Handspun Handknit Braintrust? Bueller? Bueller?

I feel like I'm a little cursed when it comes to knitting up my handspun. I've tried several times and keep having to rip and re-start. It's funny, because I pride myself on being able to pick the right project for a particular yarn, and yet when it comes to my own yarn I'm a bit stumped. Exhibit A: the wonderful party dress handspun:

Gorgeous yarn, crappy swatch.

This definitely falls into the category of "what the hell was I thinking?" Clearly, this stitch pattern has got to go - the vertical welts are totally duking it out with the horizontal stripes. D'oh! So many rookie mistakes all in one project - yikes. I've been calling this one "The One in My Head," but I'm pretty sure it's the one NOT in my head - anywhere! I think my first mistake was spinning the roving into too thick of a yarn. It's totally fun as a skein, but for me the practical value of a brightly-colored, striped, bulky thick and thin yarn is questionable. I would have done much better to spin this as a DK or sport-weight. It is wonderfully squooshy, though, and I really do want to use it, so I'm going to soldier on after a little break. I'm thinking something on the diagonal would be good, and something for a child or baby would be well-advised. Maybe a funky chevron scarf for my niece? Or one of those diagonal scarves that everyone used to make with Kureyon? Or maybe even another so-called scarf? Sadly, I'm having trouble being terribly creative with this one! If you have ideas, puleeeze leave them in the comments. I could use all the help I can get! [Edited to add: I've spun it all and have about 310 yards to work with. You guys have already come up with a ton of good ideas! Keep them coming!!!]

My saving grace: Judy's Grandmother's Baby Sweater.

In general, I've been pretty stumped the last few weeks. I think it's partially because everything on my needles is my own designing and I've reached the point where I really need to either write things down or do some math or both, and my little pea brain just is not up to it. It's a shame, because I was so excited about all these ideas about a month ago, and made some real progress. (Luckily, I did type up the pattern for Mishka during that time period. It still needs to be charted and sized, but the instructions are there rather than somewhere off in the ether.)

Best part? Komari's little face!To break this bad knitting mojo, I decided to start a baby sweater. I have a ton of baby knits to make this year - tis the season! - and it never hurts to start early. Ever since seeing LoriZ's grey Rambling Rose (which she needs to get off her butt and photograph! Edited to add: she did!) I have been dying to knit with my favorite Rowan Wool Cotton - the king of yarns. Lori's sweater doesn't even use wool cotton, but the yarn she's knitting looks like wool cotton and that was enough to set me craving for it. The whole time I watched her knit I was dying to snatch the yarn out of her hands and get in at least a few rows. Instead I had to be patient and start something of my own. The other advantage of the baby sweater is that it is involving and yet contained. I want to get a bit involved, but not overwhelmed, so this is the perfect project. Plus, after going through my grandmother's old knits I was pretty inspired. Everything she did was a little work of art.

I settled on Judy's Grandma's Baby Sweater from the Greetings from Knit Cafe book. I have to say that I have been fortunate to be included in two of my favorite pattern books ever, and GFKC is one of them. (The other is Boho Baby, which is bound to get heavy use this year.) I have wanted to make this baby sweater since I first spied it in Knit Cafe over four years ago. It' simply stunning in person and the unique construction makes it extra special. My love for this pattern is rivaled only by my love for Veronik Avery's Gansey Layette, which I have made three times (and will probably make again this year). I can't believe I didn't knit it earlier. Anyway, I am finally able to engross myself in knitting again, and that is a nice relief. I'm hoping that this little respite will allow me to return to my plans for a few other things on the needles. Some things will undoubtedly get pushed to the back-burner, because I have much more than usual in progress right now, but having tasted the fresh air again, I think I will be able to dive back into at least a few of those stalled projects. Thank goodness!

Iron Knitter: Battle Daktari

Ignorance is bliss: the beginnings of Daktari near Kauaii.2006 was not the year of the knit for the Hoolia. Everything I touched seemed to be destined to have issues, and as a result the few FO's I managed to slog out consisted of the types of patterns I can do in my sleep - socks and berets - or rectangles. My biggest triumphs were both just fancy rectangles - the River Stole and Project MIL (a sweater for my mother-in-law), and those were definitely not without their trials and tribulations. Now that I believe myself to be safely past that nasty year of knitting - oh, the hubris! I am doomed now - I am starting to think it was a good learning experience, because in the instances where I stuck to it and fought back, I ended up with some beautiful pieces. In the end, knitting is like the serenity poem: you must have courage to change the things you can, serenity to accept (and rip) those you cannot, and most importantly the wisdom to know the difference. With that introduction, welcome to Battle Daktari:

My experience with Daktari began quite happily. Despite the fact that I was knitting a skirt which appeared to have quite a bit of stockinette at the top to slow me down, the fabric sailed off my needles. Within the span of about a week I had knit almost all of the first panel. I was excited. Even better, we were getting ready to spend a week in Hawaii on vacation with the family, so I knew that I would have hours of time ahead of me in planes, boats and cars, where I could knit away contentedly on my skirt. Perhaps I could even finish it and take some lovely shots on those lush Hawaiian Islands.... I got pretty far on the skirt over vacation, and blocked the first panel with stunning results soon after we returned. Then suddenly, I hit a snag.


