I’d welcome advice on a problem. It’s perhaps not the largest problem in the world (climate change, anyone?) but it’s haunted me for about 20 years.
Imagine those wavy lines that indicate the story is moving back in time, back to the late 1970s…
I had my first real job, living away from home for the first time in Jasper, Alberta (some of you are green with envy :-) for a summer. I hiked every free day, but there was nothing to do of an evening bar hit the bar (anyone else remember cocktail bars? Rusty Nail, Mmmmmm) and I was doing this to save money for tuition fees. The library allowed me to borrow *one book* per week. When I found myself reading the labels in my clothes I realised I had to find something else to occupy my mind: I decided to learn to knit. I bought a large quantity of what was then extremely expensive good cream acrylic (they had no wool), a pattern for a large and complex aran afghan, a pair of knitting needles, and a cable needle. My boss showed me how to cast on. The afghan was knitted in strips and sewn together. By the time I finished about a year later (my husband-to-be helped cut and knot the fringe) I knew how to knit and everything I’d learned was recorded in those strips, together with memories to cherish. I loved that afghan and displayed it proudly draped on the back of a chair/bed/sofa everywhere we lived. I love cats, too, and of course when we could, we acquired some. Siamese, they were, Aquila and Nyctea. Beautiful, intelligent, and Nyctea chewed wool. Some cats do this, but I didn’t know that until I caught her eating a sweater one day. A couple of days later it occurred to me that she might not distinguish between acrylic and wool by taste… you guessed it. I was heartbroken. After ascertaining that there were at least two holes, big ones, ragged ones, I stuffed it into a black plastic bag and didn’t look at it again.
The bag moved house with us, it travelled from closet to cupboard, and I couldn’t bear to look at it. Until about a fortnight ago. We’re really short of cupboard space in this house.

Dyson is such a soft-hearted cat. He wouldn’t dream of chewing wool; he’s just trying to cheer me up…
There are at least 6 holes. The largest is about 4″ long by 3″ wide. These are ragged-edged holes in aran stitches, cables and so forth. I can weave stockinette if I have to, but I can’t bear to think of the time I’d need to spend unravelling fringe to get yarn to spend even longer (aeons, it would feel like aeons) weaving that in pattern even if I could. So. What do I do with this? It’s big enough to cover a double bed. It hurts to look at it now; I remember my sorrow and anger at that cat, now long dead and still sorely missed. I plan to (eventually) knit something similar but different one day, so I don’t think I want to keep it. I could bin it, but what a waste… Someone, somewhere must need or want something like this. If Afghans for Afghans were operating in the UK I’d patch it properly, somehow, and donate it. Is there something similar here?

I put it down to admire the colours and the curve of the strap, left the room for five minutes and returned to…

I think that’s approval.

Bordi’s book includes patterns for moebius cat beds, and I did buy some wool (the purple) knowing I’d have to make at least one. Sooner than I’d planned, by the look of it!

A moebius bag, again from Cat Bordi’s book. (The colours are more accurate than in the detail below but I apologise for the photo fuzziness.) I really, really like it. Really. He says it’s a hippy bag, not because it rides happily on my hip, but as in suitable for flower children. I didn’t think I was one but, hey, if the bag fits…
The weather has turned cold and wet and I found myself working at the computer wearing the bag because it is comfortable. And comforting. The wide strap warms my chest and back and sits on my shoulder like the hand of a friend. The bag itself curls around my hip as though it was some sort of adhesive cat. It’s beautiful to look at, too. I chose the Manos del Uruguay wools online, and the ‘Citric’ I chose as an accent looked painfully bright In Real Life against the ‘Granite’. But I persevered, and indeed the felting process softened the contrast, possibly because the Granite shed a lot of brown dye. I know this because I tried to felt it by treading it in the shower (don’t try to picture that). It didn’t work, so I tied it in a pillowcase and put it and my Tevas (never miss the opportunity to try to get those clean) through the wash and first spin of a cotton cycle in our Dyson front loader.

