Knitting and Crocheting Blog Week - Day Three 2KCBWDAY3

So, today's assigned topic:

How do you keep your yarn wrangling organised? It seems like an easy to answer question at first, but in fact organisation exists on many levels. Maybe you are truly not organised at all, in which case I am personally daring you to try and photograph your stash in whatever locations you can find the individual skeins. However, if you are organised, blog about an aspect of that organisation process, whether that be a particularly neat and tidy knitting bag, a decorative display of your crochet hooks, your organised stash or your project and stash pages on Ravelry.

And the answer is, in my case there's no good answer. Or, put another way, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Let's start with the easy way.

My yarn stash is arranged decoratively in crisp white cubes, sorted by weight, then by color. Individual planned projects are arranged in clear ziploc bags, each one labeled with a copy of the pattern (in its own acrylic protector, of course) inside the bag, but visible to aid in immediate identification.

(Are you buying this?)

Each yarn is assigned a personalized identification number (a PIN for short, if you're still believing this crap) that matches an entry in the Ravelry database where, if you're still believing any of this utter fabrication, a clear photo and description of yardage and colorway and dye lot are also contained.

(Okay, this isn't working, even for me. I know that friends lie to friends all the time but this one is really pushing the envelope. We're going to have to do this the hard way.)

First of all, what do you know about tectonic plates? All you really need to know is that, as portions of the earth expand and contract, bodies of land are shifted and moved onto each other, creating crevices and mountains. Every so often a really bad movement might result in things like dinosaurs being purged from the earth, but that's really a seldom thing. Here's something that may help you understand what all this means in terms of stash management.

Okay, are we clear? No? Okay, perhaps I need to explain further.

In the master bedroom, there's an area that we'll call "The Appalachians." This mountain range consists of bags (some project bags, some shop bags) each with yarn in them. Here, for instance, is the cobalt blue Miss Babs yarn I bought at Stitches last year to make a shawl.  And the (almost the same color blue) Malabrigo worsted, also from Stitches, that was going to be a Cheryl Oberle shawl. And there are some miscellaneous skeins of sock yarn. Come to think of it, probably everything in this range came from Stitches last year. This range could be considered the "OMG! I just bought this at Stitches and I'm going to work on it right away so I need it near to me!" pile. And, yes, I know Stitches was almost a year ago. Your point?

Upstairs, "The Rockies" used to be in the extra bedroom. but got moved to "The Shenandoahs" next door when grandson Cole was there. The Rockies mostly consisted of yarn bought in the 2004-2010 era (hereinafter called The Spenderiferous Era). Lots of impulse purchases that have never come to fruition. Storage in this area consisted of lots and lots of large straw beach bags with no organization whatsoever.

Earlier this year, The Rockies got combined with The Shenandoahs. The Rockies materials date from pre-history through our move to Atlanta. Meaning there's yarn in here older than my daughters. Now "The Rockendoahs" have experienced a number of landslides and even a few volcanic eruptions. When we first bought the house, The Rockies were beautifully organized in bins on shelving (Mr. Pug took care of that!). Now just walking around in The Rockendoah area is treacherous, and requires pinions and ropes.

Okay, see why there are no photos? I thought you'd see it my way.

Knitting and Crocheting Blog Week - Day Two 2KCBWDAY2

Day two, and I'm still blogging. Amazing!

Today's challenge:

Look back over your last year of projects and compare where you are in terms of skill and knowledge of your craft to this time last year. Have you learned any new skills or forms of knitting/crochet (can you crochet cable stitches now where you didn’t even know such things existed last year? Have you recently put a foot in the tiled world of entrelac? Had you even picked up a pair of needles or crochet hook this time last year?



That's an interesting one, now that I'm officially a Knitting Crone.
 
I was taught to knit at about 9 or 10 by my grandmother who was in her late 70's by that time and Older Than God in my eyes. So I wanted to knit like her but certainly not to BE like her. At that time I didn't know anyone else who knit, except for my mother who was a dabbler. (And I certainly didn't want to be her either!)
 
But now I'm an older knitter in a world seemingly dominated by young, fearless knitters. It's an amazing world to be a part of, surrounded by people young enough to be my grandchildren who are leading the way with incredible designs and patterns. Sometimes I see a fabulous, innovative new pattern on Ravelry or Knitty and read all the way to the bottom and read "so-and-so has been knitting for seven months now and her first book will be published next year."
 
