Moth Heaven

But First . . .

You were waiting, I just know, to see the things I bought at New Hampshire Sheep and Wool.  But first, I have something important to share with you.

This is Sue.

Sometimes Sue comes to knitting with Terry.  When she comes to knitting, she is wildly and enthusiastically greeted by everyone there.  It's contagious: the wild and enthusiastic tribal greeting, the beating of the fists against the table tops, the frenzied stamping of the feet, the throwing of half-knit socks in honorific Huzzahs.  The newbies catch on pretty quick because it just looks like so much yarn-a-rific fun.  They have no idea why we are doing it, but they know it has something to do with the arrival of Sue.

Sue is a good knitter.  She is not a prolific one, nor a terribly brave one, but she gamely casts on after much evaluation and consultation for a new project and gets on with it, and sometimes even finishes it.  But Sue has not much faith in herself as a knitter, so she hasn't been carried away by the love of the wool, quite yet.  We think this might have something to do with Sue's remarkable devotion to the cleaning of her house.  According to Terry, Sue's counters are clutter free.  Her bathrooms are immaculate. I myself have never seen Sue with a hair out of place, and I'll bet you my full stash of Blue Moon that her toenails are polished as we speak.

Part of what we are doing when we whip off our t-shirts and freak out the children's librarian to welcome Sue to knitting is a dance of relief that we have not lost her to the Ajax fumes quite yet.  She still retains the human impulse to put the sponge down and trek out to join the gals for a night of making stuff.  And so we rejoice.

Last night, when Sue came to knitting, she had what I will call "an experience."  She was quite innocently pulling out of her bag a pair of all-but-for-one-thumb-finished Chalice Cable Handwarmers (ravelry link) which we are all knitting at the moment in Newburyport, even though it is May because they are the most delicious fingerless mitts ever, and the evenings can still be quite fresh you know.  I had mine-in-progress with me, just cast-on, but the cable had ever so briefly given me pause.  Foolish me: I never read the actual instructions.  I just expect to know these things.   So I leaned across the table and asked Sue if she could explain it to me.

She was aghast. Agog. Gobsmacked and stupefied.  Spotless Sue?  Asked for knitting help? You'd think she had never had the experience of helping out a fellow knitter the way she went on about it. Or maybe she hadn't.  Maybe it was her first time (hee hee).  Maybe. . . maybe . . . (bear with me now while I go out on a limb here) . . . Maybe it was the thing that was missing in her knitting life, the reaching across the table with a cable needle and a knowing hand to offer a befuddled fellow knitter?

Maybe those counters' clean days are numbered, baby.

NHS&W 2008: Linkfest

It's taken a few years of the surge from knit blogging popularity to wear off and return the New Hampshire Sheep and Wool Festival to the wonderfully diverse yet intimate celebration of fiber folk that it always has been.  This year was calmer, the frenzy faded, and the breathless glimpse of a recognized blogger not so much a celebrity sighting as it was disbelief that so much time has gone by since the last time I got to sit down and catch up in person. A recovery from the blog surge, perhaps, or then again, maybe there's some kind of economic indicator here, but let's not muse on that for too long, okay?

There was a meet-up in the form of a lunch potluck (I left my peanut noodles on the counter at home, of course).  Here there were familiar faces from far (Norma! Marcy!) and near (Stitchy! Maryse!) new friends in Noro (Amanda!) rarely seen (Grumperina Kathy!),

not near enough (Heather!),

and dearer than ever (Kim!).

The babies (Kellee's baby boy, now 10 months and ready to run, and WoolyBabe!) and a 6 year old young lady ready to spin? (Cate said Eleanor was shopping for silk!).

And then there was the Fleece to Shawl competition, featuring the winners from my most local spin group, Random Kelly, Betsy, Terry, Cheryl, and Vicki.

They interpreted A Starry Night, and called themselves -- get this -- the Gogh Goghs.  Points with the judges for creativity . . . worth it for the people's choice award: one Montedale fleece. There was a little talk about getting more teams from the Boston Blog Pool together for next year because, as Terry said "I thought I was right soft to say I would do this, but heck, this is fun!"  Actually, she didn't say right or heck, but you had to be there.
I didn't buy much, but I'll show you what I did get in my next post.

After All Your Good Advice

I fretted.  I asked your opinion.  I tried the i-cord.  I ripped it out.  I tried the garter stitch edging, with two rows, with four, with one.   Ripped them all.  I tried a rolling stockinette.  Ripped that too.  Sometimes a knitter just has to listent to the fabric and let it do what it wants to do, personal sartorial preferences aside.  So a v-neck it is. Which I remember that you said you liked before I plowed ahead anyway.  So maybe I should listen to you more from now on.  I promise.

When Knitting Attacks

It's an innocent enough thing, casting on a project to be kept in the car for those ten minute long stretches waiting for children outside of school or during their bouzouki lesson.   Lace to make it interesting, colours to make your mouth water, and the promise of beads for the fringe at the end of it all to drive you forward.

Then the knitting on the side, with the promise of beads at the end, becomes the knitting in the main, because of, well, you know.  The beads.

I couldn't wait to string these little jewels onto the fringies, so the scarf took on a finishing energy I was powerless to resist.  And voila: scarf.

Crest of the Wave scarf kit in Tashi Purple Finch from Judy of Ball and Skein.  Carnelian and glass beads from the stash. 

Knitting Dorks in Montreal

Clearly Kate has not had enough with the house guests, and is entertaining Ysolda this week, but I am still smiling about my little visit a whole week ago (time sure flies when you have a house to clean) when Kate's bff Irene and I descended upon her fold-out couch and limited power outlets. It's true, we bypassed the bagels, but Irene lives in New York and I have Abraham's in Newburyport.  I grew up in the Maritimes, so I am aware of the national reputation that Montreal bagels have in Canada, but the bagels, they are not so unusual south of the 49th parallel.  They are as common as squirrels here in New England, and usually respectable if not excellent.  It was the croissant that we gorged upon instead.  So forgive me my carb preferences. 
As an aside: I had a high school friend in New Brunswick, son of the local construction mogul, whose much older brother flew a helicopter since he had lost his car license for too many DUI's (seriously).  The family regularly flew up to Montreal for their Canadiens season's tickets, and often there would be bagels dropped off around the neighborhood when they returned, much like in the days before the Napoleonic donut wars, I used to deliver Krispy Kreme donuts to my Yankee friends after my family visits in South Carolina. These are the kind of little things that people remember at your funeral, you know?  But anyway . . .

When you stuff three knitting dorks in a small apartment, before too long you get crumbs, yarn, empty wine bottles and mumbling husbands.  So the knitting dorks went out to  . . .  the yarn store, natch.  Ariadne Knits in St. Henri, a stone's throw from the Atwater Market, and a jewel of a shop: colourful yarns, cute knit critters everywhere, Ozark Mountain Handspun (a first sighting for me, dear chums), two huge chintz couches, and a bottomless teapot. Not to mention croissant on the Sunday morning we were there, and a wheel that Molly Anne was checking out, having spun her first yarn ever the day before. What more could a whack of knitting dorks want more?  Except to hang out with other knitters, who filed in and out all day, including Mona Schmidt (designer of the Embossed Leaves socks Ravelry link), and the good humour of yarn store owners hostesses Molly Anne and Mary.  They know how to make a foreign knit dork feel at home.

It was a long and delightful day on the couch, the one on the right, next to the fireplace, where the slant of the April afternoon sun warms the cushions, and the table is in just the right place for your cup.  If you settle there yourself and find it a bit lumpy, it's because there is now a permanent dent in the exact shape of my arse.