Jeanette

This is my neighbor, Jeanette. She's 91, and has lived in the same house for 72 years. Last year she fell ill and spent the whole year living with her family. She missed her home, and managed to convince her children to let her move back. They won't let her stay over the winter, and so as soon as it gets cold, she'll be leaving again. That year she was gone, I realized how much I love her, and how much it means to me to have such a good friend living so close.


I can talk about anything with her. She has a wicked sense of humor, and is nothing like what I expected a lady in her 90's to be. She isn't stuck in the past. She isn't old fashioned. She doesn't complain about anything. I keep wishing that there was some way I could make her my age, so that we could raise our kids together, and she could show me the millions of things she knows about this place. She and her husband subsisted off of their land for most of their lives. She is a fantastic gardener, and did everything from making her own cheese to knitting her own underwear. I knew you were wondering if there was going to be something about knitting. During our last visit we talked about how women were treated when she was young. She said that there were three things a women was supposed to know, before she could be considered for marriage; how to make soup, how to spin wool and flax, and how to make babies. Well, women didn't really have to know how to make babies, they just needed to be able to do it, repeatedly. I was confused about the "making soup" until another friend later explained that "making soup" just means cooking in general. I do know how to spin, "make soup" and make babies, but I'd rather not have to wash the babies diapers in a stone trough, a half mile from my house, in February. Jeanette had to do this for all three of her kids. She also had to take over the farm during the war. When I gave birth to my son, she warned me against leaving him in a basket at the edge of the field. Apparently, vipers are attracted to the smell of milk on the baby's breath. Just after warning me about this, she gave a little laugh and said she guessed I wouldn't have to worry about this, as I wouldn't be plowing the field with a newborn at my side. This is true, but I did like to work in the garden with him, and it's always good to know what snakes do and don't like. FYI, they don't mind dogs, but hate cats.


This is a photo of her picking the bugs off of a cabbage. She didn't plant much this year, but she's hoping to come back sometime in March, so that she can begin planting. I'm glad that she'll be in a nice warm house during the coldest months. She still heats her own house with firewood, and that last year she was here, I was a little worried about her. Still, I'll miss her at Christmas. I'll miss the little trail of woodsmoke on the horizon and her socks drying on the line. There's always a good bit of repair knitting, a new toe, or a band of ribbing to make them longer. Each one is a little sculpture. Actually, she knit the cardigan in these pictures. She doesn't knit anymore, but she'll tell you that she's knit over twenty sweaters for adults, and many more for children. Sometimes I day dream about what it would look like if you took every thing that a person created in their whole life, and lined them up. Everything from their children, to the macaroni necklaces from kindergarten, to each muffin and pancake. I'll bet the line of things she's made in her life would stretch a very long way into the distance.

The Great Distraction

I'm still living in fear that I will never want to knit again. Every time I look at my projects basket, I shudder. Intellectually, I know that this is simply a bad case of knitters block, but years of yarn hoarding and knitting book acquisition have made me more than a little committed to this hobby. I'm starting to panic. Walking away now would leave me with unspeakable amounts of free time, and a gaping void in my closet. I know that sounds like a positive thing. I assure you, it is not. I would only replace the knitting with an inferior hobby, which I would suck at. This would make me even more temper-a la- mental and hermit like. I'm going to limp along with yarn related activities in the hopes that I can lure the desire to knit back into my life.
Spinning is acting like a pressure release valve right now. I just don't have the brain for knitting, and spinning requires a minimal amount of concentration. In fact, it's better for me not to concentrate while spinning. I've found two spinning clubs in my area, and I finally managed to make it to the serious club. They are members of a real live guild. I know, you thought those went out with the 18th century. Well, spinning went out of vogue then too, but that doesn't stop some of us from being extremely out of date. During my first session with the serious guild ladies, I learned how to spin all sorts of kinds of silk. I really sucked up to the instructor, and was more than a little satisfied at being the first to finish. This is an ugly part of my personality, but genetically speaking, I come by it honest. I'm so rarely the first in any class, that I really relish those few instances when I can be impressive. Here's my bobbin from that class.