Thank God for Maggie Righetti and Elizabeth Zimmerman who went before them and paved the way. They taught me the skills that have kept me knitting so I can jump fearlessly into the pool with these newer knitters.
 
Over the years I think I've dipped a toe into most aspects of knitting and I've had some amazing successes and some devastating failures. And 50 years after learning how to knit, I still think of myself as an intermediate knitter. There are some areas I've only recently entered (with lots of trepidation) like lace. Until about four years ago, I'd never knit lace--my excuse was that I'm really not a lacy, girly-girl, person but the reality was that I was ... SCARED of lace. Now lace is an area to be respected but not feared. I'm still not a shawl wearer, per se, but I've knit a few and I'm sure there are a few more in my future.
 
And for many years I knit socks. You really can't fail with socks--they always fit someone, you can never have too many, once you get the basic shape down they're all do-able. About three years ago I read an article by Ann Budd in Interweave Knits and became obsessed with toe-up socks. Since then I've made them a passion. I can cast on (Turkish or Judy's Magic Cast On) in my sleep, have perfected my short row heel, and finally have a loose bind off that I like. In short, socks have come to be my "go to" project--I keep finding them in various stages of completion all over the house and car and occasionally even finish some.
 
But what have I done over the past year? Well, let's see ... there's my ongoing fling with modular knitting. One sweater complete (if by complete you mean in pieces waiting for seaming together), one vest in progress (and will I ever finish it? I think not but I remain hopeful), and the infamous Jane Slicer-Smith jacket that's about halfway done and, by some horrible circumstance, is now approximately the size of a Cirque de Soleil tent. (The elephant called--she wants her cape back!)
 
And, of course, I dabbled with beading last year, even before Sivia Harding came to teach at our guild. She got me started playing with beads and beaded jewelry (although I guess my first beaded jewelry muse was really Betsy Hershberg). 
 
But what will this year bring? Well, I already know I'll be doing entrelac because we're having a very well-known entrelac designer come to the guild in the fall (sorry--can't say the name until we have the contract in hand). But I'm very excited--I've done entrelac but I'm not ready to say I'm good at it yet.
 
I did promise myself that this would be the year to learn Fair Isle. I want to, no, really, I do. And I truly do mean to learn it, some day. But ... do I really have to?
 
And then there's Waltham:
 

 

I can already hear the naysayers telling me, if you can't put together one sweater, what makes you think you'll put this one together? And I don't have an answer for you. I just know I'm going back to my roots and trying cables again. (The last cabled sweater I knit was for my ex-husband and he got custody in the divorce.)

 

The good news: Mr. Pug won't get this one!

Knitting and Crocheting Blog Week : 2KCBWDAY1

Okay, I've seriously neglected the old blog in recent months. Yes, I know ... I hear from the six people who actually read it that they miss it, but still ... it's like going back  to your ex-husband. It's a little embarrassing and one of those things you may not want to shout about from the rooftops until you know it's going to last longer than a hot, sweaty afternoon. (Don't ask how I know this one.)

Anyway, along comes Knitting and Crochet Blog Week 2011. What better excuse to unearth and revive the blog than that? And it even comes with suggested topics. So, here we go, first day:

So, today's topic is "A Tale of Two Yarns." And, just so you'll get the idea, here's the explanation:

Part of any fibre enthusiast's hobby is an appreciation of yarn. Choose two yarns that you have either used, are in your stash, or which you yearn after and capture what it is you love or loathe about them.

The timing for this question couldn't be better, because I started a project this past weekend in a yarn that I'd heard about but had never used, Madelinetosh Tosh Merino Light. When Debra and I went (separately but serendipitously) to the Claudia's Handpainted Yarns Trunk Show at EatSleepKnit a couple of weeks ago, Debra took me to the Madelinetosh room and wouldn't let me leave until I'd picked out a skein (Cherry, if it matters).

Now I love a cult yarn as much as the next person, and I have to admit the color grabbed me by the short hairs right away. Do you see all those shadings? Frankly, the day of the trunk show was rainy and the light in the room was adequate but not great, and I thought it was red yarn. It wasn't until I looked at it outside that I saw all those colors. And it's a single ply, which meant I likely wouldn't be making socks from it.