The not-so-fine line between cappuccino and mocha.Exhibit A. Do you see the problem here? Within the same dyelot there is a very dramatic shift in the densities of the color. It is even more dramatic than what you see in the photos, though I think its pretty clear from those as well. To be fair, Daktari is a hand-dyed fiber and comes with the disclaimer that there will be variations in the color. The label also wisely suggests that you alternate skeins every other row to overcome this issue. (This works well to combat pooling in variegated yarns as well.) If alternating skeins had solved the problem and just created a little variation, I would have no issues with the yarn. However, alternation of skeins in this case creates stripes (no photos, just use your imagination).

I would now like to draw your attention to the fact that there are four skeins of yarn knitted up in these photographs. The first three skeins flow together fairly seamlessly, with some expected, yet subtle, variation. Given this state of affairs, I thought that perhaps I had a rogue skein, so I decided to go back to my LYS and purchase another. Interestingly, the newly purchased skein, also in the same dyelot did not match the first three knitted skeins or the "rogue" skein, but was instead a shade somewhere in between the two. The difference was not as stark as before, but still not negligible enough that alternating the yarns would do anything to alleviate the problem.

I had several possible plans of attack for solving the problem with this new, closer-to-the-original-color skein, most involving some variation on ripping out most of the skirt and incorporating the darker-colored skein into the lace in alternating rows on both panels, so that there would be less of a noticeable difference both horizontally and vertically.
Close-up of the offending skein.I think that one of these plans would have worked, but at the time I was pissed. So pissed, in fact, that I just could not stomach even looking at the skirt. So I balled it up and put it away.

Then last weekend, when we had that lovely bought of unseasonably warm weather, I was inspired to pull the Daktari skirt out again. I still wasn't in the mood to rip it all out and start from scratch, so instead I ripped out the offending very dark skein, and decided to make use of some information that I learned while blocking the yarn. I knit the rest of top of the second panel with the medium-dark skein, and then I took a little gamble. When I blocked the first panel I noticed that the fabric bled a lot. So I thought why not dip the top portion of the panel in scalding hot water a few times to see if I couldn't get enough of the color out to make it match the rest? Daktari is cotton, and cotton can handle the heat. So I soaked the top of the panel in three changes of really hot water over the span of an hour, and miraculously....it worked. Not perhaps the most reliable cure for this issue, but you can't argue with the results.

This one goes to the Challenger. Next up: pattern notes.

I've Been Nupped!

Seriously, people. The next time I offer to write up a tutorial on anything, will you remind me to shut the hell up? Because honestly, no good deed goes unpunished. Offering to write up a tutorial on how to make sure you have enough yardage is really just a fancy and foolish way of asking, no begging, to run out. (Declaring that you have spun koigu probably doesn't help, either. I have a lot to learn from koigu.) So here it is, in pictoral format, my tutorial on how to ensure that you have enough yardage:

Look familiar?!

Go back to the freaking wheel and spin some more. Even if you have to order $2 worth of roving to do it. Suck it up, stop being such a scrooge, and for gosh sakes throw away that damn spreadsheet. Just make (or buy) enough yarn.

As you can probably tell from the title of this post, it was the nupps on the Swallowtail Shawl that got me. I am pretty confident that for the most part, my intricate spreadsheet that indicated I would have enough yarn if I made only a few little tweaks and cut out two of the initial repeats was right. The thing is, that even that estimation told me I was cutting it very, very close. And each nupp requires about 5 more stitches than the average stitch - 4 extra go-rounds and another stitch to account for the fact that you have to make them loosely and the stitch that brings all the yo's together is a fat one. And 5 stitches times 5 nupps per branch times about 40 branches (or something like that - I'm done counting!) is, well, a lot. It takes up some yardage.

I don't want to admit how much time I have spent tweaking this pattern and crunching numbers to somehow try to get a Swallowtail Shawl out of 290 yards of fingering. And what for? It is a small shawl to begin with. Why make it so tiny that I can't even wear it?

I realized that I had a problem the other day when my best friend and I were discussing knitting the Marseilles Pullover together. I was going through my mental rolladex of stash and trying to figure out which yarn I had exactly enough of, and eliminating any possibilities that would leave me with too much leftover yarn - say, 25 yards! And I do this all the time. When I make a scarf, I cut the fringe near the beginning of the project, so that I can knit, knit, knit until the bitter end. I weigh my socks in progress, so that they use up as much of the yarn as possible. I did this with the River Stole, too. For many of my projects, I end up making modifications so that I can use some stash yarn that I don't have quite enough of. When the lace leaf pullover was done, I had a four-inch tail left. Almost scary, isn't it?

