I didn’t notice. This certainly isn’t, well, writing this is, but it’s a break from frantically trying to bring work up-to-date. At least I’ve done the washing and the ironing! We’ve been in western Canada aka Home for 10 days, attending The Wedding and visiting almost every relative we could think of (and fit into the schedule). The experience was both more and less stressful than I feared. For nearly 30 years (my word I’m old) I have avoided going back, partly because I miss the landscapes so deeply that the thought of what I’ve missed by not being there still brings me to tears, and partly because I find it difficult to be with one particular and very significant member of my family. This trip has allowed me to understand this division more clearly. I’ve spent more time with the family member and it’s bearable if we’re out and about doing stuff that distracts him/her, inspires more interesting, less painful conversations. I don’t want to do it, mind, but I can if I have to. For a while. I was grinding my teeth after two days! As for the rest… dammit, now I miss people as well as the landscape. My brother S is an interesting person: I’d like to get to know him in person, not just via the rather impersonal medium of email. I didn’t see much of my sister K after we left when she was about 4: she’s grown into a woman of stunning beauty, intelligence and wit. Seemingly well-matched by J (OK, he’s not stunningly beautiful). And their friends: what an awesome group of people. I am torn between joy, wonder and jealousy that I never had that companionship; I’m just not that good at people. Reason to hope for reincarnation? I wonder.

The cashmere socks apparently fit perfectly (I await photos). They were the stars of the shower, passed from hand to hand, at one point disappearing into someone’s cleavage in a fruitless attempt to smuggle them out of the venue. Three bosoms were a bit… obvious. I was prevailed upon to pass out several sock tokens, so I’m not short of things to do. And I have the wherewithal, if I can bear to part with any of it. I’m not certain I can, you know.

I had the chance to see and fondle yarns I’d only read of. You North Americans, you don’t know you’re born. Really. Imagine a *wall* covered with a frozen cascade of skeins of Fleece Artist and Handmaiden yarns (including the blanket kits!) with more of them stored in cubbyholes nearby. I have touched Muench ‘Touch Me’ and managed to leave without it only because I heard the Laines du Nord ‘Mulberry Silk’ singing to me. Racks of Cascade yarns, bins of Berroco, oh, the array of Manos del Uruguay… the softness of the suri alpaca lace, the colours, THE COLOURS! And the people. My husband sat in wonder as I bonded instantly with other knitters to wander around the shops inciting purchases and assisting in decisions. On second thought it’s just as well I don’t live anywhere near yarn shops like Beehive Woolshop (Victoria), Knit One Chat Too and Gina Brown’s (both in Calgary). Man cannot live on yarn alone and we’d have no money left for food.

Psst. Wanna see some yarn porn?
That’s Mountain Colors Bearfoot Sock Yarn, that is. 60% Superwash Wool, 25% Mohair, 15% Nylon in the Ruby River colourway. The photo doesn’t do it justice: it GLOWS in the sunlight, and it’s as soft as, as a very soft thing. Order yours from Caryll :-) Note the needles: I had to start some socks in this, no matter that I’ve another pair to finish. After talking to a nice person at Beehive about my tension problems, I decided to try bamboo circs. She’s right: they feel so fragile that I’ve automatically slackened my tension. I’ve got to get more of these because I’m bound to break them before they’ve taught me to loosen up.

And that is tangible evidence that I like purple. And grey, and blue (the nice knitters in Beehive helped me realise that, largely by piling wool in ‘my colours’ into my arms). From left to right, Fleece Artist Kid Silk, Handmaiden wool/silk, Noro Cash Iroha, Handmaiden Ottawa. mea culpa. I admit it. I don’t have a project in mind for everything in that picture, but I don’t care, I love it all and I never, ever want to part with it. Ever. I wonder if I can bring myself to knit that hat for a friend with the second-from-left? The Ottawa might be a Clapotis, but while I was cuddling it a simple twill with that as weft on a cream silk warp sprang full-fledged into my mind. Oh, my. Perhaps I should have bought two?

