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The cold snap is coming and with our house at 62F during the day, I think I'd better finish these up so I can keep typing:
It shouldn't be long now, but I expect it will be spring before I do the embroidery that Kristin included in the original pattern.
Tomorrow I'll be getting around to the promised expose of my unblogged knitting -- there's a lot of it -- today was just too icky to take all those pictures.
Even with all my reading, I've been making some progress on my WIPs, at least the one's I've been upfront about.
Banff is on sleeve island where I'm enjoying little umbrella drinks no end. I'm thinking this will be ready to wear at Thanksgiving, though a bit on the informal side even for my casual living family. Heck, who cares, I'll wear it anyway.
I'd also show you an updated picture of my KSH Victorian Lace Rectangle, but it's in time out. I was ready to execute the first corner of the border and made a nearly fatal mistake -- I carried it around with me. Since the border knitting is on DPNs, it was to be expected that they would slide out and I would lose my stitches. Since I'm knitting this in Kidsilk Night frogging it to get everything back in shape is a nightmare. I'd say it's even more of a nightmare given the little bit of lurex that is used to create the sparkle. I'm hopeful that a dedicated hour tomorrow will put things back on track...
If you're keeping track, no I didn't finish it in time for E to wear to a bar mitzvah -- she was philosophical about the situation and a substitute was procured to insure she violated now religious prescriptions or social boundaries.
As to expectations on due dates, just pretend there's the same amount of certainty attached to this project as there is to furniture delivery dates.
I've often asked my mother if she would like to travel -- to London, Paris, Rome -- since she's rarely been out of the country. I've always assumed she must want to see the sights she's read so much about since she was a little girl, but she's been adamant that she'd rather not. I still have hopes of dragging her at least to London and other parts of England, but as I've begun my own migration from a lifetime of devouring books, reading them for plot and excitement and escape, towards a more conscious reception of the relationships between literature and life, it's clear that she doesn't need to move far afield to live a life rich in understanding and experience, her love of books has given her that and more. It's been there in front of my eyes for the past forty years and more, I've just been in too much of a hurry to notice.
It's disconcerting to admit that it's only in my fifth decade that I've started to read descriptions, savor sentences, perceive referential quotes and begin to see, understand, and even relish the use of symbols as added sources of power and meaning. Sadly, it is only now that I can abstract and use fiction as a way to think about life, morality, and love -- beyond the sheer momentum of the narrative at hand. It is humbling to discover that others were far quicker to make these leaps, but gratifying that they are willing to share their insights and wisdom with us laggards.
For the past several days I've been quickly moving through, with a clear intention of returning for a more leisurely reading, the first of several books, purchased during my most recent Amazon.com rampage, by Michael Dirda, a staff writer for The Washington Post Book World. Here is someone who has taken his lifelong love of books as a starting point for how to live and how to act in realms that transcend text, all while maintaining a wicked sense of humor. He has read the books I have and has insights that confirm and build upon my own thoughts. What is more fun is that he has read many things that I have not and discusses them, using frequent and apt quotations that make we want to drop everything and spend my days catching up.
It the great joys of reading books about books -- the interests and enthusiasm of other avid readers broaden my horizons and make me crave more: more time to read, more time to explore, more of the world outside of my own limited existence.
If you haven't already, go look for the compendiums by Nancy Pearl (Book Lust, More Book Lust, Book Crush) for a guide to reading that will take you beyond the tried and true stalwarts of the bestseller lists and popular paperbacks. I also recommend Jane Smiley's 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel, with it's wealth of hints on how to write and her perspective on one hundred novels from the earliest explorations of the form to recent award winners.
Then there's my current favorite, Francine Prose's Reading Like a Writer, a book that makes you excited about trying to create a perfect sentence, a profound paragraph, a great character. It's because she quoted the opening paragraph of Dicken's Dombey and Sons that I am curling up on the couch, when I'm not writing or knitting, and luxuriating in a world of strange and humorous characters, fabulous plot turns and perceptive social criticism. Dickens is perfect for late fall reading, after all who else could write:
"Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great arm-chair by the beside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket bedstead, carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire and close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin, and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new."
A book that begins by comparing a baby to a muffin demands to be read.
And Mom, we are going to London, even if I have to kidnap you to do it. There are some things that cry out to be seen, even if you've already visited in your mind's eye.
I'm not much of a cat blogger. I love my fuzz machines, I really do, but they're here for me to talk to, not for me to tell the world about. My cats are not smart, they're furry, they purr and do stupid things that amuse me. If you are looking for a blog to provide kitty porn, there are some great ones out there, just not this one.
Except today.
Today, for the first time, I witnessed the desperation of these poor souls as their routine was shattered by the artificial constructs of humanity. As 4pm rolled around, the noise level in the house rose to new heights. Every motion I made was closely followed. Any movement towards the food closet was tracked with intensity and passion. Yes, dinner was expected not one, but two hours earlier than normal.
I admit, this is an overstatement, these little feline vacuums start to beg for meals at least an hour ahead of time. When their body clocks told them it was 5pm, they were in my face -- literally. I didn't get the camera out in time to catch both of them at it, but there was a period of time I couldn't see the computer screen to write or to catch up on Ravelry activity. How dare they block my access to the internet?
See what I mean:
It's not like he stayed there either, no, every few minutes he would get up, stretch in front of the screen, meow and movw the other side:
Don't forget, he had a partner in crime who was also lurking about and doing things like jumping at birds through the window behind the monitor.
Is it any wonder that I caved by 5:15 pm? I'm hoping to hold out until 5:30 pm tomorrow. Dear god, help me and give me strength to knit through the pain.
