. From the ordinary: the baby inevitably creeps under the one piece of furniture I haven't gotten the dog hair swept up from, to the really rotten: I become a fiend if I can't concentrate at least once daily on something without little people talking to at me.

Yesterday was the debut of Naptime is for Knitting. What is this daily exercise? Well, we get up every morning, eat, do "morning pick-up" (they pick up, I sweep, so the baby won't ingest an entire puppy's worth of dog hair), then we do our schoolwork and any errands.

But. . . once that sweet little baby naps, all the three older ones are hustled into the back yard, with a timer, weather-appropriate clothing, and strict instructions to Get Along and Don't Come Inside Until the Timer Goes Off, Understand?

That is why yesterday, this




became this



and then this


As you can see, I'm still making mistakes. As you can't see (unless you own the patterns), it's not "Glorianna." It's "Dainty Bess." Apparently my brain can't do the former, only (partially) the latter. I plan to face up to my YO problems along the way.

I decided during my first swatch, the one I threw away, that it was probably the needles. I tried every US size 5 needle I owned, and ended up with the improvised ones you see in the picture.

I considered that the problem might be my relationship with the yarn, but that a lace scarf in worsted weight wool probably wouldn't have the same effect. It's still probably an Olympic effort from me, considering the aforementioned YO impairment I seem to knit under, but not what I planned at all.

Then I decided the problem was the pattern, and I may be getting closer. We'll see how it all works out.

Oh, and I've used my graciousness in not running out to buy new, short, straight, bamboo US size 5 needles as a reason to seriously consider buying more blocking pins.

Ill omens

Swatching for the lace scarf last night did Not Go Well.

Heck, winding the yarn didn't go well. The swift is AWOL, and all of the children claim innocence. I have my doubts.

I don't even have the energy to post a picture.

All I can say, is if this doesn't get better, the Knitting Olympics is going to be more of a challenge than I'd figured. Obligatory Olympic Parallel: imagine a snowboarder in a heap, crumpled board beside her. That was me, lacewieght yarn and size 5 US needles in hand.

Sob.

Tonight's another go, I guess.

Everyday magic

Knitters know that they can attain near-magician status by doing a trick like knitting with five needles in public. Stares, questions and comments like “How do you do that?” or “Those are such tiny needles!” “I could never do that!”

You may know that, really, it’s just the same as big straight needles in theory, but the commenters don’t.

I get the same feedback sometimes for something I do as a matter of course, and have for years. Witness, truly nice 100% whole wheat bread.



My children, never having known any differently, just assume that bread will leap out of the oven at regular intervals, and they love to help make it. I like it this way. It’s a part of life that’s truly normal, nothing special, but at the same time, it’s a thing of wonder. Yeast! Water! Flour! Salt! Butter! A little technique and time -- Bread!

Knitting isn’t as effortless or rapidly rewarding. It’s easy to screw up, and I can’t even eat my mistakes. On the other hand, you can’t unravel a bad loaf of bread.

I realized that I have to give myself the equivalent of paragraph directions if I’m ever going to get this vest thing (and, presumably, other charted designs) done. These kinds of directions would range from the normal (right cross – two front, knit one, purl two), to the idiot-specific: “Remember, now, this is a wrong side row. Read the chart from left to right. Remember to purl the cable stitches and knit the background stitches, and also remember that you must perform the cable directions for cable A during cable A, and then remember to change when you get to cable B.”

My difficulty in following the simplest of directions cost me in precious time today. Miguel, the WonderSitter, was with the larger Things for a couple of hours today. The baby Thing was with me, napping like she was born to it snuggled up in her carseat. After running the typical “mom with babysitter” errands, I headed over to the yarn store. Because it’s a haven of peace and tranquility, compared to my house, I pulled out the Clock Vest again, determined to get it right.

Even in what were near-ideal circumstances (yarn everywhere, supportive people, expert help), I managed to knit, un-knit, and re-knit every single stitch for two rows. I read a chart the wrong way. I performed cable crosses perfectly, but on the wrong row. I purled where I should have knitted, and knitted when purling was called for. And yet? I got two more rows done. Well, according to the mileage, it was more like five rows, but I walked off with a vest two rows closer to being done. It may take more or less forever, but I’d rather do it right.

I’d rather not mess it up every time, too, so that’s where the Crazy Lady talking to myself paragraph instructions come in.

I’m going to be using them a lot, because I’ve decided to knit "Gloriana"” by JoLean Treace for the Knitter’s Olympics that the Harlot dreamed up. You know it’s going to be a challenge for me, simply because it will require more thought than just knitting in the round. But hey? Sixteen days, I can so do it.

The kids are young. They'll remember it as sixteen days they spent a lot of time with Miguel, not sixteen days of their mother muttering crazily in her chair, furiously trying to finish a simple lace scarf before the Olympic flame is extinguished.