This? This is sheer, decadent self-indulgence (as if the rest wasn’t). Rogers Chocolates Victoria Creams. If I have to have fondants, these are the fondants I’ll have. We are sharing them, I swear it. At least so far. Unlike yet another self-indulgence I haven’t bothered to photograph, my box of Red River cereal. Mmmm. I’m looking forward to cold weather.

Last but not least, a problem. At least I think it’s a problem, even if it blocks out. This is part of the Shell Tank, showing how some rows, or even sections of some rows appear twisted. They’re not. After stretching the fabric the twist is corrected and the stitches appear normal, but they gradually re-twist. I’m not aware of doing anything ‘different’ in these sections, and am wondering whether it might just be something to do with the twist on the yarn. Advice would be welcomed. I’m not really enjoying this knit, which is a shame: not only am I not certain it will suit me, I find the cotton is unforgiving of any variation in tension (and my tension varies frequently because I have to start and stop so frequently). And the Jaeger ‘Aqua’ has knots in it, up to three per ball. Bad enough in wool where you can cut and felt joins, but cotton won’t play that game at all. Bah, humbug. Never mind, I’m just off to stroke the Bearfoot.

Expected high today of 34C. Not as hot as last week (36C), but the humidity is higher. My poor G5 is already roaring gently as the fans strain to cool it after a bout of graphics work. There’s so much to do! I’m off work next week, so of course three clients are *demanding* I get drafts to them before I stop… I’ve pointed out as tactfully as possible that two of them delayed getting resources to me earlier this year, so why do they expect me to sweat blood for them in this heat? The third, gah, the third deserves his. I’m doing my best. In addition to baking bread for a friend’s party this evening (“In this heat? You’re mad” he said). Making lists of stuff I have to do before I leave, stuff I have to take, stuff I want to buy, printing maps to find places in cities I haven’t visited for decades (I’ve got google maps to find yarn shops, too). Oh, and there’s the man to replace the windscreen. Isn’t it FUN that the heat stress makes stone chips send out lovely wavy cracks across the glass?

(excuse me while I dimple my foccaccia…)

The handspun scarf is on hold: it’s too hot for that lovely yarn and I’ve thought of a more appropriate gift (in August!). Remember those blue cashmere socks, a wedding shower gift for my sister? My bro-in-law-to-be deserves socks too, but I don’t know his size. So I’ll give him a Sock Token. Two per A4 sheet, each folds in half to become a ruler with which the recipient can measure his/her feet. Designed to be wrapped around something (in this case a bar of rather nice soap) in the following manner: fold the strip, then run a strip of clear stickytape the full length of the ruler (to give it some strength), ending with a small, er, sticky tab of tape on the end where it says ‘cut here’. Wrap the token around the gift and stick that end down with the tab.

Addendum: I haven’t yet worked out how to make a PDF available for download, and Blogger won’t accept the large files necessary to make this print nicely from your machine. Email me if you want one and I’ll send you the PDF (c. 150kb).

The Badcaul Socks are well underway in Fleece Artist ‘Jester’, not as loose as they look in that photo. The Elfine socks were a bit tight and this pattern is not only smaller, it’s cabled, which pulls the diameter down even more, so I added 6 stitches to the circumference, making a new small cable running down the centre front and back. I love cabling. I love cabling *without a cable needle*, which is what I’ve learned this time. I’ve also learned that reading and knitting at the same time is Not A Good Idea. But I kept doing it anyway, and reaped my reward as shown. Spot an error 10 rows down, unravel, recable. I hesitate to say this, but I actually enjoyed doing that, even though I’ve had to do it several times. Very satisfying just to be able to do it and it’s easier to keep track of which strand is next using multicoloured yarn “pink, flesh, green, pink, hot pink, purple”. And, of course, the error is gone.

(must just go and exercise the ciabatta)

The other major knitting is almost certainly a waste of time and yarn, alas. I have succumbed to the lure of Norah Gaughan’s Shell Tank in Knitting Nature. It won’t suit me, I know it won’t. I’m short and squarish with a bust. But the cable… I have to try, I just have to. It’s not a difficult pattern, but I’ve never knitted cotton before (that’s Jaeger ‘Aqua’ in Willow, that is). It’s not inclined to forgive the tension variations due to my stop-and-start knitting times. 15 minutes here, an hour there. I can see the changes. Dammit.

