I’m losing the race to get stuff done, partly because the one thing I really don’t want to do (finish my accounts) is hanging around my head like some big black cloud obscuring my vision and distracting me from all the other stuff I want/need to do. The solution, of course, is to Just DO It. Which I will, as soon as I finish this.

I have finished some stuff. Because this is an honest record of what I did and how, here’s a photo of the Shell Tank on me, even though I REALLY don’t photograph well. I don’t look quite so like a weight-lifter In Real Life, and the volume at the sides is not me, it’s the wind catching the top. I just don’t know if there’s something I could or should have done to make it more flattering. The design seems to have to fall/flow freely from the shoulders/bust, and I definitely didn’t want it so tight that my curves distorted the lines of the stitches, as I think that would emphasise my shape. So, being a 38, I knitted the 40 1/2, which is clearly too big. I always make stuff too big. I think in this case the best thing would have been to listen to the inner voices telling me it wouldn’t suit, but the design of the thing intrigued me. I don’t regret making it, and may wear it — it’s very comfortable — but I think I will cherish the lessons I learned from it most of all.

I don’t like knitting cotton. With patience, mattress stitch seams can be fun and *perfect*. Grafting is fun (I grafted one shoulder and did a rather cool if I say so myself 3-needle bind-off on the other). Picking up stitches by hooking the new yarn between the stitches of the existing fabric gives a MUCH better result than picking up and knitting loops of the existing stitches, which is what I used to do. If I have to knit cotton, I must join the new yarn at the edge of the work, even if it means ripping back 3 stitches short of an entire row. I like cabling without a cable needle even more than cabling with a cable needle, which is an almost indecent amount of liking.

Another success: I think I’ve cracked the short-row heel.
This pair of socks has only three heels, and the above shows both sides of the third. It may not be clear from the photos, but they match and the holes are tiny! I finally realised that, as you work back up the line of wrapped stitches, the intention is to knit or purl the wrapped stitches in such a way that the bulk of the stitch is forced to the back/inside of the sock. The trick lies in picking up the wraps and the stitch in the right way. There are a lot of sites explaining this; the resource most helpful to me was an Interweave Knits subscriber-only download by Véronik Avery. In short, knit a wrapped stitch by inserting the righthand needle normally, but through both wraps* and the stitch itself, then knit these three together. To purl a wrapped stitch, begin by using the righthand needle to raise first one wrap and then the other from the BACK of the work (that’s the ‘right’ side of most socks) onto the lefthand needle. Then purl the two wraps and the stitch together. I have a lot of photos showing stages in this; if anyone thinks it helpful, I’ll post them. Turning the heels leaves me feeling as though I’m on the home straight (although I may go up a needle size somewhere near my calves), so I’ve bought the yarn for a pair of socktoken socks:
I hope she likes it (Lorna’s Laces in Bittersweet). On brief acquaintance I think the colours will suit both her appearance and her character. I have to think about a pattern; although I like both the multi-coloured socks I’ve made, I’m very aware that the yarn conceals the texture and vice versa. I want to try something different, something very simple that reveals the yarn. I recall seeing someone’s straight stockinette stitch with a spiralling pattern of YO and k2T, possibly with a picot top. That sounds about right.

The shawl for my sister is growing steadily if less rapidly now I’m on repeat 9 (of 12). It doesn’t look like much, but the foamy mess stretches to over 36″ across. I am exceedingly well-pleased with this so far: I like the way the unblocked shawl looks like seafoam, I like the weight of the fabric, I like the way the pattern and yarn are working together. I like the fact that there’s no way it can’t possibly require all the yarn I set aside for it, so I get to think of something to do with the rest.
That means the treebark (alpaca/silk) scarf is at the top of the pile of projects. Yesterday was cool enough to knit it, but the forecast is for a warm week — perhaps I can finish the shawl? Unless I’m distracted. Major likelihood of distraction here
Ages ago Joanne suggested learning to spin on a Bosworth. P&M Woolcraft didn’t have any Bosworths but it didn’t matter, as I couldn’t bring myself to put down the Kundert. Also pictured is some almost unbelievably soft Blue Face Leicester in natural (aka cheap) and toning colours, one blue and the other the same blue with yellows, orange, etc. I want to play with plying. I think this lot will almost certainly end up too pastel-pale for my liking, but I have to start somewhere. And the spindle wants to spin, I can feel it waiting. It’s very strange. It’s hand-turned wood, ‘organic’ in origin, and yet in my hand it feels like a precision engineering instrument. I put a leader on it and practised spinning it clockwise (for singles) and it just hangs there, spinning. Waiting. But dammit, I have to do the accounts.