The detail is intended to show that once again I’ve produced something that looks like a rock, and I love it. Geology Rules! Knitting, er, Rocks!

Anyone else thinking of felting Manos for the first time should note that ‘Manos del Uruguay felts beautifully’ means it felts at something approaching lightspeed in the wash. I panicked when I saw how small it had become, but it stretched. It had not choice but to stretch, what with my foot in the bag pushing while both hands pulled the strap… Another caution: do the i-cord edging very loosely indeed. I became increasingly tense as I convinced myself I would run out of Citric (no chance), which made the i-cord tense too. I had to Seriously Stretch it to make the strap lie flat. US size 11 needles got gauge and knitted according to the book I’ve got enough of both wools left to make a bigger bag/longer strap. Given the Dyson is the only washing machine I’ve got, next time I’ll make the strap a couple of inches longer, and I’ll use the rest of the everything to make the bag a bit bigger. Things learned in addition to relaxing the i-cord? I finished the bag using the ‘three needle’ bind/cast-off, which basically amounts to knitting the seam. It’s brilliant. I love it, and I want to work out how to do that to shoulder seams even if it means learning short-row shoulder shaping: so much tidier/easier/less hassle than sewing. I kitchenered/grafted the i-cord and couldn’t see the join even before felting, which was extremely satisfying (is that sad?). I have to get some more Manos ASAP: I have to make more fuzzy, friendly bags.

My husband’s away so after reading Dawn’s comment on my previous post there was no one to remind me of time passing as I tried to remember where I’d seen a (relatively) simple explanation of short row shaping for those who have, er, bosoms. It wasn’t much past 11pm that I found this at Knitty. I need it because I made this resolution, see, and she’s called me on it :-)
Let me explain in more detail, first warning any males reading that the following paragraph might contain Too Much Information. Skip down to the one with the picture.

Cast your mind back to last Friday, when after several years (when did they screen that TV program on the designers who tried to invent a more comfortable and effective bra?) I decided to (hang the expense) visit Rigby & Peller in Conduit Street (London) and find out my bra size. A nice lady at a John Lewis store once told me I was a 36D, which was larger than I wanted anyway so for years I’ve disregarded this nagging feeling that it didn’t fit. The nice lady at R&P was appalled. Horrified. Turns out I’m (gulp) a 32F. Let me make clear that any bust is a damned nuisance as far as I’m concerned. Perhaps this view is influenced by bust size, as most females with what I regard as appropriate, er, figures feel they’re under-endowed. But most of them aren’t trying to do the full mat in Pilates.

Anyway. This information, combined with my new-found interest in clothes that actually fit instead of the XL t-shirts I’ve hidden in for decades (Pilates and the gym pays off in the end), explains why those XL shirts hang like tents in what is (as the R&P lady said and my friend the costume maker has pointed out time and again) a really unflattering way. SO. I’m going to try to make a t-shirt that fits. Here you see some Colinette Enigma and Mercury in the shade ‘Venezia’, (which has slightly more red and yellow in it than I’d like, but we’ll see what happens when it becomes fabric) and the pattern ‘Cadiz’ (worn by a model who really needs to do something about her attitude. And her shoulders. I can hear my Pilates instructor from here…). Raglan sleeves, which apparently flatter the fuller figure (why? how?). The fit seems comfortably loose. Now, I can’t get my head around the idea of knitting a size 32 and using short row shaping to make it fit over the bust. That would be far too much, too soon, and besides which (below which?) I have hips. So, what to do? My tape measure tells me the actual, er, circumference is 38″. The pattern says a 36 is 37.5″ at the underarm, and there is some narrowing between the hips and that point. A 34 is 35.5″ at the underarm… but I bet the hem is too small for my hips. OK. Gauge is 14st/4″. *WHEN I get gauge* the 34 would be 134 stitches around the hem, which gives 38″. My hips in jeans are 41″. 38 would stretch, but I hate tight hems and I think they’re unflattering, and I’m a bit frightened by the thought of a really fitted top. 36 would be 40.5″ at the hips, which is much better. I go with the 36. Knitted on circulars, TWO circulars if necessary so I can try it when I get to the region in which I’d do short row shaping for the bust and see if it’s necessary. Perhaps I’ll want to make more decreases before I get there, too? The Knitty article makes it look relatively straightforward (I’ll practice one with some waste yarn on the weekend). I CAN do this. You can do this (probably better than me. If so, and you have some advice I’d love to hear it!). It just means a bit of planning in advance, a little thought instead of just falling in love with some yarn and/or a pattern and going for it. And, probably, the willingness to sacrifice an hour’s worth of knitting if I have to frog back to get something that fits. It’s not the end of the world, practice makes perfect, and all that.