I have to work on my tension. Ha. At this wedding I’ll be seeing family I haven’t seen for over 20 years, plus a vast number of other people I’ve never met before. When I spend almost all day, every day talking only to my computer and henchcat. Tense? Moi? At last, after 48 years I’m happy to be me, but I expect I will have to hold that thought hard on occasion. It’s lovely to read the blogs of people who love and like their families and are loved and liked by them, but it makes me all the more conscious that not all families are like that.

but not knitted by me!
I potter about on the fringes of re-enactment, the wearing of period clothing (done properly it is NOT costume) at various historic events. I hope one day to have time to become actively involved, demonstrating weaving and other crafts to introduce people to the various pleasures to be gained from handcrafting goods, but at the moment I’m amongst those who just add colour to events by showing up in my garb. I can be early medieval wealthy middle class, wearing c. 8m of silk-lined fox-coloured wool over a silken shift (at least the bits that show are silk), or I can be early medieval presentable (ie clean) peasant, in a lighter wool gown and linen shift. I even have fake hair to wear under my headcovering, as only a condemned harlot or woman at death’s door would have had hair as short as mine. Every time I wear these clothes I think about social history. For example, each time I stand up or walk in my wealthy persona, I am reminded of my social position by the sheer weight of fabric. I am stately — given the weight of the dress I have to be — and I was interested to discover that I hold my skirts up when necessary (to climb stairs, for example) in the same way as the women in a host of medieval illustrations. There’s no other way to do it. The peasant garb is much better suited to housework. It’s positively comfortable and extremely flattering regardless of weight: women who’d honestly look *terrible* in shorts and a t-shirt look comfortable and attractive in this style. I’d happily wear it every day, although I’d be arrested for carrying my belt knife :-)

Anyway, as usual, I digress. Earlier this week a friend asked if a friend of hers could talk to me about Saxon/early medieval clothing, as she’s to be a demonstrator at a local Archaeology Day event. We arranged that O and her husband would drop by on Tuesday evening to have a look at the peasant dress. Which they did. And two hours later we were still talking, about weaving, lucetting and knitting, with much of my stash spread out on the floor, and both husbands watching with that look of tolerant amusement I find so touching. She stopped knitting about the same time that I stopped knitting, for roughly the same reasons, and had just realised herself that Yarn Has Changed. And then she saw (and felt) The Blue Socks, and her husband realised they didn’t have the seam that makes his toes sore in standard socks. So I showed her the Socks In Progress, and we discussed knitting on two circs, and then I loaned her Cat Bordhi’s book and gave her all my old circular needles to use Right Now until she can buy better. Then I emailed her all my knitting bookmarks: online retailers (we have no good LYS), magazines, patterns, blogs :-) Now she’s replied me to say that on seeing the book her son instantly demanded she learn how to knit socks so she can teach him. She mentioned it at work and her co-workers want to learn to knit socks…

I emailed back to point out that, bearing in mind I’m only making my third pair (but I’ve made short-row 8 heels :-), perhaps we could meet as a group one evening and learn to Knit Socks together. I was thinking of meeting in one of the rooms of the village hall, but if we don’t do it soon we might need something quite a lot larger!

One of the other students in my Pilates class has been watching me knit as we wait for class to begin told me about her Aunt (who knits) and her Mother (who knits), and how she’d quite like a reason to learn to knit one day because it looks interesting. She’s a dancer, beautifully thin, so I excised the Teva Durham Ballet top pattern and the Anne Modesitt camisole from my Interweave knits and passed them to her on Wednesday. Turns out she’s going away for a week with her Aunt and her Mother, and now she’s decided she’ll learn to knit while sitting by the pool :-)

A gratuitous cat photo: nothing escapes his notice, I’d better get back to work.