We tried silk noil, throwster's waste, silk tops, silk hankies, and some silk roving. The best part of it, was making punies. Just having an excuse to use the word puni, which sounds both child like and dirty, was a lot of fun. Our instructor, Jane, taught us how to card the silk noil out, and then roll it off the cards onto a knitting needle. After sliding it off the needle, you have what looks like a very skinny, very long cocoon. Some puni making tips are; don't try to card too much at a time, keep the silk at the ends of the cards, and when you're rolling it off onto a needle, make the roll as tight as possible. Now, you are a puni making expert.
Since the spinning meeting, I've been inspired to finish up some old spinning projects. They don't make for the best photographs, so I jazzed them up with a little fall color.

This is Blue Faced Leicester, spun and then plyed into a worsted weight yarn. I've got another hank of this, and a whole sack of roving. I'm going to try and spin enough for a sweater. This is assuming I recover the will to knit a sweater.
The next photo is of a merino batt that a friend gave me. It's much more peachy in real life. After I took the photo, I took out a good bit of the twist by running it back onto my wheel. It's much fluffier now, and I think I've got enough for a pair of mitts. I think the original plan was to ply this with something else, but I'm glad I'm keeping it simple.

Those beautiful leaves in the background are from a witch hazel that's sitting in a pot on my porch. The leaves look like they're burning. This witch hazel is going to get a special spot next to our bedroom window. It's been beautiful in every season. I highly recommend witch hazels. You get a pretty plant, homeopathic home remedies, and it has the word witch in the name, which makes it sound dangerous. A dangerous name is not something that most plants can pull off.
Now that I'm talking about something completely unrelated to the topic of this blog, I'm going to show off my new terrariums. We have a very large arched window above an old stone sink. It looks beautiful with plants in it, but they tend to block out a lot of light. As it's a dark room, I wanted something that would show off the window, without blocking the light: enter terrariums.
I think we can probably make at least 30 of these things without filling up the window.



They only need to be misted every week or so, and so it won't be a huge chore to keep them all watered. I'm far from being an expert, and there are many good books on the subject, but here's how we made ours. We poured about 1/2 inch of activated charcoal into the bottom of a glass container. Then I added about 1/3 inch of soil. We arranged our moss/lichen/ferns/succulents, and added a few objects. The activated charcoal keeps things from getting funky. It's very important not to over water these things. I can only imagine the fetid mess that an over watered sealed terrarium could make. They really are magical little worlds, and I'm so excited to have an excuse to scrounge for old glass jars.


I think my next terrarium will feature something architectural.

Like a.....

I have not forgotten that I have a knitting blog, I just haven't knit anything in....a month. That's really shocking to me, but even more shocking is the realization that I haven't done anything crafty. There's been no spinning, no sewing and no knitting. I haven't even had the get up and go to sit down and blog about it. I'd like to be able to offer you an in-depth discussion of knitter's block, but my brain is waltzing around inside my head, and I can't seem to make it sit down and take things seriously. The only thing I can offer you are photos of our beautiful rain.


After a terrible summer drought, we've finally made it to fall, and the rain has returned. It's the only thing I can seem to focus on.



The mornings are misty, and the yellow leaves are laying in slowly spreading circles beneath the trees. You'd think this kind of weather would get me knitting again, but my poor brain is still wandering around like a.....like a ......like a nun in a ......monastery? No, that doesn't work. My brain is wandering around like a bee in the rain. Well, that's just weird. I can't think of anything clever. I'm going to have to go for a walk, and come back with something better.

Snappy

I've just inherited a camera from my photographer husband.


My technological expertise goes about as far as a donkey in a wheelbarrow. Despite this, I am contentedly snapping away at anything and everything. I got a little over exited about some buttons, and ended up having to edit through some 30 or 40 button photos.