In fact, I had no idea what I would make from it--probably, with my track record, nothing. I figured it would join the other approximately 493 skeins of sock yarn waiting for me to be inspired. (Okay, that may be an exaggeration but not by much!)  This weekend, the yarn told me--it had to be the Ishbel shawlette. 

I wasn't prepared for finding that using it would be nothing short of a Harry Met Sally moment. This yarn is smoothly twisted, not plied, with a little bit of attitude. (Why do I think I should be saying, "Tosh ... Madelinetosh" like "Bond ... James Bond"?)  Ishbel is a delicate balance of stockinette with a very simple lace edge. In the Tosh Merino Light, the stockinette portion is beautiful and soft. The lace portion is sharply defined--every PSSO stands out like a beacon.

Now, moving from ecstasy to irritation, my unfavorite yarn of all time: Noro Kureyon.

Oh, I love the colors! Noro yarns have some of the most wonderful colors available to a knitter. They change and swirl and move through a knitted piece with a life of their own. No argument with the colors at all.

But the texture? The rough, almost scratchy fibers, longing to make you itch? The thick-and-thin nature of the yarns that take you from a lumpy blob of yarn down to a hair-like thread that suddenly breaks off in your hand, just as you're pulling a stitch taut? And the woodiness--and by this I mean the actual splinters of straw and wood that appear in every skein? The multiple knots, never in the same color, mind you, so that you're knitting along with deep purple and suddenly the yarn ends in a knot ... and now you're knitting in turquoise blue... both pretty colors but ... they couldn't match the broken strands?

And what I hate the most about Noro Kureyon? The fact that I'm continuously seduced by it. I see it, stacked beautifully in a cubby in a yarn store, and I think, "maybe this time it'll be different."

Come to think of it, that IS a ltitle like going back to your ex-husband.  It just makes you remember why you left him in the first place. (And don't ask how I know.)

No, really. Don't ask.

Farewell to the Boss

When I was 17, I graduated from high school and began a job as a GS-4 Clerk-Typist-Stenographer at the Office of Economic Opportunity (OEO). I had been recruited by my high school shorthand teacher's husband who worked there also, and I was pretty excited. It meant taking two buses into downtown Washington, DC from our house in the Maryland suburbs and I thought I was pretty hot stuff with my four-figure salary! (Yes, that would be one digit, then a comma, then three zeros, per year!)


I, of course, had no real idea where I was going or what I would be doing.


Turned out that OEO was the poverty program, a brainchild of Sargent Shriver who had also founded the Peace Corps, and was launched as part of Lyndon Johnson's Great Society. The idea was to attack poverty in our own country, by helping states and counties and towns to help themselves. I was assigned to  the community action group that worked with North Carolina, and later to the West Virginia/Kentucky group. In the meantime, I was handed over to the Regional Director of the whole shooting match, to churn out typed grant letters.


That's another story in itself, involving inch-high stacks of two-piece carbon paper in various rainbow colors (all of which had to be PERFECTLY typed) and my first encounter with an electric typewriter. Suffice it to say that I'm terribly grateful for the incredible patience shown to me by everyone involved.

But this is about Sargent Shriver, who passed away this week. He died at 95 but the picture above is pretty close to what he looked like in those days. I have to admit to a little shiver even today when I think of how he looked in those expensively tailored suits he wore. I think I was imprinted right at that point toward a man in a nice suit.


Of course, we all knew he was a Kennedy brother-in-law, which was a big deal even to a city used to seeing political celebrities around town. As a child, I remember being in the Senate Office Building and looking down on the Senate from the balcony. One of my friends' fathers was an aide to a senator from Michigan (after whom an office building would be named later!) and I had stared down onto a wrinkly, baggy-suited Lyndon Johnson and a chunky bald Sam Rayburn. Neither of them impressed me in the least, but Sargent Shriver did.

I have to say that Shriver was my first "CEO" and the one who set the standard for all the CEOs I'd work for over the years. He was unfailingly courteous, and knew each staffer's name and a little about them. I'd pass him in the hall and get a "Hello, Diana, how are you liking your job these days?" or "Boy, did you get caught in that big traffic jam at Friendship Heights this morning?" He knew the mentally challenged Xerox operator and was always willing to listen patiently to a long explanation of what might have caused a paper jam yesterday. Each one of us was a person to him and he made us all happy to be at work.  I've heard that he could be a taskmaster but I'm willing to bet that most of the people who worked with him, either closely or peripherally the way I did, will remember him as a fair, kind individual--the kind they'd like to work for again.