The thing is, I know myself well enough to know that I will never really learn my lesson. I like spreadsheets, and I like having inches of yarn left when I finish a project. It's just the way I'm wired. But I am going to give in and do the sensible thing with this shawl, because it is my first handspun project and I want it to be great. And I've chosen another yarn for the Marseilles Pullover, so I'm pretty sure that I have plenty of yardage for that. I may even have just enough to eek out a coordinating hat. Hmmm. Maybe I should make a spreadsheet....

Addendum to Prairie Tunic Shooz

Britt wrote to let me know that her lace section turned out to be about 28 sts to 4.5 inches, which would give the correct measurements noted in the pattern for the Prairie Tunic. Others have written to let me know that their measurements for the lace section are closer to mine. So, this means that the pattern is completely fine as written, but you will need to swatch the lace to be sure that your lace gauge is what it should be before beginning.

This was a pretty interesting revelation for me, because I had always assumed (and many patterns out there also assume) that if your Stst gauge is on, your patterned stitch gauge will be as well. It makes sense that this might not always be the case and that some knitters might yo a little more tightly or loosely than others. Since this is the first pattern I've knit using a large swath of stockinette next to a lace panel, I hadn't noticed it before. So, it's kind of a cool learning experience.

Since I can't change needle sizes in the middle of a row (well, I suppose I could with Denise Interchangeables or Knitpicks Options, but I'm not going to!), I'm going to have to knock out some stitches - either stockinette or lace. I'll probably knock out some stockinette, as the lace is more fun, but we'll see. I also may swatch Blue Garter's closed lace pattern option as I kind of like the idea of a little less flash. While I'm at it, I'm going to consider some shaping and other tweaks as well. Ultimately, though, I think this is one that will get knit next year. It's time to move on to wool, while I still can!

Shooz

I have been spinning up a storm, and reading to prepare for sewing like there's no tomorrow. In part, this is because I'm loving my wheel and excited about the sewing machine, but I've also had each and every one of my WIPs, with the exception of the one I'm designing myself, turn around and bite me on the ass. To wit:

The Prairie Tunic

An approximately 36.5-inch-circumference on my piddly 32-inches-at-most-breasts.
It ain't happening.

Previously, there was a problem with the triangle-shaping in this pattern. Here's the correction on IK. If you don't already, it is a really good idea to check IK's corrections page before starting a project. I knew about this issue, so it isn't what got me.

The problem I discovered, is that the finished measurements and the schematic appear to be off. They might have been calculated using Stst (though this doesn't work out mathematically either) or a different lace gauge than I got (more likely).

Unfortunately, it makes a huge difference in the finished garnment. In the smallest size, the waist and bust have a finished measurement of 33" in the pattern. On my tunic, the lace panel, which is 28 sts wide, measures 6 inches blocked (not the photo below, but a swatch that I have since ripped). So, if you do a little math, ((102 sts - 28 sts) / 6.5 sts/inch)) + 6 inches = 17.38". The schematic shows this as 16.25". Then there's the front, which has two 28 st lace panels, so ((102 sts - 56 sts) / 6.5 sts/inch)) + 12 inches = 19.07". The schematic shows this as 16.75". The total circumference would be 36.45" instead of the 33" as shown in the finished measurements of the pattern. Which might explain why the blogger it looks best on (blue garter, see below) has rather enviable womanly curves.

The lace, which is 28 sts over 6 inches of fabric.

Now, it is possible that somehow my lace gauge is way off, but if it were, I would have no way of knowing that, because it isn't included in the pattern. But my Stst is dead on, so I'd be surprised if the lace gauge was this far off. If you've made it, what was your lace gauge? I haven't alerted IK to the problem, but if someone else had similar lace gauge issues, I will.

I did some searching around on the net and found these bloggers who had finished the Prairie Tunic. Their comments give me some pause, but I like the pattern, so I think I will simply revise it for my lace gauge to get a closer fit, and consider adding a bit of waist shaping. I think Veronik Avery has a wonderful sense of style and I don't mind putting in some time to make it work for me. For this year, however, it's going to get put away so that I can make room for the short LA "winter" knitting season.

The upside of this experience was an intro to some great new (to me) blogs. The only person whose site I had visited before was Emily's. Check these out. There are some great pattern notes and photos. I love Blue Garter's Tunic, and Get in My Head's dress (in the same post) is gorgeous. Oh, and if you people don't blogsearch a pattern before you make it, you might want to start - I'm going to!