They are great buttons, but posterity can live without 40 photos of the same three buttons. Yesterday I managed to set aside a little time for quilting. In two hours I (almost) finished this.


I even hand sewed the little cabin, and the nesting doll in the doorway. These are some of my favorite fabrics. Notice the rabbits in the blue fabric pattern.


I'm considering a third panel at the bottom. It's a good size for a baby quilt, but if I add a panel, it could be a crib quilt. I'm going to do a lot of embroidery on this. There will be a corn crop, birds, pumpkins, and maybe a squirrel or two. I still haven't decided what to do about the border, but that's the nice thing about quilting. I don't have to decide in advance.

Woman vs. Shawlette

I mentioned earlier in another post that I was in a sort of Mexican standoff with "Ishbel". I thought that this fight would be won when I called in the cavalry on knit night. To be fair, this wasn't their fight, and they were as mystified as I was. A day or two later I rallied the troops for a frontal assault. I didn't think I would win. In fact I thought that there would be heavy casualties, mostly involving me swearing a lot, and then weeping in a corner. Within two minutes I had found the stray yarn over and was advancing towards victory with no doubts as to my superiority. After years and years of knitting, I am a battle hardened commander of yarn. I should have known that the shawlette was just feigning a retreat so that it could sneak around for a good swift kick at my rear.
Mid way through the lace, I realized with horror, that I did not have enough yarn left to finish her off. The shawlette had me surrounded and was cutting off supplies. The only way to win was to throw the original battle plan in the bin, and go all in. First, I dug out some a small ball of cashmere in a similar colorway. By some miracle of Jupiter, it was actually the same weight, and looked pretty next to the body of the shawlette, but it was far too small a ball. I knit forward, and ripped back. I tried to skip lace charts. I tried to rewrite lace charts. I was losing. I started to swear. I started to yell. In a completely unladylike display, I ripped out the needles, frogged back several inches and tossed the shawlette on the table. I was preparing to wave the white flag, when I noticed that the shawlette looked good, remarkably good for something that was missing it's border.
I made a snap decision. I would let my enemy lie there thinking she had won. The following morning I would retrieve my needles, and finish her off. After a sound nights sleep, I went in for the kill. By 10am the following day, I was casting off. Victory was mine. I tossed her in a hot soapy bath, and pinned her down.


I am not above humiliating a shawlette on a towel.


I was so pleased with this victory, that I cast on for a matching beret.


I'm not prepared to wear these two items at the same time. There's something a little creepy about a matching beret and shawlette. However, it's nice to work on another knit with the same lace pattern, while it's still fresh in my head.


The beret is also cashmere, and so far, it's been a real pleasure. I'm not going to let this one get even a step out of line. Remember the Alamo, or whatever.

Un-responsibility-ness

There's been a bit of a lull in the knitting. I don't know if it's because of the weed pulling opportunities that the recent rains have provided, or if it's because I'm baking like baking might add years to my life. Our village fete is this weekend, and I'm on the hook to make Irish soda bread for 240 people. Incidentally, I only signed up to make bread for 120 people, but somehow that number got changed. Thank goodness I don't trust authority figures. I started making bread weeks ago, on the hunch that the powers that be might have their numbers wrong. I've also drafted another sucker to help out. When I do get a moment or two, I've been plugging away on "Striven".


It's a very good end of the day, so tired I can't tell my dog from my baby, sort of project. I think I'm probably going to have to cast on for another sweater in a thicker yarn. Knitting a sweater on size 4 needles is pretty demoralizing, even for those of us who lack morals. I have some Eco-wool in the stash that's been begging for parole. I'm considering the "Placed Cable Aran" by Cathy Payson. It can be found in the Fall 07 issue of Interweave Knits. The only thing holding me back from a quick and dirty cast on, are all of the UFOs hanging out in my living room. I might have to get one of those "No Loitering" signs. Maybe I should just suck it up, and finish them. In my defense, I'm living in a house where this is considered breakfast.