So, using the whole Kevin Bacon Seven Degrees of Separation, really that puts me pretty close to Jackie Kennedy, doesn't it? And Maria, and the GuberNator. And let's not talk about Teddy. But I bet none of them were as nice as Sarge. He was definitely a man who motivated us all to do good things.

Goodbye, Boss!

Getting It Together

Once a year or so, usually toward the end of a year or right at the beginning of a new year, I have a fleeting sense of being organized. That's the day I go to Office Depot or Staples and buy new innards for my planner and start trying to get a sense of having it together for the coming year. 


Yes, Jake, I know that a paper planner is "old school." Did you think I needed you to mention that to make me feel old? But I guess I AM old school. I have numerous electronic organizers including my IPOD, my Blackberry, my Outlook calendar, my computer at work and the one at home, but there's something about writing the coming year's birthdays and circling paydays on the little boxes on that paper calendar that gives me a sense of old-fashioned "readiness" and my place in the world. 


Somehow when you're looking at the week's tasks on your Outlook you don't get that "big picture" understanding of what we're all a part of. This year January brings my sister Debbie's and my friend Cathy's and my friend David's birthdays. I see my other sister's upcoming surgery and my hair appointment and the guild meeting and dinners with friends. I see planning meetings and business commitments and the day the mortgage payment is due. There are notes about sad events, too, dates that I move from one year's calendar to another as if there's any danger I'll ever forget them. There are dates that mean something important to me and to no one else. 


I still make lists on paper in the section I've named, with a great creative spirit, "Lists." Lists of groceries to be bought, projects to be knit, books to be read, gift ideas for birthdays and anniversaries and holidays in the future. Couldn't they be on my Blackberry? Sure. But there's something about being able to run my fingers down the paper and check them off as they're completed or as a decision is made to abandon one.


There's a section called "Writing." Here's the place that I jot down a plot idea or a character description or an idea for a blog post. These are the thoughts that flit through my mind as I drive the long route to work in the morning. Most of these notes never ever result in anything but they're there if I need them.


I have moved along in a few ways. I've stopped using the address directory pages that the planner folks keep giving us. All the important numbers are in one of the two cell phones I schlep around with me 24/7 (or "31" as the kid on Two and a Half Men says). If I want a snail mail address for some inconceivable reason, it's in one of the computers or on a memory stick somewhere.(There are even two or three stamps tucked into one of the pockets of the planner should I want to mail something--I think they've been there for several years and I only use them for the occasional birthday or sympathy card.)  And my planner can't hold the audiobooks I listen to on the IPOD or the books I read on the Kindle. 


Anyway, that day of feeling in control of my life isn't today. This year I think it was December 14. Now I'm still carrying around that big red leather binder with all those calendars and lists but I've already lost control of the year. It's only the 2nd and I already feel lost. Oh, well. Maybe next year.

What Keeps a Kindle Warm at Night?

First Christmas gift of the year given--a Kindle sweater--and, I think the only knitted gift I'll give this year. Combination of Grinchiness and arthritis that's causing some arm issues.

The pattern is adapted from one on Ravelry and is knit from purple baby llama yarn. Soft, soft, soft! Yarn and button (and suggestion for the pattern) all from Cast On Cottage, Roswell, GA. (The pattern's designer, Karen, is also a Cast On customer.)

It's too short to fit my Kindle, which is the original. I knit it a little too long for the newer version because I wanted to include the button at the top--important if you're going to keep it in your purse because it'll just slide right out otherwise.

(I was gifted with a really beautiful Kindle cover in a Ravelry swap and I love it but I'm thinking of adding a closure of some kind to avoid the whole sliding thing. Wouldn't be a problem if I'd just leave it at home, I suppose.)

Anyway, cast on 52 stitches total with Judy's Magic Caston, size 7 magic loop (26 stitches on each needle). Knit in stockinette for 7.5 inches, then switch to size 5 needles and do 3 or 4 rows of 1X1 rib, add a buttonhole in the middle of whichever side you've decided is the front, then another 3 or 4 rows. Bind off with Jeny's Surprisingly Stretchy Bindoff (which IS surprisingly stretchy!).

Sign Language

Have you noticed how parenting has changed since you had your children? This isn’t a trick question—it doesn’t matter WHEN you had them, it’s changed. That’s because each generation wants to do it better than their parents did.



