Sam's Day

Hollyhocks, kumquats, and red dragon peppers.My little brother Sam, who passed away five years ago, would have been thirty-three today. Twice a year, once on his birthday, and again on the anniversary of his death, I recognize his "days" by doing something commemorative. Sometimes I do more, sometimes less, but I always try to do something creative and new, that will stretch my horizons a little. Sam was a very creative, vibrant person, with a love of living things, and I do my best to honor him with good living.

This year, M and I decided to buy a citrus tree for a container garden that I've been planning. Choosing just one was difficult, and I have to admit that I do have some regrets about leaving the Mexican lime behind (it just seemed so "Sam"!), but in the end we opted for a dwarf kumquat. The fruit is sweet and sour, and the tree is compact enough that it can easily stay potted until we finally buy a house.

Seeds and references.I also picked up some herbs and flowers for a small container-style dye garden. I purchased seeds for the most part, as they germinate easily here and are cheaper, but we bought a small red dragon pepper plant (five times hotter than jalapenos - imagine!) and a few hollyhock plants as well. I'm going to do a little more planning, and then get everything seeded and planted in the next few weeks. It was great fun just to buy the seeds and plants, though. We went to the amazing La Crescenta Nursery in Glendale (sadly no homepage), and were allowed to wander through row upon row of plants with the sweet and strangely mellow Zosia in tow. I wish I had thought to take pictures. It really was a lovely time.

Hello Trouble!As an extra bonus, here is a shot of a wonderful calendar that Andrea sent me, which she made on a letterpress. (Here's a great interview with a very talented book maker who uses a letterpress, if you want to learn more.) Andrea also included a print of her cat Trouble, which I believe she made using a hand-carved stamp. I've been thinking of converting my banner photo into a hand-carved stamp version for a while now (after finding this tutorial on whip-up), but Trouble is giving me that extra little nudge. Carving is something my brother Sam loved as well (though he made woodcuts), so that seems like another good reason to give it a go. I'll have to stop by Blick sometime soon, but first I have to finish up some other items around here (like that rogue cross-stitching I started a few weeks ago). For now, I leave you with Andrea's talents.

P.S. So far my container dye garden is going to be very small - coreopsis, cosmos, hollyhocks and marjoram. I may expand it as I get things planted and arranged, but really it's very much an experiment. If anyone out there has done this and has suggestions, please do leave me a comment!

This is Sam

And, yes, he is palming my head like a basketball that is about to be slam-dunked.

The photo was taken in the summer of '99 when we lived together at my place in Chicago. It was evening and we were grilling with friends out back, right at the edge of Lake Michigan. Sam's friends Matt and Amy, who later took over my lease when I went to law school, are in the background. It isn't the best piece of photography, but I love it because it really typifies the spirit of that summer. Lots of grilling, soccer, sun, etc. Good times.

Thanks to everyone who commented on the last post. I want to write each of you individually, but until then, know that I read and appreciated each and every word.

Channeling Sam

I take a lot of photographs of myself. So many, in fact, that I have considered writing up a tutorial about how to take good, or at least interesting and clear, photographs of yourselves while modeling knitwear. I've taken so many pictures of me, that I'm rarely suprised by what I get. Let alone freaked out.

When I got this particular series off the camera, however, I was struck by the way I looked like my brother, Sam, who passed away almost 5 years ago. We have always looked alike, which is something that I treasured in the past, and treasure even more now that I no longer have his face to look at. What I didn't realize until right now is that we really look alike when we don't smile so much. We have a far away look that is the same. So I often don't see him in my photos because I smile.

I was with my friend Kat last night, and talked about Sam more than I have in a long while. I was upset about something else, but I must have needed to talk about him, even though I didn't know it. I think today that I am channeling Sam, if only through myself, and although it is a little eerie, it's nice because I miss him. I can see these pictures as the kind my children - the ones I have not yet had - pull out to show their children long after I am gone. They already have the look of something far away. Over-exposed and washed out. I like them.