The other things that happened on Friday made it a perfect day. It was sunny, for one thing. By sheer good fortune we saw most of The Sultan’s Elephant, the most astonishing, marvellous bit of street theatre. We were there when they opened the rocket to reveal a 5m marionette that walked! (suspended from a tractor, worked by a crew of about 30, all in red velvet jackets and breeches and accompanied by a live band) to Horse Guards Parade where she encountered a 15m? elephant animated by hydraulics and yet more people clad in red velvet. It was utterly, completely fabulous. I’ll post photos (sadly only from our mobiles) when I can access them. And THEN, having decided to stay in town for dinner, we found Ten Ten Tai which is a ‘real’ Japanese restaurant with real food including gyoza (which is Korean, and delicious). Bliss, sheer bliss. Bar the blisters — I shouldn’t have worn those Birkenstock sandals, but never mind.

At least that’s what it felt like. Three or four warm, sunny days and now we’re back to damp and gloom. I do have tangible, er, painful proof that I saw the sun: no work done, lack of blog, sunburned shoulders, and a ‘green bin’ (compostable waste) full of the cleavers aka goosegrass that would otherwise be smothering one of the borders. There’s more of it running rampant in two other beds, but I can’t see them from here so that’s ok. I did finish the next moebius cowl. ‘Mineral’ is very apt for the colourway. The plant nestled in the ‘rock’ is Sweet Woodruff. It’s a relatively desirable relative of that blasted cleavers, which is spreading nicely to provide ground cover. The flowers smell lovely; according to Grigson (The Englishman’s Flora) the entire plant smells of sweet hay when dried and was traditionally used to strew floors, stuff mattresses and scent linen. I want to know how they managed to dry it in a traditional English spring!

Within minutes of finishing the cowl I had cast on for The Second Felt, a summerweight moebius shoulderbag in Manos ‘Granite’ with ‘Citric’ stripes from A Second Treasury of Magical Knitting. Lovely wool. I had an accident on Amazon recently that included a copy of Alterknits. I feel even more compelled to knit the laced armwarmers now I’ve played with the Manos. It’s very soft. I also like the scarves that lace together to become a wrap. I haven’t cabled for a decade or more, and the urge is growing stronger every day. There’s a lovely top with velvet edging, too. I’ve already bought the Jaeger Trinity to make the Modern Bustier although I’m not sure why I want one — I don’t wear tops ‘like that’, or at least I haven’t done so in the past. Perhaps 4 years of Pilates and regular gym attendance (>6hrs/week) has finally convinced me I’m not fat. A friend whose fashion sense is admirable spent considerable time trying to work out why she thinks it’s ugly; I think it’s because it’s too big for the model, whose collarbones could serve as coatracks. I may summon the courage to change the pattern, though. The straps look too narrow and I think I’d prefer a slightly curved top.