I just spoke to a friend that I haven't called in over a year. Stress turned me into a hermit and I let my social connections turn to mush -- like my muscles. I haven't been completely sealed away, but I've done a lousy job of keeping up with folks I don't see on a regular basis, or who live more than ten minutes away. My energy was so limited when I was working that I couldn't make the extra effort to stay in touch while also trying to get the laundry done. Slowly, very slowly, I'm beginning to reach out more and take on "fun" things without feeling as if it would rob me of needed weekend recovery time.
Even today was a change. It wasn't a struggle to get in the car and drive to the far reaches of rural Delaware to take a chance on an unknown event. It was a lovely cool fall day, and with the advantage of an extra hour of sleep we were in the car by 8:30 am and off to the local Starbucks -- a family road trip tradition -- with a minimum of fuss and protest. By 10:30 we were in the gates and parked in a corn field looking at strange contraptions pointing skyward in the distance.
We missed the trebuchet portion of the competition, but we got to see some machines that used high speed whirling wheels to launch the pumpkins, and most of the air powered cannons. It took us a while to figure out how to see the pumpkins after they were launched. Looking directly at the end of the cannon all you would see was a puff of smoke.
The trick turned out to be focusing on a point several degrees in front of the barrel rather than right at the end of the cannon. We didn't get any photos of flying pumpkins, but I have to say, I was impressed at the speed, distance and noise that these teams achieved. It obviously takes an enormous amount of time and money to fling a pumpkin more than a 1/2 mile.
You might want to question why people choose to invest this level of time and energy into something that seems so fruitless (vegetable-full, but fruitless nonetheless), however, as a knitter with more yarn and projects than I will be able to knit in any reasonable amount of time*, it's probably better to assume that these folks have reasons.
Frankly though, I think a few pairs of mittens, several dozen socks and a bunch of sweaters have more lasting value than smashed pumpkins, but I could be wrong.
*I refuse to admit that I have no chance of knitting my stash in my lifetime.
It's not often that I get asked for a pattern for something I knit, probably because I mostly knit other people's patterns rather than my own. My bursts of creativity seem to be most successful when I riff off of someone else's breakthrough and make incremental alterations to make it my own adapting the sizing, neckline, color, etc to suit me. Over the years on occasion I've broken out of this mold and struck out in my own direction, but only tentatively. I've "designed" a number of sweaters for myself, but nothing beyond adding a texture pattern or band of colorwork to a basic shape. I seem to be most comfortable with trying out spur of the moment ideas with socks -- the stakes aren't quite as high.
Trying out new stitch patterns or construction techniques seem less daunting when the finished product it so small. Let's just ignore the fact that a pair of socks can take as long as some sweaters to actually knit and go with the small is better idea here.
Given my limited output of "original" work, I was as pleased as punch when I saw that Tapmouse had commented on my Bleeding Heart Socks and even asked that I share the pattern. I'm more than happy to pass along what I did in recipe format (I'm too lazy to bother writing it as a full pattern). Here goes:
Round 1: K4, P3
Round 2: *Twist 1 right, K2, P3* repeat from * to end of round
Round 3: *K1, twist 1 right, K1, P3* repeat from * to end of round
Round 4: *K2, twist 1 right, P3* repeat from * to end of round
Round 5: *Twist 1 right, K2, P3* repeat from * to end of round
Round 6: *K1, twist 1 right, K1, P3* repeat from * to end of round
Round 7: *K2, twist 1 right, P3* repeat from * to end of round
Round 8-9: K4, P3
Leg
Cast on 56 stitches. Begin Twisted Rib Stitch pattern. Complete six repeats, ending after row 1.
Heel and Foot
I used a standard slipped stitch heel flap over 26 stitches so that I could start and end the instep with two purl stitches. When the flap seems long enough, turn the heel, pick up gusset stitches and then decrease to desired foot circumference on needles 1 and 4 every other row. Work instep in K4P3 rib beginning and ending with two purl stitches. Keep foot in stockinette. Continue until desired length before toe decreases. Kitchner toe stitches to complete sock.
I doubt that this stitch pattern is original, but it was original to me as I worked it out on the fly while on the train from Bergen to Oslo. If by chance I've impinged on any copy written material, just let me know and I'll credit the appropriate sources.
All-in-all, nothing exciting, but I liked the way they turned out and am glad you did too! If you make them, I'd like to see a picture.
After a massive slowdown in October, things are going to speed up around here. I've leapfrogged into the fast lane by signing up for both NaBloPoMO and NaNoWriMo. Yep, that's a blog post per day and a novel draft in a month. It's made me giddy with anticipation as it makes writing a game rather than a chore. I'm taking the same approach to blogging and noveling -- don't worry about it, keep moving, see what evolves.
The big question is: will there be time for knitting while I spin out sentences? Given my lack of notable milestones after the first flurry of finishing at the beginning of October, I'm going to focus on finishing my Friday Harbor socks (one down in STR Mediumweight in Monsoon) and the Victorian Lace Rectangle (only the edging to finish by November 10th in time for the next Bar Mitzvah).
Then I'm going to try to make some room in the stash by whipping up some simple, bulky sweaters that will be great for sitting in a chilly house while writing.
Banff in Yorkshire Tweed Chunky in Flaming.
It's not my favorite type of knitting, but I think the groaning of the floor upstairs has finally convinced me that I need to lighten the load in the main stash closet. And, if I'm forced to admit it, while I prefer small needles, lots of colors and interesting constructions, I love wearing oversize, sloppy sweaters -- they make me feel happy and cozy. So there you have it. I'd better stop now, I want to make sure I have something to say tomorrow.
P.S. Here's a promise to Marina: I will finish Rona in December.