Frith's comment on Emily's blog

Amandamonkey's post on the Prairie Tunic and her FO shots (love it with the wife-beater)

Drago[knit]-fly's FO shots and notes

Blue Garter's FO shots and notes (evidence that breasts do well in this cami - did she shorten it, too? think so!).

Knits and Pieces' FO shots and notes

The Knitting Dork's FO shots and notes

FO shots on a Japanese site I wish I could read

Get in My Head's awesome dress! and Prairie Tunic

So this is why they call it Crack-Silk

I am a woman of strange talents, and one of the talents that I have is the ability to see connections between things that other people might not notice. (Or aguably, connections that may not really be there.)

Today I've been knitting cracksilk haze and pondering the similarlities between knitting lace in a fine-gauge mohair after a long hiatus and, say, mountain biking up a steep trail after a similar lapse.

Kidsilk in the window on a fall morning. Looks benign.

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away in The Time Before Moxie*, I had a boyfriend who was a kick-ass cyclist. We met while I was training for my very first sprint distance triathlon, and to this day I credit my ability to complete that race to this boyfriend, who was surprisingly sweet and patient in the face of myriad newbie triathlon problems, such as how to get one's full-length wetsuit off fast enough to race into the port-a-potty without losing considerable amounts of time and how to pretend to be a competitor while dog-paddling in the swim portion of the race, etc.

This boyfriend ("The Cyclist") raced mountain bikes and road bikes, and it was inevitable, especially given that I was presumably training for a triathlon, that we should start riding together. Soon, one of our favorite places was Kettle Moraine in Wisconsin, where there are some wonderful single-track trails on rolling hills through the woods, with lots of fun trees, rocks and other woodland obstacles to hop over as you race along. During the year that I dated The Cyclist we went out riding almost every weekend, and after a while I became a respectable mountain biker (for a girl), if not a good one.

The thing about mountain biking the very first time, or any time after you've had a bit of a break, is that it is SCARY AS HELL and REALLY SUCKS. For some reason I forget this, and am seduced back by its siren call every once in a while only to remember when I am in the midst of careening down a mountainside at top speed saying to myself:

"FeatherthebreaksFeatherthebreaksFeatherthebreaksForChissake!!!!"

If I can make it past the phase of total and complete fear of death and get back out on the trail a few more weekends in a row (which I also spend careening down a mountainside at top speed saying to myself "FeatherthebreaksFeatherthebreaksFeatherthebreaksForChissake!!!!"), I can actually do alright and get to the point where I am not thinking of my immanent death at every moment and maybe even manage to have some fun.

So, too, kidsilk.

The River, she prefers not to be photographed in bed. It does not suit her.

Just as there is a beautiful Jamis mountian bike in my basement collecting dust, there is a pile of gorgeous mohair in my yarn closet that grows every day without hope of being knit. I am seduced by its gorgeous colors and lovely halo even though I know that if I am honest with myself I will admit that I hate working with it.

And yet. It's there, right? And it's beautiful. So I must. And after at least a year has passed and I have forgotten the last round of trauma, I do. And so the farce that is Julia Knitting Mohair (very similar to the farce that is Julia Mountain Biking) begins.

The black background, it is classic. It better shows what the first repeat of the River, it should look like.

Inevitably, I boff. Boff, for those of you who do not know, is a technical term that describes a very complicated manuever on a mountain bike, which entails falling uphill and is usually the result of a combination of large boulders and tight toe clips (those wonderful contraptions that secure you to your pedals so completely that it can be impossible to free yourself from them as you topple from the highest heights over the roughest terrain. Thou shalt not be seperated from thine bike, even in the falling). The knitting equivalent of the boff is the yarnover or yo! (as in "Yo! you forgot to put me in again!)**

It usually takes a couple weeks of boffing, yo!ing, tinking, frogging, ripping, cursing, knitting? (yes, occasionally there is knitting), boffing, yo!ing, tinking, frogging, ripping, cursing, and knitting (yes! knitting!) before the light appears at the end of the tunnel, and I can begin to think to myself (quietly, in a whisper): I might just be able to do this again.

Then slowly after more weeks of knitting, still tinking here and there with the occasional boff, but mostly knitting, I think to myself (louder this time): Well, damn, I think I am doing this.

And then finally, finally I shout (often in the middle of the night, just to give those crazy f*ckers who call themselves "neighbors" a dose of their own looney):
YeeFrickin'Haw! Wooooooo! Hooooooo! We're riding in the Big Ring boys! We have a Repeat!

And it becomes a little addictive. And I find myself thinking: I AM HAVING FUN. I LOVE THIS. I WILL DO THIS ALL THE TIME. MOHAIR IS GREAT.

The fresh air of the window, it is best.

Until I look down and I notice that the downhill, it is very very steep. I have one repeat. It took me four weeks to make the one repeat. The pattern has twelve.