Finally, some knitting that pleases me. Those %@**! Socks are finished and a friend whose opinion I value considers them to be desirable objects, so that’s alright (I’ll have to knit her a pair, too).

Those %@**! Blue Socks: Hipknits Sock Cashmere, pattern ‘Priscilla’s Dream Socks’ (subscriber download from Interweave Knits) with some modifications: knitted on two circs rather than dpns, and using different needle sizes; I don’t know K’s measurements, just her US shoe size, which is larger than mine. I made the large size but used smaller needles to produce a smaller sock that’s nonetheless slightly loose on my foot, and with a denser fabric that I hope will wear well. The entire foot was knitted on 2mm/US 0. I had a fair amount of difficulty with that short-row heel, so opted for a different toe, a standard 4point decrease finishing with my first serious exercise in grafting. I enjoyed it, really satisfying, thanks in part to these videos.

You’ll note what seems to be a very small bra for two large balls of yarn; that’s the next pair of socks already underway. Fleece Artist Sock Merino in ‘Jester’ which will probably become ‘Badcaul‘ from Anna Bell but with at least one major modification (I’m getting bolder…). ‘Elfine’ was almost too small, and ‘Badcaul’ has an even smaller circumference. I could knit on larger needles, but I think I’ll add a cable to use the extra stitches. I can hear a small voice muttering “Look behind you… “

And more knitting! I dithered about this scarf for far too long, given the time constraints. Started a pattern and ripped after 5 rows so often that the first bit of the first ball was left in the last swatch; precious though this handspun alpaca/silk is, it was in no condition to be on public display. Having decided I wanted cables, I was wrestling with the fact that almost all of the fabulous cabled scarf patterns are one-sided: the back has an interesting texture, but does not resemble the front OK, it does, it has to, but you know what I mean. Given that both sides of the scarf are always seen, this bothered me. Nora Gaughan’s ‘Here and There Cables’ in Scarf Style proved there was an elegant solution, but the pattern repeat was far too wide. I started playing with graph paper to make something smaller then, while browsing Socks, Socks, Socks for something else, I came across the ‘Ribble Socks’ pattern. Same reversible cables, smaller repeat. Inspecting the first 6 inches I couldn’t decide if I was making a mistake or a truly elegant item, but as the scarf grows longer I’m becoming more and more certain it’s the latter.

This yarn is a treat to knit, and is teaching me to knit loosely to allow the handspun space to breathe. 4mm needles produced a fabric that’s too dense; 4.5mm makes something that looks like tree bark (alpaca/silk treebark, the softest trees you’ve ever encountered. Imagine the forest, with silk lace leaves…). Stretched as it will block the cable pattern shows more clearly and the looser fabric drapes beautifully. I think it will bloom when washed as the cashmere did, developing a halo of fine hairs and softening even more. I am *really* looking forward to seeing what happens and, if it’s as good as I think it might be I look forward to knitting with that yarn again. Lots.

Some of the questions I didn’t answer… the fabric strips will be a knitted carpet. I’ve saved an old duvet cover, a silk shirt, and I’m watching his most ramshackle pair of jeans. Shades of blue to go on our bedroom floor (all blues and white with a polished wood floor). And alas, none of the dpns are smaller than 3.5mm. I wonder what I used them for? Was my subconscious dreaming of socks so far in the past?

and it works. At least for knitting needles in this house (I wouldn’t touch it on a computer :-)

Other bloggers occasionally provide glimpses of their needle storage. I envy those who use straights the simple elegance of their options. A chic, casual arrangement in a flower vase, a colourful array of felted needle cosies, or a full house tucked tidily in simple strips of elastic sewn into knitter’s version of a jewellery bag. Those of us who use circs have to cope with an untidy, inelegant array of dangly bits. I’ve seen the circ equivalent of jewellery bags hanging from doorknobs, needles dancing in space to entice cats to leave yarn-catching toothmarks in the slick smooth surface of the needles or sever the cords entirely. (Aquila would then have thoughtfully *eaten* the cords, with horrible results.) Until this morning I left all my needles in their bags, bound into an untidy stack with rubber bands. The postman kindly leaves a rubber band on our drive almost every morning; perhaps I should tell him that paperclips are the route to my heart? Yesterday I thought to check whether or not the needles fitted in the plastic wallets of a CD binder I was given ages ago and never, ever use. YES!