I find my reluctance to consider altering knitting patterns interesting. I’ll gaily substitute ingredients in a recipe, even if I’m making it for the first time. I can be creative with pen&ink on paper, no problem. But I really, really want to blindly follow a knitting pattern even when I know the pattern as written might not fit me. I know how to assess possible problems, I understand the relationship between stitch gauge and fabric produced, and am capable of doing the math to alter patterns. I’m just too scared to try it. Even yarn substitution makes me extremely nervous. So… I have resolved that I will devote the rest of this year to overcoming my fear. For example, the bustier has to fit. The curve for the hips has to curve where my hips curve, not a couple of inches lower or higher. I have to think about this and even take measurements before I start. It’s not rocket science, and it’s clearly not the end of the world if I have to rip back and do it again: the blogs I read prove that many people do so, time and again. I’ll just start a shawl at the same time, a refuge that requires blind obedience to a chart. Birch? I must be the last knitter with access to KSH who hasn’t done one…

Alas. And I should have been working today, but instead spent the morning knitting in the queue for folk festival tickets. More than once I had the pleasure of showing someone how to knit a moebius strip… yes, I’ve started another one, this time in Handmaiden Silk Spun (silk bouclé) in an elegant blend of brown, grey and black (Mineral). The cap sleeve top is on hold again as I try to decide whether something basically tube-shaped will fit me (definitely not straight tube-shaped, and not accustomed to tight-fitting clothes). The kit includes 750m of yarn so I should be able to make something a little more flowing!

Baking is as much an art or craft as knitting or weaving, and it’s just as satisfying even if the results are short-lived except in memory. Weekday breakfast is eaten deep in the rut worn by the ratrace; weekend breakfasts are not just eaten, they’re enjoyed. Slowly, luxuriating in the pleasure of not having to race out of the house. Weekday breakfast is muesliandfruit; weekend breakfast is often home-baked bread or sweet rolls (made by hand, not in a machine). Carol Field’s The Italian Baker is one of my favourite bread books; the only problem in the Raisin Bread (Pane Tramvai) recipe is working in all the raisins: it calls for equal weights of raisins and flour — and then you *soak* the raisins! This is how risen dough and raisins compare in volume, and the first stage of adding them to the dough.

Roll up the raisin-covered dough and allow to rest before flattening it again and spreading with more raisins. Repeat as necessary. Bake according to the instructions, but keep an eye on the oven: the enriched dough means the loaves may brown more quickly than you expect.

The end result is two loaves like this, utterly glorious lightly toasted and spread with butter.

It’s raining fish! Some knitting, but not mine:
A beautiful long scarf knitted from fibres of the Giant Nettle Girardinia diversifolia that grows in Himalayan forests. Charities such as Transrural and The Mountain Institute are working with local people to build sustainable industries based on this crop. Melanie Venes (who teaches the loom weaving courses at Handweavers) has worked with people harvesting and weaving the fibres; as I recall, traditionally each village has 3 days to harvest what they can. The stems are left to dry and then threshed to separate the fibres from the rest; the fibres are then handspun into the yarn known as allo or alloo sold by some specialist yarn suppliers including Handweavers. Some items are knitted locally as well; this scarf was purchased from the Hemp Store stall in Cambridge market square on the promise that it’s a fairtrade item knitted on the slopes of the Himalayas. The yarn is usually unevenly spun and feels coarse and unpromising, so suppliers recommended uses include shopping bags and such. But I’ve had the pleasure of handling a well-worn and washed lace shawl knit from nettle fibre; it was as soft as you could wish. Like linen it’s not only hard-wearing, but softens with use. I look forward to cherishing this scarf (I called the pattern ‘Raining Fish’ when I saw it hanging in the stall) until it’s as soft as merino, and while I do so I’ll think of the people who made it so many thousands of miles away. Here’s a detail to show more of the thread thickness:

Sorry for the delay in posting all this; Blogger was objecting to the photos yesterday!

I tried to post yesterday but Blogger stopped talking to me when I tried to upload this photo. Is someone trying to tell me something? It can’t be a complaint about the Moebius cowl because *that* is lovely. I didn’t want to take it off, it curls around my neck like a warm cat — the only thing missing is a purr. And I think my cunning plan worked: just look at how much yarn is left over. If anyone else wants to know: I used 66yds of yarn for the lace edge (I did 8 rows/4 pattern repeats instead of the 3 repeats in the pattern because I liked the look of it) and the edge. Next time I make one — and there will be a next time — I’ll measure 66yds as a separate ball and Just Knit the rest. I could make it slightly smaller in diameter, too.