I was going to do pattern notes on Thelma, but I will leave that until another day. I am sure you understand.

Just Ducky Pattern Notes

This post is a suprisingly hard one to write. It's a round-up* of the Christmas presents that I made for my estranged parents. I made these gifts for them in an attempt to reach out and do something personal that might be meaningful for them. I thought at the time that it wouldn't matter if they didn't do anything for me in return, and perhaps in the long run, it won't. I have a wonderful husband, in-laws who spoil me rotten, and a "chosen" family of friends who are always there for me. Parents are people, and perhaps they cannot always do the things that we would like them to. Someday I will learn to accept them as they are. Giving is the important part, and I did feel good making these things for them.

The guest bed at my friends' house in Pasadena. Stately, yet it coordinates well with the duck.

Why the Duck?! (or is that 'What the Duck?!')
Long ago and far away, when my younger bother was about eleven, and life was slightly less complicated than it is now, he wanted with his entire little prepubescent heart to have a duckling of his own. I am not entirely sure how this desire originated in my brother (though I suspect that it had something to do with my mother's stories of growing up in the country with baby ducks and chicks), but it reached a point where my mother felt that it could no longer be denied. He had to have a duck. She promised she would get him one.

So we piled into the station wagon (a Chrysler LeBaron with fake wood panelling - you remember the 80's), and headed for Wilson Seed & Feed on Richmond, Virginia's south side, to procure ourselves a duckling. What we did not know when we set out on this quest was that Richmond, booming metropolis that it was, had a bit of a duck problem. Apparently many little boys of my brother's ilk had a need in their hearts to have a duckling of their own. Until, that is, the duckling in question grew up, reaching a height of approximately two and a half feet (much bigger than a cat) and produced sounds not unlike that of a group of third graders practicing for marching band. The grown (and hence outgrown) ducks of new height and impressive noise capacity would then be whisked away under cover of night by the soccer moms of our town, and deposited in the park (ironically "Byrd Park") to fend for themselves, disturbing the neighbors with their trumpeting and harassing park-goers for food.

To protect its citizens from the menace of the abandoned ducklings, the city had enacted an ordinance geared to limiting the purchase of duckings to only the most serious of buyers (restauranteers): it was ordained that ducklings could only be purchased in quantities of six or greater.

Most mothers might find themselves daunted at the prospoect of owning, not just one, but half a dozen ducklings. In fact, I believe that in THE GREAT BIG BOOK OF PARENTING DILEMNAS there is an entire chapter devoted to broken promises, and how to explain that in this life mommy and daddy cannot possibly keep every promise that they have made, because if they did, their house would be over-run with ducks. Needless to say, my mother has never taken a chapter from THE GREAT BIG BOOK OF PARENTING DILEMNAS. She instead, almost without pause, purchased six ducks.

And, for about two months (the time period required for the ducks to reach their full adult height and lung capacity), we owned six ducks. I think I have said before that we lived within the city limits. We did not have an inordinate amount of land, and the land we had was not fenced with anything, let alone the kind of fencing that would be required to contain six ducks.

What we did have was an unfinished basement (cement floors with a drain in the middle - thank god for small favors), and several very deep bathtubs. So for these two months we kept the ducks in their space in the basement the majority of the time, with several daily jaunts up and down the stairs (all in single file, following my brother) to the bathtub for a little swim. It was an idyllic time.

The only one who was not pleased with this state of affairs (I was 13 at the time, so old enough to know that my mother's decision was a little off, but still young enough to think of it as "cool"), was my father, who did not find the copious duck poop that then lined our basement to be the most charming addition to what had previously been his personal wood-working shop and sanctuary.