Can you see what I’ve done? The nice fat binder unzips to reveal… my needles. The Addi packets are wide enough to be punched for insertion. Inox packets are too small, so I’ve put them in the CD wallets. They’re filed by size and length; I can flip to the size I want instantly. You might be able to see the huge Addi I’m going to use to knit fabric strips winking at you between the two sets of folders; that packet is large enough I’ve punched it for 3 of the 4 holes in the binder. I’m very happy. I generally have great trouble achieving ‘tidy’. Spurred by that success I decided to clean out my needle stash. I seem to remember reading that there are people who like the old circs, the ones that had to be soaked in boiling water to straighten them. There may even be people who hoard knitting needles. If you’re either of those, everything in the photo below is free to a good home. Some are priced in Can$, which makes them c. 30 years old.

Knitting? I’m not going to jinx anything at this point. I hope to have a FO soon, though. I don’t precisely regret deciding to adjust the size of those cashmere socks and make them wear longer/better by knitting the entire foot on 2mm needles, but I will be so terribly glad when they’re finished!

I think this is true yarn porn: handspun 85% alpaca (from Brollie, who lives somewhere in Kent/Sussex) /15% silk (I don’t know the names of the pupae, but they will not have died in vain) from the High Weald Fibre Factory. There is another ball sitting inside swatching. It’s interesting yarn, not very elastic, but very soft and with a lovely halo of alpaca fibres. It’s the first handspun I’ve ever handled, so I’ve no idea if it’s really, really good or not, but I like it a lot. I think it will work for the ‘Interlocking Balloons’ scarf, but I wonder whether the, um, softness/lack of structure and unevenness of the handspun will detract from the precision of the ribs in that pattern. I suspected that this yarn would be better suited to true, thick cables, and the pictures of Jillian’s Connemara Scarf (free download from sknitty) suggests I’m right. I want mine, well, J’s to be wider than that so I’ll invent something. I’ve done enough cables in my time…
(scrabbling sounds from drawer under bed)
see?
Three of several.
(scrabbling sounds and thoughtful ‘Hmmmm’ sounds from bookshelf behind chair)
Pale grey/cream is ‘Inishmore’ (Alice Starmore ‘Fishermen’s Sweaters’ 1995); under it in dark indigo is ‘Man’s Heavy Aran’ and it is heavy even in my size (Annabel Fox, Rowan No. 4 1988); under that, scarcely visible in a heavy khaki/olive chenille is ‘Oversized Cable Sweater’ (Erika Knight, Rowan No. 8). I’d half-forgotten about those books. They smell a bit musty, but they’re full of dreams. There isn’t enough room in the house to store all the sweaters I was going to make. And I found the Phildar magazines with the knitted lace doilies and the crocheted tableclothes I made and gave away because I don’t use that sort of thing, and my Encyclopedia of Needlework (from which I learned to crochet and tat)… I lack words to describe the frustration I feel. Were the days longer then? Where on earth (or anywhere else) did I find that much spare time? *sigh* Never mind. Feel the alpaca.

I WILL triumph. That’s a sock, an inanimate object. I’m a reasonably intelligent human being. I can outthink a sock. See? Note the markers indicating the yarnovers (on the needles). Try to ignore the beaded markers which were accidentally strung on the lifeline marking the halfway point. Yup. A lifeline, on a sock. Desperate times demand desperate measures.

Perhaps I was over-confident as a result of the relative ease, or sheer luck(!) with which I mastered, well, completed the ‘wrapped stitch’ heels. Perhaps I just wasn’t paying sufficient attention. Perhaps it’s the fuzziness and occasional thinning of this yarn that makes it easier to knit or purl the wrong number of stitches so that when one side of the heel was neatly finished, 5 or so stitches remained on the other side. Was I imagining things, or did I hear them sniggering? This time things will be different: I will prevail!

