Moth Heaven

Punchy Sock Knitter Ahead Warning-post composed late Sunday night after Virginia Madsen lost the Oscar and I gave up on the whole mess once I realized that Chris Rock wasn't going to be funny, so anyway. . .

I have a question to ask of you. 
I have been asked to teach a class in sock knitting.
I am amused by this because it took me four years of college, two years and two Master's degrees, and seven years of doctoral study (no PhD) and untold thousands of dollars in tuition and lost income from what might have been at least a living wage to qualify me to drive to three different campuses a day to teach 18 year olds how to write a topic sentence.
Sock knitting I taught myself over much the same amount of time and it didn't cost me much and it didn't turn my guts to slurry.   

But I've never taken a class in sock knitting, and I have been working on the outline for a three hour class and I'm happy but a little nervous about .  I have a 24st top down sock pattern for worsted with a common heel and wedge toe drafted out and I've knit a few of them in under an hour so I trust that students can cover at least that ground in the time I have, plus I'll have my own collection to show some alternate heel and toe approaches, and a introduction to knitting on two circs at the end.  I think that should cover it for a beginning class.

You were so helpful back when my friend was planning the perfect yarn store (a rival beat her to it . . .long story . . . no yarn store) so here's the question.

What would you want to know about knitting socks that someone short of Nancy Bush or Lucy Neatby could teach you?  Am I leaving something essential out?  If you've never knit socks before, please speak up and tell me if that sounds like too much.  If you've taken a class to learn to knit socks, what can I avoid or what can I borrow from a good experience you had?  I have no problems teaching--that's what I do.  I'm just uncertain about the syllabus.  I welcome your advice.

And speaking of socks, my second Fritzy's approaches the end of the gusset.   These are about as close to perfect as any sock I've ever knit.  It's all because of the Mountain Colors Bearfoot.  It's the coziest sock yarn I've ever used, and the colours remind me of wild blueberry stains (I grew up in New Brunswick; wild blueberries were everywhere.  Believe me, I know blueberry stains).

Hey, confession is good for the soul (get it?soul/sole. . .).  I just hate knitting gussets.  They are boring.   They are more boring than picking up stitches for a v-neck cardigan.  Knitting a gusset is more boring than casting on 300 stitches for a Shetland sweater in-the-round.  Knitting a gusset is more boring than making an eyelash scarf for my Diva child's teacher because my Diva child insists it's the perfect Christmas gift even though my Diva child could knit it herself there isn't enough time left by the Monday before vacation when she finally remembered to ask me if I would, and there was a ball of eyelash in my stash, after all (yes, it's true, I do have that kind of stash, the kind of stash where it is possible--in spite of my railings against Muppet Pelt scarves now so popular that even Walmart sells them in the lingerie department--to find a ball of eyelash, in black). So if I ever finish this gusset, it will be only by force of will, or because the Oscars go on, as usual, past midnight. 

Mason Dixon Afghan Sewing Bee

You may have noticed that I have been sporting the Mason Dixon Afghan Sewing Bee logo in my left sidebar for a few months now, and here we are, a week away, and Kay did email me today to confirm that she is indeed going to make it here and bring the squares with her.  That's how certain she is that she can make it.  My little knitting community here in Newburyport is all a-tither about the occasion, and we're warming up our Chibis.  I have a few little suprises for the day, and I can't wait to meet the people I only know through this blog who have said they were coming.  If you think you might like to swing by, email me and I'll send you directions.

Meanwhile, now that I've tucked the new fiber away (who am I kidding; the stuff's still all over the living room.  I still have yarn hanging over the office door like a drying beach towel from the last time I bought stuff) I can share some of my actual knitting news.  Behold, a completed object!:

Noro Blossom Vest in a nice basketweave pattern that really shows off the yarn, from Noro Book volume 15.  I cast on for this last April, and finally started the left front last week, sewed the buttons on last night.  Part of my problem with finishing this one was not so much that I ran out of yarn long before where I should have, but was that I could never find all of it. I guess I need a better filing system than just throwing finished pieces into plastic grocery bags. 