And that, folks, is why knitting lace is like mountain biking, with the notable exception that lace-knitting, unlike mountain biking, can be performed from the safety of one's bed while having a morning cup of tea, which is why I did not find myself on the single-track today.

*When I was a virgin.

*And, yes, I know you can pick up a yarnover on the purl row that follows it, so please don't give me any great advice on how to fix things on the next row. My problems always occur several rows down!

The River........WHY?!?!?

If you're in the River Knit-Along, you may have noticed (and if you're Jodi, you may have mentioned) that my River Stole has been a little camera shy. Here's why:

WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!

I just wasn't loving River on size 10 needles. And honestly, it wasn't loving me. I had gotten to the point you see pictured above twice and ripped out the whole thing due to irritation with sloppiness and mistakes, despite the fact that, as lace goes, it's a pretty easy project. There's just something about the combination of those huge yarnovers and the fine, fuzzy mohair that sends things awry for me. I was not a happy camper.

I really should have known better. Because I only knit with fine mohair about once a year at the most, it is always a struggle for me.* It's inevitable that I will rip back the first couple repeats numerous times before settling into the pattern, and that I will end up tinking here and there along the way when I get cocky and inevitably screw up. I had the same experience with Birch, the last mohair lace I knit, so I should have been a little more mentally prepared going into the battle.

I wasn't, so progress stalled for a few weeks, but then this weekend I went to Michael Levine's in downtown LA with Mary Heather, and I stumbled across a wonderful motivator - Bryspun circular needles. I am a long-time afficionado of Bryspun straight needles, and acquired an entire set the first time we lived in LA while I was working at the Knit Cafe. I recommend these needles for beginners because they have just the right amount of grip (not too much, not too little), are easy on the hands (not too heavy) and are extremely well-priced. Every time I teach a class or help a new friend to knit, these are the needles I pull out. Bryspuns are also my needle of choice for mohair lace. Again, they have just the right amount of grip - not too much, not too little.

Despite my devotion to these needles for two great purposes (and I believe there is a different needle for each purpose, which might explain why I have so darned many), I had never encountered Bryspun circular needles in person. There has been some talk about them in the River Along, so my interest has recently been peaked. When I discovered them at Michael Levine's, I knew that I had to try them. So, in keeping with my thought that the 10's were making this lace look too big and sloppy, I picked up a pair of 8's in 29-inch length.

I have found them to be most lovely:

Ah, that's better.....

And my crack-silk haze seems to be liking them, too.** The addictiveness is starting to kick in as well. I don't know if it is because I went down in needle size or because I have knit this segment to the point that I finally have it memorized, but the tinking and ripping is easing up and I'm finally able to enjoy the lacy confection which is the River Stole in Candy Girl Kidsilk. Oooh, loverly.

The interesting thing that I'm noticing now, is that although the two versions are very different in person, they may not be so evidently different in the pictures above. (Can you guys tell the difference?) In fact, the lace on 10's is much more in the spirit of the original River. And the second time around, I may very well make it on 10's. I think the sloppiness may be what gives it that gossamer appearance that we all love in the photograph. Blocking does a lot for a fine lace piece, and it's probable that the original is brought to life through blocking. For now, I like the tidy neatness of my River on 8's, however, and I am finding it much more manageable to knit.***

Finally, I'd be remiss if I didn't add in a word about the Bryspun circulars. They're great for this project and I really love them. They're slick and sleek and have a very nice join. The Cracksilk does snag on them, but honestly it's so fine that it will snag on anything - trim your hangnails before use! - so you really can't blame the needles. I'll be picking up more on my next trip downtown.

*Mohair lace and cotton intarsia are the Achilles heels of my knitting. You are unlikely to see much cotton intarsia on this blog, as I have little use for cotton intarsia knits for the most part, but the mohair is in the stash, and it must be knit!

**Although some people may disagree, I think the name crack-silk haze is aptly applied, because at least at the beginning stages, you need to be on crack, or at least really jonesing for a lace hit to knit with the damned stuff. Please refrain from flaming me for this belief. Sometimes *heresy* is true!

***Yes, another footnote! To make up for the loss of width due to the change in needle size, I'm adding a fourth repeat. It's something to consider if you decide to monkey around with the gauge, but want to keep River stolische in appearance.

Kim Hargreaves is a Big Fat Fibber

Or, Julia's Adventures in Sewing...

Okay, before I begin to slander Ms. Hargreaves in earnest, let me start by saying that, in general, I adore her. She has a great eye for classic, timless designs and manages to churn them out at an insane rate for Rowan (though I hear that is coming to an end very soon). I have learned many a great technique from Kim, and she rarely disappoints for someone who puts out so much volume. However, anyone who claims that this cardigan is properly finished and will fit as pictured without a bit of non-knitted reinforcement, is, quite frankly, a big fat fibber. Sorry Kim, I have to say it.