Too many projects makes for little visible progress on any of them. I’m at the heels (if not my wit’s end) on the ‘dream socks’: I really, really think I prefer short-row heels. Not much experience to base that on, though.

Dedicated birders (ie those who watch our little feathered friends) often have Life Lists, a list of all the birds they’ve seen. I can add three locations to my KIP Life List thanks to those socks:

In my car on the top of the hydraulic lift as it was inspected for roadworthiness (someone has to twist the steering wheel, etc).

On the Northern Line. A nice lady said I reminded her of her grandmother[!!] who knitted everywhere, and told me about the fabulous shawl she’d knitted when her own daughter was pregnant. She became addicted to knitting, for weeks she knitted everywhere she went, and when it was presented as a gift at the baby shower it was eclipsed by a purchased Shetland Shawl given by the MiL. She doesn’t know what her daughter did with it in the end, “probably gave it to a charity shop”. I was horrified and tried to persuade her that her daughter was cherishing it as too good to use. I hope so, I really do. When we left the train at Euston I gave her my very best smile and said I thought she should knit herself a shawl to show her daughter how to use it.

In the waiting area for Rigby & Peller. The socks said they felt a bit intimidated by all the burgundy and gold, but we managed it.

As there’s no knitting worth boasting about, I thought I’d try some BIP (Baking In Public). Saturday is Pizza Day here. Homemade pizza, a salad, a bottle of red and Dr. Who. Bliss.

Ingredients: 650gm UK strong flour/US all purpose (US flour is higher in protein than the average UK flour); 2 tsp table salt; a scant 1 tbsp sugar; 1 tsp instant yeast; c.2 tbsp olive oil. Add c.400ml cool water. Knead well. I do it like this: with the heel of (here) the right hand *push* the dough
down and away, literally smearing it along the surface while your left hand holds the dough so the whole lump doesn’t move. Push from the shoulder; your arm should be straight. As you pull your hand back, curve your fingers down to pull the dough back with it. A lot will stick to the table; never mind, just push again. Build a rhythm. A dough scraper is useful to scrape those stuck remnants back into the ball every now and then; if you haven’t got one, improvise. Switch hands occasionally. Do all this with as little flour on the surface as possible: I don’t use any at all until I roll the final ball. Added flour makes for drier bread; moister bread is usually nicer. If you look closely at the photo you can see the ragged stringiness that indicates gluten development. Gluten is the protein that eventually forms the network to trap the gases generated by the yeast. Those trapped gas bubbles are what make bread rise, so gluten development is crucial. I knead for about 5 minutes, hard, to get this: a smooth ball. If you could see the surface as I can, you’d see there are bubbles trapped between sheets of gluten visible on the surface. That will be a good crust. Divide the ball into four equal-ish parts, shape each into a ball and leave to rise in a bowl of olive oil. After rising for an hour or so one of my four will go into the freezer for another day. If you want to eat in about 2-3 hours, leave the bowl at warm room temperature. If you’re planning ahead, put the bowl in the fridge to rise more slowly, and take it out about 90 minutes before you want to start cooking. Chilling or otherwise ‘retarding’ a bread dough to force a slow rise allows development of a richer, more complex flavour.
[time passes]
Not as well-risen as I’d like, but not bad. You can see some gas bubbles already; bodes well (I like a light crust). Note that he took the photos in which you can see both of my hands. A third hand of my own would be very useful; I’ll let you know if I work out how to acquire one. Preheat the oven; you want it HOT, mine is 250C/450F. Remember to have your baking stone/set of quarry tiles/slab of kiln shelf cut to c. 1″ less than your oven dimensions (my choice) on the shelf at the bottom of the oven before you turn it on. Use a baking sheet if you’ve nothing else, but ceramic is better because it holds the heat: for a good crisp, light crust you and your pizza need *bottom heat*.