Possession(s) Part Deux

And now for the spinning materials.  Knitters, you may look away if you think the following salivations might inspire you to seek out a wheel.  For the sake of the diminishing space available to your stash, you might want to consider this your last warning.

This humble little pile is half of what I bought to spin.  The other half is at the bottom of today's entry.  Here, you can see all the creamy finesse of the pound of Blue-Faced Leicester from Indigo Moon Farm which I bought for the roving dying orgy I plan to have once I finish reading Deb Menz's book Color In Spinning (which I also picked up this weekend).  And those bullseyes of colour are 4 ounces each of Corriedale from Grafton Fibers, whose incredible booth was so looted by Sunday that Linda, the fiber artist who makes these batts so luscious that I have a hard time breaking them up to spin, Linda actually had time to sit down and spin some herself.  She and her husband also make the most desirable rare wood drop spindles, crochet hooks and knitting needles. 
They also had darling little drop spindle pendants for sale, (you can see them at Linda's blog here, about halfway down the page) but they were gone by the time I got there.  I did manage to snatch up another batt like this one but with some black in it, but it is currently waiting on my wheel to be navajo plied.
And that last little bag is Llama down.  There was quite a stir over Pygora goat and Llama down this weekend.  On Saturday morning, spinners found little baggies of llama down deposited in their baskets overnight, like some fiber Santa had been there, and we discovered the culprit: the guy in the felted cowboy hat, Lars Garrison of West Mountain Farm in Stamford, Vermont.  He was carrying a big bag of the stuff around later that day, handing out more to anyone who asked.  He'd break off a piece with a big smile and say "The first bit's free, but I warn you, that stuff is powerful."  He's right; I spun mine up that night and had to have more.  Lars was quite a presence all weekend, carrying about all manner of strange looking contraptions like electric spinners and something that looked like a medieval rack.  Should anyone say "what is that thing?" Lars would plop it down next to the inquisitor, and show them how to use it, and then leave them alone with it for about a half an hour.  Our own personal Candyman.

And finally, one of the two Indigo Moon's signature Brushstroke batts I came home with, made up of  50% Alpaca, 25% Merino, and 25% Silk.   On the left in all its feather heathery tea with milk creaminess are a couple of ounces of Icelandic lamb and silk from Frelsi Farm that I hope to spin into laceweight for an Orenberg lace scarf.  Icelandic doesn't want a lot of twist, so should I get it down to laceweight without a lot of twist, it will be a great leap forward for me, but the Icelandic is also very accomodating because of its nice long staple.  Yep, I'm nuts, but I had to think of a justification to buy this little pouf given that I had already so much colour screaming my name.  The insidious thing about spinning for me, all of you daring knitters who were foolish brave enough to continue reading in spite of my best advice, is that yarn has a limit: it's clear when you buy yarn what you might make form it.  But with fiber, it's not so clear.  Fiber is infinite, and the potential for stash overload is ever present.  I have no plans for any of this stuff except the vague notion that somehow it will all be spun by Rhinebeck, and I'll somehow have room for more by then. So take this as a moralists' tale, or follow me if you will, but don't say you weren't warned.

Possession(s)

Ooh, I could have stayed in that Gaspereau Fibers booth all weekend, chatting with Kate, fondling the fiber, but it would have quickly disappeared out from under my fingers.  I watched yarn and rovings evaporate quickly as people would arrive mesmerized from across the ballroom, with their arms outstretched, their fingers wriggling as they approached this jewel box,  and then quickly tuck handfuls under their arms, like chipmunks stuffing their cheeks for winter. 

I knew I had to act fast.

