Thursday, September 24, 2015

On the needles, and the Big 2-5

 

This is on the needles--a stripes in every color pullover, inspired by Kate Davies' Milano, from the pattern and yarn by Carol Sunday. I am using mostly KnitPicks Palette, and all questionable color choices are my own. In fact, I have already ripped this out, back to the beginning, and started over, taking out anything that seems like a primary color and throwing it far away from me. It turns out I really hate the primaries and can't abide them, even when they belong there. It's better this way--I think--maybe best not to look at it too much. I don't know if I can envision wearing it, but it really is so awfully much fun to work on. And so it goes, in plain stockinette, with a semi-interesting striping pattern, which is kind of perfect for knitting without looking while binge-watching Gilmore Girls and/or reading Mutiny on the Bounty--the only book in the library with a broken-enough spine that it would stay open on the table without my having to hold it.

 

Also, there's this [see the accidentally matching coffee mug?] an I-don't-know-what-to-call-it-yet pullover, inspired by the kindly and amazing yarn artist Jill Draper, who I met at the Finger Lakes Fiber Fair last weekend and who made my brain start whirling with colorful ideas. More on this later. And more, too, on the yarn I scored, mercy me. Superlatives fail. I'll say this--handspun Shetland. Okay, now you can enjoy the delicious anticipation.

We had a Big Event here at chez CozyThings--the doc and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary, and among other things had an eye-opening time looking back at the old photos. Just when you think you haven't changed that much...

1990:

2015:

Of course, I think he looks handsomer than ever, and he's wise and patient and good and kind and funny and unfailingly cheerful. He's sarcastic, a softie for a 25-cent lemonade stand, an excellent teammate and my constant companion. I am, without a doubt, a complete handful, and honestly, a lesser man would have fled. Lucky, lucky, lucky.

I really love that guy.

 

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Improv: a cardigan DIY

 
 

 

All it takes is for me to feel chilly for one second, or for a cloud to appear in the sky, or for me to be reminded again about walking in leaves or in one of those early, decorative snowfalls where there's no wind and the flakes are sparse and friendly, and your cheeks get a little rosy, you know what I mean, and bam, a cardigan goes on the needles. Usually gray.

It's not like I don't have a bunch of gray cardigans already. But this is what we do, isn't it?

There's no pattern for this cardigan, and I didn't even write down what I did, but I made it my new favorite way, which is to just cast on some stitches at the neck, increase for awhile at the raglan seams, then knit the body until I'm happy with how long/big it is. Sleeves follow in much the same way, where I just decrease occasionally until they are the right length. Button bands are added last, and I don't even want to worry about button holes, so I just crochet a couple loops on at the very end and then scrounge up some buttons from the stash. Honestly, this is such a great way to do things. Try it, really. Working improvisationally, whatever your chosen medium, is the best way I know to grow creatively, or as an artist, and also, it is really unbeatable for getting what you want out of your efforts. I wanted this cardigan, and nobody had designed it yet--always there is a shawl collar or a hood, or the cables are honking, or it hugs the derriere a little more than I can handle, and yes, you can always modify these designs, but then I wonder, why don't I just dispense with the modifying altogether and do what I want?

For years and years, I cut my own hair (I know, my hair is all over the place. Don't hold it against Morgan, who does her best now, but she has her work cut out for her) because otherwise there was all kinds of explaining what I wanted and trying to find somebody who understood me and who I was/wanted to be, and then they would give me a haircut and it would be kind of too good, if you know what I mean. Too neat, and I am not neat, and I didn't feel like myself, so I always hacked at it a little with the nail scissors after I got home, and then I thought, why the heck am I paying for this at all? I already know what I want and I'll just do it myself. So I did, and it was just fine. Actually, I'd still be doing that now if I didn't hate cleaning up the bathroom afterwards, and besides, I love having somebody else wash my hair. It's worth it just for that. Anyway, the Fall 2015 Cardigan is done, worked in Paton's Classic (probably close to 1800 yards) Grey Mix on US 6 needles. It--of course--fits me perfectly, and is just exactly what I imagined when I drew this:

 

The cardigan is done, but the hair is a work in progress. I feel armed against the cold now, in a way I somehow didn't before. Ridiculous, but there you have it.

 

Friday, September 11, 2015

Socks in palette

The socks I just finished somehow match the porch rug, which I didn't notice until I went out there and stood on it while wearing them. Is this something that happens to you all, too? This happens to me all the time, that whatever I'm working on completely matches everything around me. I look down at the crochet in my lap and it looks exactly like the dress I'm wearing.

 

The blanket that looked like the zinnias on the table. The granny squares that look like the curtain and also my coffee mug. I have a palette. I am predictable.

 

There it is again. It's completely unintentional, I swear.