Prepare to assemble the pizza(s)! I cheat, big time. I build the pizza on a re-useable sheet of teflon fabric. This means it never sticks to whatever I use to slide it onto the stone, no matter how long it sits in the kitchen, and there’s almost nothing between the dough and the hot stone. So I can make all three pizzas, put the first one in the oven, then sit and drink wine until it’s done. Anyway… pull one of the lumps free of the rest and start to gently pull (with the hand that’s not holding it) and spread (with the fingers of the hand holding it) that lump out into a flatter lump. If you look closely you might be able to see that the dough is actually spongy, full of gas. Don’t lose that! When it’s a bit flatter, spread and pull it on the teflon fabric until it’s the size you want. I make mine about 1″ smaller than the fabric. Some bits will be almost 1/2″ thick, others so thin you could read a paper through them: that means some bits will be thick, golden and chewy (my favourite) and others will be thin, dark brown and crisp (his favourite). Add the topping. I usually use 4-6tbsp of organic chopped tinned tomatoes in ‘thick juice’ sprinkled with chopped sage, but a cooked sauce is good, too. Dot with sausage (spanish chorizos) and cheese. I use a dry processed mozzarella because we like a dry crisp pizza; wetter ‘fresh’ cheese adds too much fluid. When you’re ready, just slide it onto a baking sheet or a peel, or even a big piece of sturdy cardboard and slide it off onto the hot baking stone. Peer through the oven window and watch while the crust just zooms up (well, that’s what I do). Mine take 13-14 minutes at 250C. Experiment: your oven will be different. I grate strong parmesan onto it, then sprinkle coarsely sliced fresh basil over everything (then eat the bits that don’t go on the pizza).
Enjoy!
I don’t know what I’ve forgotten…

I think it is, anyway. Well, many things are, but the one that’s really rankling at the moment is the variable availability of yarn. Allow me to explain. I’m typesetting an… interesting paper at the moment, 37 pages of tables, graphs that have to be redrawn from Word, illustrations to be inserted (which means re-numbering all references to all illustrations in the paper). Trust me, it’s not fun. When I can’t bear it any longer I unearth ‘Scarf Style‘ from the stacks of paper around me and consider a problem. There are lots of things I want to make for me, starting with ‘Lady Eleanor’, but I need to make something for my incipient brother-in-law. I can’t give K a gift and not have something for J: it’s not fair. (On our birthdays my parents always gave one decent gift to the non-birthday child.) I could knit him his own Wedding Socks (I have the yarn ready) if I asked K his shoe size and she knew it. But he might have immense feet and I really don’t want to spend this summer knitting socks to a deadline! I gather he was envious of the handwoven silk/wool scarf I sent K last Christmas. He would like a scarf of his own, and I’d like to knit one for him (weaving comes later, when I’m better at it). ‘Forbes Forest’ is a possibility, but it will require time and thought and there’s something about ‘Interlocking Balloons‘. I just can’t stop looking at it. But can I find a yarn? It seems to be a strange weight: 175yd/160m per 4oz/114g (why can’t they give a ‘standard’ stat, eg 70m/50g?) Lovely mix of merino, alpaca and silk: stretchy for the cables, soft, and a sheen to show off the stitches.

Rummaging through UK online suppliers found Debbie Bliss Baby Alpaca Silk, but no merino/alpaca/silk blend in a single colour or very subtle blend that won’t overwhelm the pattern. The Alpaca/Silk is very nearly the right weight, but it doesn’t get a particularly good review on Wiseneedle. In theory I could order something from the US, although the three weeks or more it would take to arrive would force some frenzied knitting to finish scarf and a top for me by the end of July[1]. The original yarn is available, but they haven’t replied to my email asking if they’ll ship to the UK. It seems that for a while they stopped making the yarn. I suspect some knitwear designers write patterns for ‘that wonderful yarn they found on holiday’ without considering whether or not anyone trying to knit the pattern will be able to find a substitute, let alone the original. I understand why, but it’s frustrating, especially when most patterns are written in the US for US yarns and I’m over here in the UK… anyway. I can find thinner yarn, pure alpaca at c. 100m/50g, but that would make the scarf thinner and it’s only 9″ wide to start with, and it wouldn’t have the weight/sheen of the silk fraction. And of course there are thicker yarns, but I want to make an elegant scarf, something that flows rather than smothers. Bother.