The siren call of handpainted silk and cashmere, sock yarn and mohair, generous skeins attractively priced proved overpowering to a room full of fiber addicts, and people fed themselves heartily.  Standing in the middle of the booth, I had the sensation of being at the wedding dress sale at Filene's Basement, or in the middle of a rugby scrum. 

So what did I escape with? (being six feet tall has its advantages).  In the photo on the right, my Fleece Artist haul includes a generous skein of Kid/ Silk 2 ply (almost 500 yards in this bundle) in mauve, amethyst and bronze colours, a 1000 yard skein of Kid Mohair in colours that are like oak leaves after the first hard frost, Merino Sock yarn in cobalt, olive, rust and purples, and a hank of Fleece Artists' Wavy Cashmere/silk Scarf, with the pattern printed right on the ball band. 

You can also see that I bought a pair of swing needles, made famous by Stephanie last summer upon her return from Cape Breton.  When I saw the tumbler full of these, I picked up a 6mm pair, raised them over my head and crowed "I am one with the Harlot."  The ladies of the booth laughed at what at first I took to be my eccentric behavior, but later discovered to not only be the glamour now associated with those needles because of Stephanie's endorsement but also because, apparently, this sort of thing happens in their shop all the time.  Women from far reaches of the globe wander into Gaspereau Valley Fibers, pick up the swing needles, shout "I am one with the Harlot" and walk out.

Arlo Guthrie is writing a song about it.

It may be hard to believe it after this contact high, but there were other things worth buying.  Next post, I'll tell you what else I bought, but you have to promise not to tell my husband.

 

Decisions, Decisions

I listened to Knitcast's interview with Wendy Johnson this morning.  What fun to hear the very vivid voice of Ms. Wendy, and to hear her knitting news.  Go check it out.

In Portland, this past weekend, I refurbished the stash, having been on a restricted acquisition program for much of the winter. 

An aside: People close to me laugh mockingly when I say that I have been on a Yarn Non-Buying Agreement, because they know.  They know that I've cheated.  They know that in January I bought 16 skeins of Brown Sheep in Prairie Fire to make a better attempt at St Kilda.  They know that in December I purchased sock yarn for a Christmas gift that I never cast on for, so there are two extra skeins of Bearfoot in my sock bin.  They know that but a few weeks ago while innocently accompanying a fellow knitter to Charlotte's Web in Exeter, NH, I snatched up the store's entire stock in a great colourway of Big Kureyon for no apparent reason.  They know that I am weak and they take great amusement at my expense.  Perhaps this is my highest calling.

One of the conference rooms at the Doubletree was dedicated to invited vendors, and I've hunted down as many of their links as I could find for you so that you can see a little of what I had to decide could make it home in my half of the back of Kathy's station wagon.

   Fleece Artist Kid Silk Two-Ply from the Gaspereau Valley Fibers booth

Circles from Jamaice Plain, MA
Frelsi Farm and Friend's Folly Farm
Gaspereau Valley Fibres from Wolfville, N.S., an irresistible inventory of Fleece Artist fibers manned by several great fiber facilitators, including the fabulous Fiber Fever Kate! (see happy picture of her here with no-longer-blogging Fireballhead Kim)
Grafton Fibers
Ibiwisi Alpacas
Indigo Moon
Lisa Lloyd Designs
Merlin Tree Spinning Wheels   
Portland Fiber Gallery
Sea Colors
The Sweater Workshop
Unique One from Camden, Maine
Wild Fibers Magazine
Yarns Down Under  from Deep River, CT

 Tomorrow, I'll show you what I bought.