And as you can see the refurbishing is finished. The heddles slide smoothly on shafts like silk, and every dent in the reed has been polished. I will never, ever buy a carbon steel reed. Ever. Stainless steel rules. And after several delays, long thoughtful pauses, a lot of cursing and some re-threading I have successfully put my first warp on by myself. Back to front because that doesn’t require help. I’ve only ever seen it done about 3 times and helped once, so I was actually surprise by how (relatively) easy it was. Thanks, Melanie! There is in fact some weaving on there, just enough to show that my weaving cunning plan may be working. The twill seems to be twilling as I hoped, although an error in the design (NOT the threading, I’ve checked every time I notice it) has led to a doubled pair of threads (one is on shaft 12 and one on shaft 1, if I recall correctly). I suppose I could just cut one out of the warp… have to think about that. The weft is not working quite as I hoped at the moment, but I’ve only just started sampling. I pulled out a skein of Touch Yarns laceweight in purple/grey/black that might look interesting behind the white silk warp. Although the strength of the contrast might kill the purple. Sample, sample, sample…

And finally, a swatch! I must have grown up, I’m actually taking time to do things properly. This is Handmaiden silk/wool on (well, off, really) 4mm needles. I made it long enough that I could block *half* of it so the swatch would record the difference for future reference or posterity, which ever comes first. I am going to knit the cap-sleeve top. Or try to knit it. Something about that photo makes me wonder if it will fit across real shoulders. But I read that top-down knitting allows me to test it as I go, and if it doesn’t work I might try to make a Picovili instead.

Technically I have two FOs. According to the patterns each is finished, but…
The hat was just about the right size when finished. Probably a loose fit, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The yarn felt a bit harsh so I decided to wash it to try to bring out the softness of the alpaca. Besides which I now understand these things should be washed when finished. So I ran a sink of just-off-cold water and some wool detergent, added the hat and IT GREW. It grew like the garden weeds are growing right now <your curse here>. It just took on water, turned flobby and expanded in size. Horrified, I rinsed it carefully, squeezed out the water and inspected the result: an immense hat. A huge hat, a hat suitable for, for a very large thing. Not quite the dome of St Pauls, but getting there. Argh. I rolled it up in a towel, squeezed out more moisture, shaped it tall & thin rather than short and wiiiiiiiiiide, then put it on a radiator to dry. When dry it was certainly softer, but it’s probably too big. I may give it to him anyway as a joke to laugh at while I try again.

The Fleece Artist cashmere moebius cowl is also technically finished. I even did extra rounds of every bit of the pattern (bar the binding off, which would have been tricky to do more than once) and I still have lots of lovely cashmere left. What to do? I decided this morning to do what I think is the right thing: frog it back to the stockinette&yarn over section in the middle and knit in the remaining yarn, then tie in the frogged length (in which I will cleverly tie slipknots to indicate roughly where each successive section should start. I may have lost the ‘start’ of the, er, moebius but I don’t think it matters if I have; I’ll just stick a marker where I stop frogging and start knitting again. I will try to remember to post information about how many extra rows were possible.