Due to this sneaky lack of disclosure on the part of the team at Rowan, this weekend I was forced to borrow one of these:

Dum, dee, dum, dum...

I really enjoy sewing, but it's something I do infrequently enough that the margin for error is quite high.

My first sewing experience was an attempt at a sheath dress under the direction of my best friend Laura. We had lots of fun and laughs, but I ended up with a garment that I couldn't even get over my shoulders. (Imagine me as a two-armed squid, limbs flailing wildly as I tried desperately to free myself from the sheath...)

Round two was less ambitious, and involved an attempt at a single very rudimentary bathroom curtain. It was functional, but not pretty. After this barely successful attempt at merely sewing a few straight lines, I declared myself a non-sewer and effectively gave up for several years.

I was brought back from the edge of the abyss by my good friend Ellen - an amazing quilter with an abundance of patience. Under Ellen's tutelage, I was able to learn to sew a straight line and am now semi-confident in my ability to sew basic items that strictly involve straight lines. Here are some fun floor pillows I made during an episode of the Gilmore Girls at Ellen's house:

I think they're beautiful... but I'm a little biased.

For our wedding, Ellen's present to us was teaching me to make a quilt. She took me and two of our good friends to pick out the fabric for my "wedding quilt" (if he gets a sweater I should at least get a quilt, right?), and then the four of us (well, often just me and Ellen!) worked on it on the weekends. I moved to LA before the quilt was finished, so it's still in limbo (I imagine it will be a third anniversary quilt), but I know whever it's done it will look great.

Anywhooo... since working on the wedding quilt about a year and a half ago, I haven't touched a sewing machine. Needless to say, re-entry was a little rough. Here are some of the things I (re-) learned:

1. When sewing grossgrain ribbon onto the wrongside of a knit cardigan, choose a yarn that matches the cardigan, rather than the ribbon. This is particularly important if your ribbon is much darker than your cardigan.

2. If you have already sewn on your buttons, particularly if they are not very flat buttons, but instead very sticky-uppy buttons, take them off. Do this before sewing and ripping out three times.

3. Despite what the on-line manual for the sewing machine says, you really do need to wrap the thread from the spool around that little silver thingy on the top of the machine. Otherwise your stitches will look like poo. (Or as my more articulate friend Mary would say, your machine will form "stitch bubbles". What a sweet little name for a sewing nightmare.)

4. If you sew the little strands of yarn that you used to mark the button locations into the cardigan, you can rip them out, but they will leave behind a tell-tale bright red (if that's the color you chose) residue. Fabulous.

5. Bonne Marie Burns is a genious. Do exactly what she says. Do not deviate. Don't even think about it.

Oh yeah, I guess a number "6" is in order, too. This little guy is your new best friend:

I may be small, but I'm powerful!

I used my new friend quite a lot. Here I am pretending to be all Zen about it as Moxie takes my picture. And here I am with the honest to gosh concentrating expression that I wore for most of my adventure. (I think I look kind of like a frontier woman in these pics (Dr. Quinn, anyone?), but really I'm just a frazzled chick who's too fixated on sewing to do anything about the fact that her braid is falling out...)

After hours of sewing and ripping (I think about six times, but I've lost count, I have one perfect (well close to perfect) side of the cardi done. And, by George, I think I've got it! Tonight, round two. Pictures to follow soon...

P.S. Take a look in the extended entry - I went crazy and finished the cardi!

For now just the goofy cell pics:

Buttoned... and Unbuttoned! (my fav - more casual....)

We'll do the fancy photoshoot and pattern notes in a couple days.

To Purl or Not to Purl? (The overly long story of a very simple poncho)

Pants? Who needs pants?

PART I: The Purl

Every few months I seem to go through a rotation with the knit blogs out there and find a new favorite. For the most part, my list of blogs changes very little, but the favorite, for one reason or another, seems to shift. Lately I've found myself glued to the Yarn Harlot's site. I've been drawn to this particular blog partially for the wonderful projects and great writing that Ms. Pearl-McPhee is known for, but also because I like the way that she takes random knit-musings and crafts them into a post. Several of my favorite blogs do this. They take a knitting thought or philosophy that we all have strong subconscious feelings about and put it out there for discussion. And discuss we do. (I think Stephanie had about 80 comments to her most recent post.) It stimulates us out here in blogland (lurkers too!) to think about our craft and what it says about us. We get to know the knit and the person a little better. I like it.