A Weekend of Spinning

After a weekend indulging, I feel a little spaced-out.  There's much to share.  I wish that I had taken more photographs to show you many of the visual delights that were all too fleeting and always surpised me, like the row of Kate Gilbert sample hats hanging on the wall at Knit Wit, a darling little yarn shop on Congress Street in Portland, or some of the incredible sweaters being worn by all of the talented knitters, like the beautiful bronze and autumn coloured sweater of free-form triangles worn by the designer, named Ginger, who claimed that she never uses a pattern and never writes anything down, or a picture of the Doubletree Lobby lined with spinners at their wheels, or the back of the station wagon after Kathy and I had loaded it up with our overflowing luggage on Sunday afternoon.  I'll get some more sleep, unpack the camera, and get some links in order to give you a taste in the coming week.  If you're curious, Kim has a nice picture on her blog of the vendor room and one of me in all of my hotel-induced-sleeplessness and bleary-eyed fiber giddiness.  Go take a look.

Spin and Spa Fiber Retreat

Tomorrow I am going away for the weekend. This will be my first time away from the Wonder Boy since he was born three years ago.  I will be in Portland, Maine, at the Doubletree for the Spin And Spa Weekend hosted by the New England Textile Arts group, where I will do nothing all weekend but spin, knit, have a glass of wine, and maybe take a break for a little sleep.  It's a great big fiber slumber party, with regional vendors with mid-winter wares for sale, spinners and knitters tucked into every nook and cranny, and a Fashion Show on Saturday night after dinner.  It's free and open to all interested.  I have been waiting for this since the end of last year's event when I was indoctrinated into spinning.  I have been plotting all week, tossing things into my boat totes, changing my mind about which knitting gets to go, what spinning I might take even though the fabled Indigo Moon will be there as a vendor.  What spinning could possibly hold my interest when there are fresh Indigo Moon batts a checkbook away?  I may even take a little side trip on Saturday with RoseAnne (the Innkeeper for the Morrill Place Inn where our upcoming Afghan Sewing Bee will be held) and her daughter Kerstin, to Halcyon in Bath, where I have never ventured, believe it or not. 

If you live too far away to make it to Portland and you wish you could have a fiber retreat in February like me, know that the Spin and Spa was started three years ago by a couple of women who lamented that the big brand-name fiber events were always too expensive, decided that all they really needed was a critical mass of enthusiasts to check into the same hotel, and by word of mouth, got this going.  It's grown every year (and might be a mob scene this year--who knows?) and is wildly successful for the invited vendors and eagerly awaited by the members of the NETA yahoo group(see my sidebar for the link).  So for you gals out in Utah, you knitting grrrls in Los Angeles, you should get this going where you live.  It just takes a little organization.

So, see you Monday, when I will have much to report.

What's in a Comment?

Only 16 days before the final Sewing Bee for the Mason Dixon Afghan, right here North of Boston!  I can't wait!  Please email me if you want to come: I have a pizza delivery to plan! 

I am feeling better, thank you.  I am touched by the healing wishes and people's kind comments.  This blogging thing continues to make me smile because of all the regulars who check in on me and my knitting, and the little affections of our on-line community.  I like to think that I have new friends, some of whom I have even met in person, and I hope to meet others, someday soon (maybe this weekend? NETA girls?).  I've been thinking a little about the connections blogging has brought into my daily routine, and the compulsive behaviour I've developed around checking my bloglines account

(Did Sandy's mittens turn out?  Has Yarn Harlot posted yet?  Has Stitchy McYarnpants posted this week?)

