Mood:
celebratoryNow Playing: Cooked Still, "Still Live"
Topic: musings
Simply Embracing Simplicity
Several years ago, I finally took needles and yarn in my fists and applied the lessons of my grandmothers. I learned to knit. Like many, I began with the simple scarf in stockinette stitch. I don’t know what it was, but after several false starts in previous years, this time I was hooked. Soon I was pouring over my McCall’s Needlework Treasury and teaching myself different stitches and trying new patterns. I moved on to hats, mittens, and finally socks. Last year I even successfully knit a baby sweater.
If I’m sitting still, I’m clicking away with needles. While watching movies, visiting with family and friends, in the car, and on occasion, even in the dark! I’ve taken to keeping my headlamp, normally used only for camping and backpacking, in my knitting back. Just in case. I know I’m not the only one.
I love to peruse knitting sites like ravelry.com hunting for new, more challenging patterns. Like many of you, I am not content to knit the same pattern over and over. I want more difficult projects, pushing myself to try new things, to become a better knitter.
But recently I’ve been pushing harder and the needles have been clenched in frustrated fists, yarn knotting in thick snarls. I’ve frogged (rip-it! rip-it!) more sorry socks this past few weeks than ever before. And they were not a tough pattern, either. Annoyed and uninspired to pick up projects that were only bound to cruise toward disaster, I actually watched a couple movies, and the only stitches were in my ribs! When I did pick up my needles and yarn, I only knit a few rows before putting it aside. This was not right.
Then one day a friend hinted that I’d promised him a hat. I’d been putting off this simple project for too long. Knowing I’d be seeing him soon, so I grabbed some favorite worsted-weight wool from Scarecrow Farms in mountain berry red. Perfect for the avid backpacker who would wear it.
As I cast on the familiar number of stitches, I noticed a difference right away. The tension I normally hold in my shoulders eased immediately, I got into a relaxing rhythm of knitting. It was good. I finished the hat just in time to give it to my grateful friend, who put it on right away, smiling. It looked great on him, and I loved how the pattern of simple stitches let the nuances and more subtle hues of the red wool shine through. It was good.
I will never cast aside the simple knitting pattern again. There is just as much to admire in a lovely roll-rim hat as in a cabled sock. And that is perhaps one of the greatest beauties of knitting.
-Heather
Mood:
d'ohTopic: musings
SOS! SSS!
(Or, Second Sock Syndrome: A Cautionary Tale)
Many of us have been there. We start off with so much enthusiasm, revelling in luxurious yarn or challenged by a swoony new pattern, and stitch along merrily. Maybe we finish it quickly, triumphantly binding off in record time. Hurrah! Soon our needles or hooks cool and our giddy euphoria begins to ebb. And our condition becomes quite clear. Quite. This is only the first of a pair of mittens, gloves, or slippers. In my case, it’s a sock. I have (to be mumbled with all due gravity)
((( Second. Sock. Syndrome. )))
I’ve only felt the symptoms of this vile virus a couple times, normally grounding myself with regular reminders. This is the first of two. Binding off the first toe is only the halfway point. And even on my spindliest size-two needles, the socks go quickly. Both of ‘em.
But oh my, this time I’m mired in it. I started these socks for my father-in-law back in August and knitted my way through sock one with gusto. It was a simple pattern, and I used some nifty self-striping yarn in browns, I enjoyed watching the pattern come together as I knitted. Bit all the while I heard a little voice, a shrill whistle in my ear. This yarn has no give! No stretch! They will be tooooo smalllll! But I knitted on, tuning out the warnings, because after all, I’d already turned the heel. There was no going back, right? (Oh, and I might be a bit stubborn.)
So, um, that cautionary screech? She was so right. When my father-in-law tried on his stripedy sock, he could hardly fit his foot into the heel. Arrrg! Foiled! At least I didn’t cry. Instead, I cast on for a new sock, adding 10 stitches. Happily, I bought an extra skein, so I have plenty of yarn and one less thing to worry about.
So this time, all through sock two, which is really sock one, a murmuring worry rumbles as I knit and purl, increase and decrease. I just finished the gusset and am hopeful that this one will be the right size. Maybe by the end of the weekend, I’ll be starting sock three, which is really only (long sigh) sock two.
For encouragement, I promised myself that I can start knitting with my POEMS SOCK yarn when I finish these beleaguered, belated birthday socks. Ah, it occurs to me that I should also start my Christmas knitting, but I’m not sure anyone is getting socks this year.
-Heather
Mood:
lyricalNow Playing: Iron & Wine, "Love and Some Verses"
Topic: musings
My sister (not a knitter, I must add) spotted this gorgeous skein when we were in Harrisville Designs a few weekends ago and knew immediately that it was meant for me. The jewel colors are my favorite, indeed, but with the name POEMS SOCK (colorway "Grape Arbor"), it nearly sprang from the basket & into my eager hands.
Naturally, this muse-worthy yarn is destined for socks. But for me. Yes, me! I have been knitting socks for a couple years now & have only one pair of my own. My sister has four pairs, my husband has three, & my mother two, maybe three. I am determined this will be my next project...after I finish some socks for my father-in-law.
I am still debating on a pattern. I'd like something interesting to knit so I don't get bored, but not so complex as to distract from the yarn. Suggestions, anyone?
Will I wear them to write poems? Read poems? Merely wax poetic? Stay tuned!
-Heather
Topic: musings
This week I cut off all my hair,
-four years and fifteen frenetic inches, waist to chin,
slip without even a whoosh to the floor-and I learned to knit.
All last week you cupped my carroty braid in your hand,
knit your brow,
and implored me to change my mind.
Instead, I wrap up my locks in a plain, brown package.
Hope this fistful of curls, coiled into a thick hank,
brings braids to a girl who can't grow her own.
I buy coppery skeins of thick, knotty wool,
and hold them against my cold cheek,
listen to the clicking of cool, gleaming needles.
At first, I wind tight loops,
insistent fists refuse to move
and catch on my white knuckles.
I tangle and knot,
grimace and curse,
and, finally, knit and purl.
Orange streaks of dye stain my fingers.
Loose, red ringlets swing around my bare ears.
And I knit you a long, red scarf.
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