* I do the double-wrap thing to close the dreaded gap: after working a wrapped stitch, I then put a second wrap around the next stitch on the lefthand needle, the stitch that I’ll be working when I come back that way.

I should have posted this yesterday, but I was working. So pretend this is yesterday and the exciting yarn-related stuff that happened today will appear later. Friday, er, today is hectic at the best of times because it’s preparation for the weekend. I do the weekly food run, I try to vacuum some of the house, clean the bits we’ll be seeing most of (the front room), that sort of thing. Plus cook a nice meal. Today I had to do all that plus get some help from the Geological Museum in Cambridge to identify a troublesome rock. This is a place I would normally go out of my way to AVOID on a busy day because geology eats my life even more effectively than yarn. I have spent hours staring thoughtfully at a rock face and today was no different. Perhaps it’s something about Deep Time: I lost two hours instead of what felt like 10 minutes wandering around mumbling ‘oooh’ and ‘aaaah’ under my breath. I mean, they’ve got a mobile shaped like a giant anglerfish with a tiny school of prey fish suspended in front of it in what should be a state of permanent funk. But they seemed pretty relaxed, just spinning in the breeze; perhaps they knew the anglerfish had holes in its flanks. I’d have taken a picture, but my phone camera is rubbish, as revealed by this shot of my socks. Note that this animal (Iguanodon) would not have been able to knit. Perhaps if it had it would have been able to survive the KT boundary extinction wearing warm sweaters. If plant fibres were warm enough. If enough plants survived. OK, it was just a stupid joke.

The following sequence of photos showing how I corrected an error in Kiri might be more useful.
First I work to a point to one side of the error, then take the stitches above the error off the needle and pin them out nicely on the (well-lit) arm of our couch. To the left you see the mistake (a); to the right the next repeat down (b) is correct. The line of stitches in ‘a’ should have begun growing out of the central ‘rib’ further down. I don’t know precisely what I did wrong (other than fail to pay attention to the work), but I’m going to try to correct it. So, what went wrong where? Comparing a and b, it seems that the base of the line of stitches should ‘grow out of’ the central rib in the gap just above the bottom-most red dash. Just compare the two bits of lace sitting in front of you stitch by stitch until you grasp the relationships. A crochet hook is useful to pull on threads to see where they come from/go to. The openwork to the left of the erroneous line are stitches and yarnovers; it’s useful to think about how the structure pinned on the couch relates to what I actually did: 1. yarnover (right side); 2. purl (wrong side); 3. slip, knit, psso (right side), where step 3 unites the yarnover with the line of stitches to its right. The error/gap may have been created by incorrectly bringing a stitch based on a yarnover into that line; the two above the gap seem to come into the line rather close together. So I’ll try bringing that stitch (the one currently in the gap between the 2nd and 3rd red dashes, counted from the bottom) into the next stitch down in the line. As it were. (This would be easier with more pictures. Maybe next time.)

Here I’ve carefully unravelled all the stitches that lead directly to the error. This includes some yarnovers, each pinned neatly at the point that the stitch from it was knitted into the line of stitches containing the mistake.

Using what I’ve learned about how the yarnover stitches are constructed and brought into the line, I’ve moved one down as discussed above. Now I’m just working my way back up the line of stitches, bringing the other yarnovers in to the line in turn. The end result is not perfect, but a bit of tweaking will improve the stitch spacing and blocking will make it even better. Now, another repeat into the pattern, I can’t find this repair myself.

I’ll explain that in due course :-)

First, I thought I’d show you why my sister deserves 1000m of Sea Silk. Some pre-wedding photos are up (scroll down to August 9). See?* And Jonathan deserves the alpaca/silk scarf. I’m enjoying the Kiri; it’s pleasantly almost mindless. I have to make some more stitch markers, though: if I don’t pay some attention I’ll have do a lot of this
and although I do in fact enjoy doing that, I’m now on the 5th repeat and I’m willing to bet it’s less fun the further down I have to rip. Lifeline? Might be worth doing.