And looking in my email for comments to a new post, or for returned comments from posts I've left for other bloggers. 
And here's the thing.  I'm not a particularly active comment leaver. I wish I had time to be more supportive and more responsive.  I am always amazed at Norma's range: it seems that no matter how far from my safe haven of the about 25 favorite knitblogs I wander, there's Norma, chiming in familiarly with a encouraging cheer for socks-in-progress out in San Diego or a sweater that has stalled somewhere in Cincinatti.  She is a model community member, the chairwoman of the Guild, were we to have one.
And meanwhile, I don't answer a lot of the comments left here.  I always answer questions, I try to discern if the commenter is truly wanting to hear back from me, but I don't write back for most of the pleasantries that make up the bulk of what people have to say, and I am okay with that.  I don't expect everyone for whom I leave a "Nice FO" comment to send me a "Thanks, Julia" back.  It would be a waste of their time, and really, that's just fine.  It's part of the whole commerce of our community, as I see it.  Give a little, get a little.  Finish something? have a bad day? get a lot.  The energy is in flow, and that's what I like.
Lately, I've been reading afar, looking into the new crop of knitbloggers and enjoying new voices, like Alice in Yarnland,  Feral Knitter and Winter Garden.  And there are a few others who I have run across, some experienced, somew new, and left thoughtful queries and comments for and have never heard from.  That's always surprising, when I care enough to chime in thoughtfully and get nothing in return.  It's a little hurtful.  So I want to take this moment to say to you, if you ever wrote to me meaningfully and I failed to reciprocate.  I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings just by being here, so please forgive me if I've seemed thoughtless or mean by ignoring your input.  I'm not mean.  I may be lazy, and perhaps a little selfish, but I'm not mean.
And by the way, I might not get any better at this.

 

Last Dispatch Before Unconsciousness

The first level of complex creative output to disappear as something begins to eat away at the outer defenses of my immune system: small-needle two-colour knitting with sticky Norwegian yarn.  So, no progress to report on the PS136 today.
The next level of complex creative output to disappear as something begins to make my eyes water and my hunger level drop to zero: small-needle knitting in-the-round with cables and seed stitch at the microscopic level.  So, no progress to report on the Fritzy's Socks.
The next level of creative ability to drop into oblivion as I feel like the only thing I want to do is sleep:
knitting altogether.  So, no progress to report even on the Noro Blossom vest, or the four corners hat.
Also gone are any impulses to clean up the kitchen, open the mail or even, for that matter, talk.
But post a Saturday entry to my blog?  That I seems to still hold some interest. 
Must. . . get. . .out. .  .a post befotre all abilithy to type disppapers.....

 

send cookies. . . .

Was Admiral Peary a Knitter?

I knit the last row of the floral border on PS136 yesterday, finished with the tropical rain forest part with all its exotic colours and syncopated stitch rhythms, leaving the  warm and intriguing equatorial regions with the last row of coral colour yarn, and now I'm into the temperate part of the sweater, the beige on beige pattern. This part will take me on what will soon become a monotonous journey north through the never ending landscape of beige on beige to the tundra, to the arctic circle.  Shoulders, here I come!

I am concerned about the colour of the oatmeal yarn for the little ginkgo leaf pattern that covers the rest of the body because in the book it has more of a appealing warm yellowish cast, and in reality the colour is kind of flat and chilly.  I was hoping that Hillesvag made a soft yellow that I could substitute, but by the looks of their colour card on-line (real-life colour cards are back-ordered) and the nice woman on the phone at Nordic Fiber Arts, their yellow comes in one flavour: loud.  So trusting in Solveig, I am continuing on with the oatmeal colour and trying not to wish that it was a soft yellow.  Don't you even dare to suggest that I substitute some other yarn or that I try dyeing this one.  I'm not messing with that.  I'm terrified enough as it is of this sweater because someday, I'll have to get out the scissors and, well, you know that part is coming.  Let's not speak of it yet.

As an antidote to size 1 knitting, I dug this almost-finished object out of the pile, a vest in Noro Blossom that I started nine months ago and have but one half of the front left to go. Here's something you might not know if you've never knit with Blossom: it doesn't like to be ripped back.  It snags on itself and holds on like a spoiled child in a toy shop. I know this now because it took me several attempts to get the first twelve rows right (now I know why I put the thing down in disgust) before I relaxed back into it.  This knitting is on a size nine needle, and it's not the size difference that strikes me so, it's the Clover needles that fight me every stitch of the way.  I've grown accustomed to my addis in the last nine months, having been converted by the blog community, and the Clovers are a very different feel.  I may just donate the lot of my needles that aren't addis to the charter school.  Or I may have to strap them to the bottom of my boots as runners for when the sled dogs give out.