We may have some self control issues going on here. Just in case you don't recognize the container in the back ground, that's chocolate macadamia nut ice cream on a French country loaf. I know, it's genius. I wish I could claim this creation as my own, but my husband deserves all of the credit for this masterpiece of irresponsible cuisine.
On a completely unrelated note, I've got a quilting itch, and it needs scratching. Here's a rough draft of a baby quilt I'm about to start cutting pieces for.


I'm only going to use a couple of fabrics for this. The little cabin in the woods theme should be pretty gender neutral. Gender neutral is key, when you don't can't remember who's pregnant with what.


I think I'll probably end up doing some embroidery on this before I start quilting. I want this quilt to be a little bit dark, like the music from "Peter and the Wolf". Children have lovely dark sides, which should be cultivated with traditional fairy tales and scary quilts.

Striven

This butterfly landed on my swimsuit while I was laying out by the pool.


I love summer, I really do. I look forward to it, as if I'm still in the second grade. Tomatoes, peaches, strawberries, sun tea, swimming, BBQ, what's not to like? Before knitting, I was not a fan of fall. Fall was like one big endless Monday. The thrill of going back to school wore off right around the time I received my first homework assignment. I went to Catholic school, so they gave homework out on the first day. Now, I love fall. I love it so much, that even on a perfect summer day, I think about fall knitting. This is what I'm knitting for fall.



The pattern is "Striven", and is published in Rowan Magazine 42. I believe this to be one of the all time greatest Rowan Magazines ever. It has tundra, and heather, and a purse shaped like a pineapple. There are at least 15 things I'd love to knit from this magazine. When it came in the mail I did something I almost never do. I went online, and I ordered the exact yarn that this pattern called for; wool cotton and felted tweed. When the yarn arrived I pulled a ball out of the bag, grabbed the magazine, and started to read through the pattern. It seemed really daunting. There was some weird Swedish stitch I didn't know. I put the yarn down and picked up another project. Since that day, this sweater has been haunting my stash. Two years later, I'm not afraid of the weird Swedish stitch. I'm ready to knit the sweater, and sit on a rock wearing a kilt with a "come hither if you dare" look, on my face. That model really sold me on this sweater. Such confidence for someone with a cave bat complexion.


I've finished the ribbing on the back, and am about two inches into the slipped stitch stripy pattern. It looks like weaving. I suppose that's the idea. There's something odd about the weight of the fabric. It feels too light. I tried swatching with a smaller set of needles, but came up with an equally airy fabric. I guess it's the stitch pattern that's causing that.


I think I like the felted tweed. It's the kind of yarn I could grow to love. I'm going to take extra care with this project. I want this to be a sweater that I wear with pride. I still don't have a hand knit sweater that I'll wear in public. I'm more than a little ashamed of that. Everything seems to get given away, or shrunk, or never finished. This time, I'm going to stick it out. It helps that the color work is fun, but not challenging. It also helps that the sweater is named "Striven". Striven sounds like driven + strive. One can't very well chuck a sweater named "Striven" into a bag. It just seems wrong.
This next photo is of my new friend Amy.


Amy as in, an A+ version of me. She's got the same size bust, but with an impossibly small waist. She was found at a small shop that was going out of business. Actually, truth be told, I saw a young woman walking toward the parking garage with a dress form under her arm. I cornered her and demanded that she tell me where she bought her dress form. She breathlessly informed me that there were only a couple left, and that they were being sold for 15 euros a piece, and before she could finish her sentence, I was off like a shot, dragging my husband and son behind me. Because it's a store form, and not a sewing form, I'm going to have to make a couple of adjustments. For one, Amy is going to need to put on some weight. No one in this house is allowed to have a 38 inch bust with a 26 inch waist. Them's the rules.