When I was an infant and young child, my mother was a devotee of Dr. Spock and his reliance on sane and sensible parenting. I still used his book as a bible when my daughters were born. For instance, after generations of babies being bundled into heavy blankets and sweaters no matter what the temperature, Dr. Spock said you should dress your child the same way you would dress yourself—more layers in cold weather, fewer in warm weather. Amazing! (Apparently Dr. Spock didn’t have any advice on any of the other myriad ways in which my mother managed to screw me up. Oh, well ....)


So it never surprises me to hear about a discovery that the current generation has made about how to undo the parenting my generation did—after all, I did the same thing. Just to keep you in the loop too, here’s my research on latest parenting techniques based on a weekend spent with my nieces Caitlin and Sarah, and two great-nieces, the Amazing Ruby and the Incredible Emily. And here’s what I learned.

Sign Language. Yep, that’s what I said. We’re using the same techniques that scientists are using with lower primates to help them communicate. Because they too lack the ability to vocalize their needs.


But here’s what had me laughing:

Emily (10 months) can use sign language to signal that she wants ”milk, please, “and even “more milk, please.” She does this with a hand sign that simulates a hand pulling an udder, which would make a lot of sense if (a) she knew what an udder was, (b) she knew what would occur if you happened to pull an udder, or (c) she was even drinking milk.


Fact is, she’s lactose intolerant so she really needs a sign for “Non Soy Non Dairy Alimentation Product, please.” So we’re teaching a child to use a symbol she cannot possibly comprehend. But we're the icon generation, and we communicate with pictures. Let’s just hope that somewhere in the education process there’s a lesson on “and don’t try that on the cat!”


So, I’m feeling like Andy Rooney railing about things that make no sense to me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see the positives:


• For instance, a whole generation of mostly silent infants just holding up their hands to signal what they want. That could do away with the whole WalMart rage-at-noisy-children syndrome. How angry can you get at a child silently pulling an udder repeatedly? It could make flying commercial bearable again, or vastly improve the whole eating-in-a-restaurant thing. And they can go directly into silent texting.

• I’m pretty sure that even PETA won’t be able to claim that pulling a virtual udder injures the bovine population in any way. It might embarrass Elsie, but it won’t harm her.  If it turns out that it does somehow take advantage of cows, maybe Chik Fila could change their billboards to say "Eat Mor Children."


• In fact, I’m seeing whole new possibilities for the Happy California Cow commercials. Maybe the happy cows could do their whole sales job silently, using hoof signals. That would make me happy. 


• If our cave dweller forebears had had better signals, they wouldn’t have had to wonder whether Little Oog was crying because he was hungry or because his tiger skin was damp, again. There’s nothing worse than having your cave baby screaming about being hungry when you’re trying to catch the next meal.


And let’s face it. We all use signals of one kind or another to get the job done, even those of us who are accustomed to communicating with words rather than icons. My ex-husband was fond of the “hand writing in the air” signal for the waiter—I suppose that in those pre-electronic days, he assumed that the waiter would hand write the bill so he could pay it. Today’s waiter would be wondering what he was doing. (Is there a sign that uses a hand pushing keys on a computer?)

And who isn’t familiar with the twirling index finger next to the head that signals that someone is a little cuckoo? That one might be accompanied by heavy eye rolling, too. How about the one with the invisible beer being taken to the lips that says, "drinking problem"? The infamous "flying fickle finger of fate" that tells the other driver what you think of his driving?


Finally, we’re all familiar with those signals between spouses, the ones that say “I’m ready to leave now.”  I even remember when that signal meant, “can we go home right now and do something more fun?” rather than “I can’t stand being here with your friends one more minute.”


What does this have to do with knitting? Well, I think we need some Knitting Sign Language. (Not to be confused with the symbols used in knitting charts. Although trying to come up with a hand signal for SSK or Cable 2 Right would be an interesting challenge.)


How about two hands facing each other as if they are holding needles? With a raised, inquisitive brow, it could mean “is it okay to knit here?”  or "did you bring your knitting?" With an angry glare, it could mean “HELLO! I’m knitting here—can you go away please?)


And then there’s the raised index finger that says, “I’m counting! Wait til I'm done, please.”


I think there are definitely some possibilities here. In the meantime, I'm looking for a sign that says "I dropped my bead on the floor and can't find it."