 

I've been knitting socks a lot lately, trying to replace a lot of pairs that finally gave up the ghost and had to be thrown out. (I have a rule: I will only darn a sock twice. After that, out it goes.) I had a sock mojo phase a few years ago and cranked them out at a rate that now seems ridiculous--about one pair a week, yikes!--and since I made them all at about the same time, they are all wearing out at the same time, too. So it's socks around here. These are in some kind of mutating vareigated handpaint, and of course I forget by whom. The colorway is "Netherfield" which naturally I remember, because it's totally the reason I bought it. And of course, more socks means more sock yarn leftovers, so...

I'm determined. This blanket is happening.

 

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Lazy, with buttons

It was a holiday, and we went to the beach. I accomplished nothing. Holding up a magazine seemed like a big imposition on my laziness. I was horizontal, with the long straw of a venti iced Americano dangling from the corner of my lip and one eye cocked for the seagulls overhead. I have learned the hard way to put one hand over a drink when seagulls fly over, because they are gunning for you, make no mistake. I love their calls, though. Close your eyes and you are in Mallorca or Nantucket or Fiji. Our local beach (how lucky am I? We have a local beach!) was crammed with other like-minded lazy people who were all heroicially flipping over to pinken the other side of their hides, and music was playing and Kan-Jam was happening (right behind our heads) amongst the under-twenties, who still had some energy and have yet to resort to the kind of determined super-relaxation I specialize in when the sun shines and it is 90 degrees F. I don't get bored. There is so much tattoo-watching to do, and always a dog chasing a frisbee, and a little girl in a sun bonnet digging a tiny hole in the sand with a plastic shovel, and there's whooping in the water, followed by a lot of sleeping. Hours pass, and I always have no idea where the time went. Suddenly it is four o'clock and we're whipped and sunburned and exhausted from all the lounging around. Time to go home and rinse off the seaweed. Summer. I love you so much. Please come back.

I did manage to squeeze in fifteen minutes of crafting this weekend and made these shell button pendants, using 18 gauge dead-soft silver wire and a big handful of vintage shell buttons from my stash. Ethel brought me that big white one from somewhere in her travels, and I was so happy to find a lovely, perfect way to use it. This took hardly a minute--check out this tutorial if you want to make one--and good luck making just one; you'll be looking at all your buttons in a whole new way.

 

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Boreal, a success

 

Boreal! You evocative, lovely thing. This pattern is so gorgeous. I have visions of snow-covered pine boughs, something out of Narnia. I can't believe it worked, and right out of the gate, too, with no do-overs or unraveling required. I never should have doubted. As you know, I really didn't know how this would go, and that's because the pattern calls for aran weight yarn, at a gauge of either 4 stitches/inch or 4.5 stitches/inch, and I wanted to use worsted weight yarn, at a gauge of 5 stitches/inch, and there really wasn't a size option to accommodate that. So there's math to be done right there, and it was all further complicated by the fact that every time I measured my progress, I was getting anywhere from 4.5 to 5.5 stitches/inch. Also, other knitters have reported that their sleeves were too narrow, and my sleeves were just right, so did that mean my yoke was going to be gigantic? I wasn't even close on row gauge, and I knew it. Then there's the fact that prior to blocking, stranded colorwork always looks like a crumpled-up newspaper left out in the rain and then stepped on. You just have to cross your fingers and keep going. So I did.

 

It is really just about exactly perfect. Well, gauge. Here's the thing--as with my last Kate sweater, I went in knowing I was not getting anything near the recommended gauge, but I could still use the gauge information given to get a good-fitting garment. I knew the distance around myself, I knew how many stitches I was getting per inch (well, I almost knew that--it kept drifting around, as I said) and doing a little math told me I should make the largest size. Even that, though, was going to potentially be a little too small for me, and there wasn't any wiggle room, because the large motifs in the colorwork design meant I couldn't just add or subtract a few stitches here and there to make any size adjustments. I thought it might maybe work, but really, I didn't know, and I just had to dive in and trust.

I dove. I wrung my hands. I knit like the wind, trying to outrun any misgivings. I measured a lot, and was both reassured and convinced of imminent disaster.

Despite all my whining and worrying, I have to admit that I have learned a few things about knitting over the years, which has led me through this gauge-related minefield, and which helped me get a great outcome. This sweater fits me because I measured, measured, and measured again, and used the data to tell me how to proceed. I'm still learning to trust what I know, but people? This is how to get stuff to fit you. Swatch, measure honestly, and do the simple multiplication.

 

The long floats at the back are a mess. I don't even want to show you. I'm not showing you. Just imagine a twisted nest of yarn that looks like your hair looks after you ride around in a convertible for awhile. Having to tack down the strand not in use across the large areas of color every six/seven/eight stitches across the back made me run the risk that the contrast color will peek through, especially where there is negative ease (i.e. the sleeves), and it does peek through a little. I have decided not to let it bug me.

 

Success! This feels like money in the bank. There's no way to wear this double-thick, snuggly pullover and not be cozy, cozy, cozy. And now, it is going to be 85 degrees for the next week. Of course. In two months, Boreal will be in heavy wardrobe rotation as winter begins to bear down on us, but at this moment, it is hot. You can probably hear me sweating. I'm taking it off now, and going to the beach.