During my recent hiatus, I did some thinking about the direction that I want to take with my blog. I am still pretty self-conscious about posting and am struggling to find my "voice". This may sound silly and overly dramatic for a knitting blog, but if you write one, you know that no matter what the subject, it is part blog and part journal, and though perhaps one-dimensional, it is a representation of yourself, out there in cyberspace, for all to see. Personally, I want my blog to be the kind of blog that I would like to read. I have these random knit thoughts all the time, and write about them in my head, but I rarely post about them because they lack a certain polish and perfection that I have recently realized I am all too attached to. I like people who are imperfect and I am a person who is imperfect, so I have determined that when random things come up, I am going to write about them.

Hence to purl or not to purl... The other day, the Yarn Harlot gave us her two cents about the best way to teach beginners to knit. (Go ahead, read the whole thing, including comments, and get totally engrossed. Just don't forget to come back!) The short story, if you're not up to following the link to read the long one, is that Stephanie taught her 13-year-old daughter's friend to knit on straight needles so that she would go back and forth and learn to purl right out of the gate and not be afraid of the dreaded purl stitch in the way that people who learn it later sometimes are. She wanted to instill fearless knitting in this intrepid young knitter from Day One, so that she would go forth and cable someday soon without worry. The controversy, (and I believe that it was a controversy of one) was whether this was the best idea given that the girl's first project was a pair of legwarmers, usually done seamlessly, in the round on circular needles.

Despite the fact that I have taught many, many beginners to knit, I have never really given the approach much thought. I teach people to knit the way my grandmother taught me - garter stitch on straight size US8 needles. I throw in the purl stitch after the person has gained a certain level of comfort. The theory behind this is that few people have good short-term memory for mechanical movements and that it's best to get one stitch movement to the point where it is automatic before introducing a second concept. I also think that it is easier to keep an even tension during the oh-so-crucial cast-on phase on straights. (Me of little faith...)

Although I hadn't given this much thought previously, I found myself to be very opinionated about the subject when it was brought to my attention. Here's why: I am drawn to the Yarn Harlot's explanation for why she teaches on straight needles. I don't think it really matters whether you teach someone to purl on Day One or not. I learned to purl about a decade after I learned to knit and it didn't affect my feelings about the stitch. Knit or purl, it's all the same to me. I don't favor one over the other. More importantly, I doubt it will affect too many new knitters to learn to purl, earlier or later, either. (Though hearing from other knitters that one is easier than the other might - ah, the power of suggestion!) BUT! I like to think of myself as a similarly intrepid knitter. I fear no stitch, no fiber, no construction! Onward! It shall be knit!

In contrast, I was also drawn to the controverter's plea that legwarmers should not have seams and are properly knit in the round. The idea that there is a better way to knit certain things also holds great cache for me, and in this case, had I given it much thought I would have been on the fence as to whether to have Meg's friend learn the purl stitch or do the legwarmers seamlessly. It is a knitting conundrum if I ever saw one.

For me, the importance of a teaching approach may be what it imparts about the teacher. We are fearless, and if we can teach fearlessly, our students will be, too. If we teach better ways to do things, our students will learn to search for the better method in each situation. Great thoughts, and ones that I will spend some time ruminating and blogging on, as I prepare to teach my next beginner class.

PART II: The Poncho

Which brings me to the not-so-clearly related second part of my post. This is where I illustrate why it is important to know both the out-of-the-box way and the better way to do something and be discerning enough to choose which method to follow in a given situation. As an extra-special treat in line with my new policy of showing imperfections, I will illustrate by telling you all about one of my own recent knitting misadventures.

Enter, the poncho. Interestingly, this garment was also inspired by Ms. Pearl McPhee, and mimics her Very Harlot Poncho in everything but yarn, guage, and neckline. I'm changing the name to the Maniacal Harlot Poncho, and here's why:

Right before leaving California I became totally enchanted with some black Berocco Suede yarn. Suede is fabulous stuff. It contains not an ounce of natural fiber, yet has a wonderful, springy feel to it and manages to pretty well approximate actual suede in it's feel. I had exactly 7 skeins of Suede and knew that its perfect use was a slinky, stretchy poncho. I also knew that ponchos can take up quite a bit of yarn, and that fringe can easily eat up a skein or two all on its own. You can tell where I'm going with this, yes? I was concerned about yardage.

To assuage my fears, I sat down, shoved the Chevron Tank aside, and knit an entire skein of yarn in one sitting. (This is impressive for me. I am not a fast knitter.) I then figured out exactly how many square inches of fabric one skein of suede produced. (Sadly, I did not write this down and have since forgotten the number.) I then set about trying to figure out exactly how many square inches of fabric I would need.

This was not something I could do precisely. I could not find a single poncho pattern in my collection (stunted collection - we were traveling and didn't have much) that gave a finished schematic or dimensions. I think the thought is that a poncho is a sack and how long you make your sack is really up to you - no schematic needed. This is all fine and well for those of you with an overabundance of yarn in a single dyelot. For me, it sucked.