OK, there’s something else on the needles. Another set of needles. A conversation with a friend who has an elegantly semi-naked head revealed that yes, it does get cold (it was one of those conversations…). I measured it and said I’d knit him a hat one of these days. I like the look of the Seaman’s Cap. Saturday I was in what passes for a LYS around here, about 3m of wall space in a department store, and thought I’d look for some appropriate yarn. Ha. About a third of the display is Paton’s-style plain pastel superwash wools or synthetics for people much, much younger than my friend. The remaining space is Debbie Bliss, Jaeger and Rowan summer-weight yarns. I found a pigeon hole of Rowan Felted Tweed including some pretty heathered green/blue/white and stared at the label while I tried to work out whether I could use it. This was/is my first attempt at yarn substitution. The pattern calls for worsted at 20st/26 rows per 10cm. Felted Tweed does 22-24st/30-32 rows per 10 cm. After about 3 minutes my reasoning was spinning its wheels in the mud. Try looking at the weight: FT is 175m/50g; the cap calls for 200m/100gm. Near as dammit double. Right, I’ll knit it doubled — it’ll be on circulars, I knit tightly, and he’s got a big head (he said so himself) so I’ll use a larger needle size and hope. I bought two balls, started off and it’s looking very nice if a trifle thick (I’m telling myself it will wear well :-) Now, just past the halfway point I’m starting to worry that two balls won’t be enough. The shop is extremely unlikely to have any left if I go back — last time I tried that a full cubbyhole of alpaca/silk had disappeared in three days. The staff told me they can’t understand why all the yarn just flies out of the shop; I told them that knitting and crochet was back in style and they were the only yarn in town. They still looked puzzled.

Anyway, how to allay my concerns? Buy more yarn online? Nice idea, I like that, especially as ordering just one ball seems so sad. I’d have to get something else too. No, Get Thee Behind Me, Satan. I’ve gone from no stash (other than a bag of nice tabletweaving yarn) to three bags of very expensive stuff behind the chair. I feel secure but poor. It occurred to me that I could weigh the remaining yarn. I began with 100gm; if I’ve got 50gm left, I’m in the clear! 46gm is probably enough, especially as I’ve got quite a lot of my first long-tail (thumb) cast-on as well. I love that cast-on. Such a tidy edge. Oh, and I love my Denise needles, too. Even though I have a nasty habit (three times makes it a habit) of holding a needle with one hand while holding the knitted stuff and cable with the other, then pulling to shift the knitting on the needle. With sufficient twist in the pull to undo the connection. I WILL learn from experience.

Next time I hope to show the next FO. It’s a race: it might be the cap, or it might, it just might be my loom, fully warped and ready to go. I hadn’t realised what a pain it would be to warp and thread with such a wide castle. A pain in the back, literally. Three cheers for Pilates!

Thumbelina is finished. It’s shown flat for the moment, which suffices (in reality if not in RGB) to display the lovely colours of the Colinette Giotto in Jay. It fits well enough; the flaws are down to the design. As I suspected, there is something unusual about the intersection of sleeve, collar/side and back, but the flexibility of the yarn copes with it. It does drape beautifully. I will use it again, perhaps for a pullover — the combination of subtle rayon glitter and the design makes this cardigan too showy for everyday use. Now that I look at it again, I think the model’s pose in the Akashya book suggests there is something funny about the fit. The back wants to ride low, with the back/collar seam about 2-3″ below my shoulders, but if I pull it up properly it works. The back seems a trifle narrow, but blocking carefully stretched it a bit. I wish I’d bothered to research all these finishing techniques *decades* ago: it makes such a difference to the fit.

On the needles now is my first attempt at Cat Bordhi’s Moebius Cowl in Fleece Artist cashmere, a shade similar to Forest Midnight. It’s absolutely gorgeous, although the yarn is showing signs of wear after I had to frog the first two attempts; foolish of me to try to do — and count — my first MCO while watching a film after a half-bottle of wine. It’s sitting on a fetching camouflage Go-Knit pouch which is just big enough for the yarn, needles and pattern. I haven’t yet tried hanging it from my belt to knit while I walk; perhaps I should try it on the treadmill on Wednesday :-) The stitch marker is one of my own in silver and amber with one of Corina’s lampwork beads.

I miss Sana. She was A Cat Who Walked By Herself, not very sociable (and all places were the same to her, bar the gap on the highest bookshelf and the warm top of the TV). We tried not to impose on her. I hope, I fervently wish that she had all the attention she desired and no more than she wanted.