I have been good this morning. Been to the gym and my duff knee was fine; sadly it is now objecting to kneeling to edge the path after cutting the grass (I can feel it heating as I sit here. I think I’ll ice it after I finish this, just on principle… hurrah, more knitting time!). Printed out what might be proofs for a leaflet. So I cut lunch short to work on the Shell Tank. Pick up 102 stitches from right front around back… OK. I counted first to see how many stitches already existed in the garment and depending on how many I fudge on the vertical bits (I grafted the shoulder!) it’s not far off 102 if I pick up every second stitch. So there I sat, muttering “Pointy UuP, pointy UuuuP, pointy UuuP” where ‘UuuP’ marks the crochet hook plunging into the next pointy-up stitch to pick up the yarn to go onto the needle. I’m glad no one was there to hear me except the Knitting Supervisor.

The Knitting Supervisor.

I’ve already done one ‘pick up and knit’ for the rib on the bottom of the right front. This was one of the details that enticed me to knit this: the shape of the right front makes the stitches run at an angle, and the ribbing comes off at a slightly different angle. I like that. I’m even happy with what I’ve achieved because the ribbing stitches (well, most of the stitches) seem to flow properly out of the stockinette. As Alice said, “Sometimes when we expect less we seem to end up with more”.

* Some of you may have noticed we don’t resemble each other. That’s because technically she’s my half-sister. But I’m so proud of her (she’s witty and funny as well as beautiful) that I claim closer kinship in the hope that something will rub off :-)

For me, a knitting project always has a promising start. The yarn sits there, immaculate balls (I don’t spin yet) alive with possibility. It could be almost anything, why not this? The needles gleam, and me? I can do it. After all, whatever it is, it’s only combinations of knit/purl/yarnover, repeat until done. I plunge enthusiastically into the work but alas, as it progresses, it NEVER meets my expectations. My tension varies through each session. Stitches ignore my disciplinarian nature. Some escape into thin air, or perhaps they were virtual stitches that only ever existed in my mind, never made it to the needles. A few succeed in breeding, resulting in more stitches than should have existed. Perhaps these are someone else’s missing stitches, or those I lost in a previous project. Inevitably at some points I misread the pattern, panic a bit, frog 20 rows, realise I’d done it right the first time and re-knit the rows with a distinct sense of self-loathing: how could I be so stupid again? As the knitting grows I become disheartened, resign myself to the fact that, whatever it is, it’s probably not going to look good when finished. Nothing like the picture. sorrowful sniffle. Clearly I’m not yet good enough to have attempted insert technique here.

I think this is part of the learning experience, or at least my learning experience. WHY on this earth (or any other) do I honestly expect to be able to produce something very nearly perfect the first time I try something? It never happens. I draw well, it’s one of the things I do to earn a living. People frequently say to me “Oh, I wish I could draw like you do” and my reply is always what I regard as unvarnished truth: “You can. You just have to practice, to acquire the skill”. I’ve been drawing since before I could read, and I learned to read before I was 5.

Anyway. The Shell Tank was at this stage don’t ask me to tell you about the frogging, because I won’t. I’m too embarrassed. I finished the last piece on Saturday evening, hung it off the long safety pin (I have this turnip cunning plan to graft the shoulder seams), and then just glared at the huddled mass of cotton cowering on the footstool. I had to do the ironing Sunday morning anyway, so I included the pieces, the pattern measurements and my trusty tape in the basket. Arrayed the first bit on the ironing board and… guess what? It was very nearly the right size even before blocking. A bit narrow, but then I know I knit tight. I cannot tell you how much that raised my spirits. I’m improving, I’m not completely incompetent.

And I’m half-convinced that the unruly stitches aren’t as noticeable as I thought they’d be. Definitely worth continuing; perhaps even my body shape will be less disastrous than I feared? :-)

And there’s more, too. Isn’t this pretty? Kiri in Ivory Sea Silk on Inox 3.75mm needles, just onto Chart 2. I have no idea whether I’m using the stitch markers properly (I’ve never used any before), but they do look decorative. I’m sure THIS time the end result will be perfect.