What I did decide was that it was likely that I would be cutting it close. I also decided that I didn't want to knit the whole damn thing and then run out while I was fringing it. So I did some simple math. At a guage of 4 sts per inch, with 4 yarnovers every other row, my poncho would grow at a rate of 1 inch every 2 rows. That is a lot. It sounds practically exponential.

So, I got out my measuring tape and measured my circumference with my arms at my side. This is yet another number that I have failed to document since, but I think it was about 42-44". My goal was to figure out how much the poncho had to grow in order to accomodate my arm movements, so I added somewhere from 6-8" (the ease allowance of a really baggy sweater) for a total of 50" in circumference. This number, strangely enough, I do remember.

My plan was to go on my merry way, knitting and yarning-over until I hit the 25th row, which was the point where my poncho would be 50" in circumference. At that point I would introduce 2 pairs of decreases at each side down the midline of my arms to counteract the growth of the yarnovers exactly and keep the circumference at a steady 50" until the end. The result would be a trapezoidal shaped poncho. Somewhat closer-fitting but workable. Brilliant!

For those of you considering writing down this great wisdom or printing it out - DON'T! It doesn't work. 50" is way too small a circumference for anything other than a mummybag, as I can sadly attest. I have no finished pictures, but here is a picture, on the dock at Lake George after my third skein, showing the "seam" created by my funky decrease pairs:

Feel for me, for later I frogged all the way back to the top of this seam...

I continued past this point and knit another skein to finish my mummybag. Because I tried the poncho on when it was on circulars that were too short to give it full volume, I was totally unaware of the mummy quality until after I had cast off.

This is where things got really interesting. I knew that I could not leave the poncho as it was, and I was now fairly certain that I had at least very, very close to enough yarn to make it full-sized. I was also in a rather intrepid mood. I knew that the right thing to do would be to rip back to the 25th row and take it from there. I am not sure why I did not do this. I don't have any problems with a good frog if it's necessary (it was!), and I had plenty of time to rip and re-knit while sitting around at Lake George enjoying myself. Perhaps it was an overabundance of time that lead me to make my decision. I'm still not sure.

At any rate, I determined that rather than rip back my poncho, I would teach myself to steek on the diagonal with a crochet hook. (I doubt anyone will question that this plan was an intrepid one.) Armed with determination, a crochet hook, and a computer I set about to conquer the diagonal crochet steek.

As a starting point for my quest, I used a wonderful tutorial by BlogDogBlog on my steek's nicer cousin - the vertical crochet steek. This tutorial was indispensible, and if you ever wish to steek somthing that should be steeked (say a fairisle, or the front of a cardigan - NOT a poncho), I would highly recommend reading it.

All that remained after the steek tutorial was figuring out which stitches to bind together on a fabric with bias. (Again, no pictures - we had limited card space and were staying in a scenic area, so Moxie made it clear that an overabundance of knit photos was verboten.) The short story is that I did it. I steeked diagonally, I cut, the edges disappeared, and everything was beautiful in the world. The fabric held! (I promise to repeat this trick at some point, with photos to boot, for those who are interested. Just not now.) I was elated!

I then set about making a triangular insert which I planned to sew into the void that the steek had created. This, too, was a thing of beauty. Harmoniously designed with a row of double eyelets down the center to mirror the eyelets which run up the front and back of the poncho. I knit two inserts to make sure that I would have enough fabric before I cut the second steek. I did. (Here's where I made my first truly intelligent move. I didn't crochet and cut the second steek. I wanted to be sure that the first side gave the effect I wanted before cutting the yarn into ever smaller pieces.) I sewed the insert into the seam. My sewing was beautiful too. But the seam wasn't. It was just too honking big, and the poncho which should have draped instead clunked out at the side. I can't think of an analogy to let you know what it looked like. You'll just have to trust that it was unweildy and ugly.

My husband, who is often not quite as supportive as I would like when it comes to my knitting, chose this strange juncture to be unusually supportive. He thought that perhaps if both sides were steeked, it would look better. I should just try it and keep moving forward. Also strangely, I took the opportunity to resort to my better judgment. I ignored him completely, despite wanting to believe that he was right, and un-seamed my inserts, frogged my inserts, ripped out my beloved, perfect-except-for-being-too-clunky diagonal crochet steeks, and frogged back to round 25 of the poncho.

I then took the 2 full skeins of Suede that I had left and the longest pieces of yarn from my frogging adventure and knit the full poncho as intended. I used the remaining strands (and there were lots, from the steeking) to fringe it. It's a wonderful, maniacal, harlot poncho and I love it. I'll probably get more wear out of this one silly piece than from all my Alice Starmores put together.

The moral of the story? Ponchos shouldn't have seams, and sometimes intrepid knitting is overrated. How's that for random and imperfect? Project notes to follow.