He blew off steam by occasionally shouting out something vaguely accusatory about all the damn 'duck butter,' which was his euphamism for the duck poop that was rapidly filling our house. Why my father chose this instance to wax poetic and euphamize I will never know. He has never been a man to mince words and he has the mouth of a sailor, so this was certainly a strange time for him to hold back. In his position I am quite sure that I would let fly with the explitives. But while the ducks did not stick (they were finally and tearfully sent to a friend's horse farm equipped with a pond out in Goochland), the Duckbutter did. It was a nickname that my brother christened him with (most likely in retaliation for the departure of the ducks), and that my father grew to love over time and feel was symbolic of their bond.

We have called my father Duckbutter, Duckie or some variation of the two for over twenty years now. It's hard to remember a time when we referred to him as 'dad'. The name became even more precious with the passing of my brother about four years ago. It is one of the small legacies of my brother that continues to live on regardless of the passing of time, or the changes in our lives and relationships with each other. Hence, the duck.

Just Ducky Pillow
MindofWinter Designs
Knit with two skeins (123 yards/skein) of Rowan's Wool Cotton (50% Merino/50%Cotton) in French Navy (909) and one skein in Mellow Yellow (942) on Addi Turbo 24" circulars in size US5 (3.5mm). I honestly can't remember the gauge (it's on a scrap of paper somewhere!), but I think it's about 20-21 sts per 4 inches in Stst.

Size: One. About 7"x10"

The Pattern
I've been inspired by several intarsia charts lately (read this post for links to cool free charts and my quick instructions on how to make your own), so I decided that I would make Christmas my opportunity to brush up on my intarsia and charting skills, which are pretty darn rusty. I did almost all of the tough work for this pattern myself. The only part of it that was created by someone else was the duck outline. I'm not much of an artist, so I scrounged around on the internet to find an image that would work for me. I did a gauge swatch, charted the duck, and knit the resulting pillow.

I got a little off course, and ended up with a duck that has a rather primitive look about the head and bill. One of my knitting buddies at Knit Cafe, Denise Boutier (aka "Grandma Hollywood" - but that's another story), referred to it as a ptera'duck'tyl - which I love! I considered ripping back and revising it, but decided that my parents, who have some primitive art here and there, would probably like it as is. I did a little stitching around the edges to even things out, but I have a feeling that might have made it more, rather than less, dinosaurian.

I loved dong the intarsia on this piece, and I've realized, to my own complete suprise, that there is more intarsia (just a little, tastefully done) in my future. I had a great time!

Finally, one of my favorite details is the border. To make it I simply picked up stitches very close to the edge of the front of the pillow (before sewing it up!), knit a single round through the back loop, and then bound off using the I-cord bind-off method. For a long time, I've wondered why I haven't seen knitted pillows with a piped border, since this is so common in sewing. Mary Heather has wondered this as well, and did a wonderful pillow with piping earlier this year for an upcoming book that we both have projects in, so I got to see a sneak preview of knitted piping in action. Her method was different than mine, and gives a lovely traditional result. (You'll have to wait for the book to see it!) This version creates a small lattice below the piping. It looks really professional, and I'm pleased with it, though I did wonder a bit if it out-classed my pteraducktyl!

Impressions of Rowan's Wool Cotton:
I've used Rowan's Wool Cotton several times this year, and it's definitely a favorite of mine. As I think I've said before, this yarn is a real staple, like Karabella's Aurora 8, though it is worked at a finer gauge than that yarn. Wool cotton is an excellent choice for intarsia. It works up crisp, and yet somehow seems to adjust for all your knitting 'sins'. If only we could bottle such properties. Wool cotton is an especially good choice for this kind of color work because it can be worked on smaller needles - somewhere from US4 to US6 is ideal when you want to preserve a little drape - but it can also make a mighty cushy sock or footlet if you use it on size US2 or US3 needles. I think that a fair isle sock would be just lovely in this stuff. It has great versatility.

*I had plans to write about my mom's gift as well, but after a post of this length, I'm tuckered out. I'll post some pictures later this week.