Friday was our 28th wedding anniversary. Objectively, it seems like A Very Long Time. Subjectively? I haven’t really noticed it passing (save the odd 10 minutes or so), despite this being more than half my life. The Anti-divorce wine* was discarded some years back with no ill effects, so we’ve decided to try for 56. Why Not? Alas, Dyson is not impressed.

Knitting occurred during the celebration. (We and the cats were the only ones invited to a lively evening spent watching Hayao Miyazaki‘s Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds. I prefer Spirited Away, myself.) The pink socks are noticeably longer now that I’ve stopped ripping back every evening to try to correct one particular cable. When he couldn’t spot the error, even when a prize was offered, I decided I could live with it. I want to get them finished as I have more socks to knit and, now that there’s a chill in the air, I want to try to turn that purple Cash Iroha into the elbow-length fingerless gloves in Alter Knits (or something similar). I’ve decided that the 1000m of Ivory Sea Silk will be a Kiri Shawl (thanks, Polly!) for my sister. Which means I really must finish that Shell Tank, which means I have to sit down and work out why, if I continue with my interpretation of the pattern, I’ll end up with 5 stitches fewer than it says I should. Taking time to do that will be my reward for doing some (paid-for) work this morning, so I’m off.

* This was, for us at that time, a very expensive bottle of wine bought during our first holiday in France. Far too expensive to drink, it became a (humorous) reason to stay married: we couldn’t afford another bottle, and it seemed likely that we’d be disinclined to be willing to share it if we were to split up. So we had to stay married so we could share it in the fullness of time. Clearly it lacked character capable of dealing with this weight of symbolism: when we finally decided to try it, it was undrinkable. So now we rely on the knowledge that no one else knows all the right jokes.

Warning: this isn’t about knitting. Or weaving. At least not directly.

I spent lunchtime sitting outside – it’s just warm enough – eating pecorino and tomatoes and balsamic vinegar, reading, ripping out an error in my pink socks and intermittently casting loving glances at my own tomatoes and the french beans, which might yet have more beans if I cherish them diligently. A slightly-better-than ordinary lunch, by my standards, but a far, far better lunch than a large proportion of the world’s population enjoys. Especially those whose lives have been torn to shreds by wars inspired by others with political axes to sharpen and temper in blood. It’s happening across the globe.

I now know more about the situation in Israel, Palestine and Lebanon, thanks to From Beirut to Jerusalem and Covering Islam, my ‘holiday reading’. The antics of Bush and Blair (With apologies to anyone who actually respects those rather dangerous clowns. You’re entitled to your opinions and I to mine.) are usually well covered in the media, and their primary motive – to retain power – is clear. And it occurred to me that the people who start these wars by covertly shifting money and arms while trumpeting their ethical and moral principles, who claim their scraps of mouldering parchment or ancient wrongs are worth more or hurt more than those of any other — they’ve forgotten, if they ever knew, just how precious our lives are. We have so little time, and there’s so much that we can do and see without hurting anyone. So many things that we can make and be remembered for instead of spending money and lives to gain and retain power for its own sake. Perhaps they’ve never found anything they want to do with their lives, other than pursue power. So. Let’s teach them to knit.

Let’s show them how an idea can grow to beauty in their own hands, requiring nothing but their own time and care. Let them learn from experience that skill increases over time, that the old men and women whose lives are cut short by bombs or starvation were more than ‘collateral damage’, they were human beings shaped by life and love, full of skills that will never now be passed to others. Let them realise what has been lost to the world with the lives of the children killed or maimed, mentally or physically, by childhoods spent in war zones. Take them to yarn shops, show them the tangible, fragile and lovely fruits of other people’s labours, the farmers, the spinners, the dyers, those who invented the machinery and chemicals to bring such wonders within reach of our hands. If they don’t want to knit, show them pencils, paints, paper, canvas. Give them hammers and chisels, wood and stone to make their ideas concrete, to stand alone in the world to be compared and evaluated against the world itself. Let them learn winemaking, brewing, the art of cooking. Perhaps they love music — show them how to make it, alone or in harmony with others.

But never, ever give them power.

Sorry about this, but sometimes… well. I have to say it, but you don’t have to read it.
Normal programming will resume shortly.

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?