(time and digital information flow)

Now that’s interesting. I haven’t found that before. The average weight is right, and… oh, that’s pretty. The person whose URL I gave for the scarf knitted it in an alpaca/silk blend and seems very happy with the results. Handspun would presumably be a bit looser… now, that does look nice. The DB alpaca/silk was said to shed and pill, and this could be worse, being handspun, but… oh, look, that one’s lovely. I suppose that if it didn’t work for the scarf I could make a different scarf… even garter stitch would look elegant in *that*.

I was so certain I wasn’t going to buy any more yarn this month, but this is an emergency, right?

[1] The sea silk hasn’t arrived yet so I’ve just cast on for the Shell Tank from Knitting Nature.

As a child in western Canada ‘rose’ could have been one of two things. Given that the references in literature were to things in gardens, it seemed likely that ‘rose’ was the leggy, spined hybrid teas that sprouted in regimental lines in the parched soil lining our neighbour’s paths. Blooms too big for their stems, in strident pink, orange, red or combinations of all three, leaves yellowing in the hot dry summer sun. I couldn’t understand why anyone would bother to grow them, let alone write paeans to praise that insignificant scent. The alternative was our provincial flower, the wild rose, which lined the roadsides and trapped our clothing when we played in the woods. It was so abundant that we scarcely noticed it or the faint scent of its fragile pale pink blooms unless by chance we found a corner where sun and wind conspired to concentrate and trap the perfume until it became something that could almost leave you drunken with pleasure. The scent of wild roses, sweet clover and dust from roads or wheatfields… all bring back my childhood.

We arrived in the UK and I continued to see no reason for roses. My first garden was a tiny blank canvas (the previous owner, a Sicilian, had grown nothing but courgettes and one giant grapevine) on which I painted a lawn, pond, hostas (oh, happy slugs) and an assortment of herbaceous perennials. No roses. Everyone else had hybrid teas: why bother? Until, desperate to entertain the in-laws, we visited the Royal National Rose Garden in St Albans – and I realised what a rose was. Now roses are what I have in our garden. It’s a small garden by North American standards, about 30′ square, and some of that is patio and some is vegetable patch. There are roses everywhere else, and at this time of year when the (hated) privet hedge, house and fence trap summer in the garden, the scent is heavenly.

Albertine (above) was one of the first to arrive and now, 18 years old, it usually covers the front of the house in salmon-pink and vicious thorns. The smell fills the house and drifts of petals block the front door. It’s still a bit sparse this year after being cut to the bone two years ago.

Mme Hardy (above left) is my favourite, white with a green eye. Beside that (as in life) is Teasing Georgia, a modern David Austin rose. Not with the strong, sweet perfume of the true old roses, but as it and the next two, Ludlow Castle and Pegasus (shades of yellow and cream, not illustrated) flower all summer, I’m not complaining. Much.

In another bed is William Lobb. Look hard and you’ll see the resinous ‘moss’ that gives the ‘moss roses’ their name covering the flower buds. Next to that (below, in this case) is ‘Mary Rose’, an Austin with an old rose perfume, but not repeat-flowering. Shown here with Mrs Kendall Clark (the geranium, silly).
There are more that I haven’t photographed. Guinee, with deepest dark red blooms and an amazing perfume is persevering up the fence despite hot sun and competition from tree roots. Two more whose names escape me are running riot through the field maple and the pear tree, with a honeysuckle in hot pursuit. And then there’s Maiden’s Blush growing from an old plant up and out through that privet hedge. Passers-by who catch the merest hint of that scent pivot on their heels and bury their noses in the pale rose-pink blooms. Last summer the roses were also fabulous. At their peak I spent an entire morning harvesting blossoms, snipping away the white at the base of the petals before following an Elizabethan recipe to make rose-petal conserve. The petals of 80 flowers (I counted) and sugar metamorphosed from something that looked like wet dishrags (but smelt divine) to 4 tiny pots of amethyst that when, opened, released the essence of my summer garden on the bleakest of winter days. I will make it again, but not this year.