Stop! Sweater Time!

Yes, gentle readers, I have completed my most excellent sweater. Until (almost) any of the sweaters I have made up until this point, it fits! It fits a person the way it should with arms and torso decidedly not akimbo or even remotely deformed.

All and all, this pattern was a joy to knit. I speak, of course, about Joji Locatelli's Perla. It's a very well-written pattern, very clear. I had a little bit of issue with the sleeve cap on both sleeves but that could definitely have to do more with user error than anything intrinsically wrong with the pattern. While I can and do execute short rows, I am not precisely adept at them. They look well enough without a lot of wobble or unevenness, but I'm still just not at all sure about them.

The pattern comes complete with a little how-to for constructing the adorable little pins depicted in the pattern photos-- how often does that happen, really?

I'd also forgotten that wearing Malabrigo Merino Worsted is like wearing a buttery, velvet cloud. So that's pleasant, especially considering how the weather has turned from warm back to snowy in the last week. A little bit of brightness and warmth is welcome here and now.

I'd also forgotten how much pink there was in this colorway (Sealing Wax). It doesn't really look it in the skein and in the body of the sweater, the textured pattern breaks it up a little, but it's really quite evident in the sleeves. Still, I like it. Perhaps my abject dislike of wearing pink is lessening in my old age.

I'm visiting my parents briefly for Easter this year.

This upcoming Thursday night will mark the first time in almost three years that I've been in California. A very short visit-- around thirty-six hours by my not-very-precise estimates; but I'll see my folks and my house and my dog. I may even see a friend or two while I'm there.

A cursory search of the local eatery options means I'll probably be spending much of that time in and around Encinitas, CA for the simple reason that they have much more vegan-friendly fare than any of the surrounding cities. It also just so happens that there are two rather excellent yarn stores in the immediate vicinity, if memory serves (oh, and I never forget a yarn shop!). Black Sheep Yarns and Common Threads, I'm a-comin' for you.

I don't expect I will be able to do much damage in these stores, but you never know-- I must find something I just have to have.

In the meantime, I'm knitting a little something out of leftovers from my Prairie Drift shawl. I wonder if anyone can guess what it will be (apart from a pseudo-rectangle)?

I'll try to snap some pictures when it actually looks like something, but as the recipient has been known to read this blog, I don't wish to spoil the surprise!

I'm experiencing a strange sense of nostalgia in thinking about visiting my hometown which is not something I expected to feel, frankly. I'm a little anxious, in fact, to see things and how they've changed. I'm worried that my dog won't remember me-- I'm worried that Things Will Have Changed and will no longer be recognizable to me. I spent the better part of eighteen years living in the same town near the sea and although much changed in that time, the broad strokes are still there: same ocean, same pier, same maddening lack of connections to major thoroughfare streets, same strange mixture of socio-economic backgrounds.

I realize, of course, that Things Do Change and there is nothing inherently wrong with that but one's home town, it seems, at least in my mind should be at least partially exempt from this particular form of entropy. I want the same greasy spoon restaurants to be there (even if there isn't anything there any longer than I can/will eat); I want the same landmarks and the same awkwardly shoehorned little downtown; I want the same pier with the same unspoken understanding that there are part of the pier that you do not step on for fear of being plunged into the icy Pacific water.

And I suppose I'll see how much Things Have Changed in the two-and-something years I've been gone.

At least it won't be such a shock the next time I visit. I'll adjust and manage my expectations. Regardless, it was the town I grew up in; the down that -in some ways- will always be home.

And that much, at least, won't change.

Paranoia and Other Everyday Afflictions

Perhaps I'm just new to this but knitting for babies fills me with a sense of dread.

Maybe it's because I'm sort of new to the idea that people I know are having children. Up until this point, all of my parents' friends were too old to be having children, I'm not terribly close to any of my (excessively numerous) cousins, and before recently, my friends were all too young to consider spawning.

It appears that this has changed within the last six months or so. 

Compounding this problem is that because of unfortunate circumstances, I became worried that my knitting might be some kind of horrible jinx. The first baby things I ever made, I knit for a former co-worker only to find out later that his wife had, sadly, miscarried. Which is horrible and awful and I can't even imagine.

So back into my cedar chest the little knit goods went, put away for another occasion. A friend of mine germinated a little girl so, in addition to the toy and booties I had made previously, I knit a little sweater, a doll, and a bib. They were darling, though I don't think they were ever worn or used by said child. Perhaps I underestimated how large a baby is... this is entirely possible as I don't think I've seen one in real life (up close) since I was five or six years old.

And then another friend of mine turned up pregnant and I knit her a baby blanket... and her baby ended up born incredibly early in emergency circumstances and had to stay in the NICU for ten weeks. Fortunately, she's alright now but I'm a little paranoid about giving her the blanket, lest I actually prove to be a jinx.

Now, I know logically that my knitting has absolutely nothing to do with anything in this instance. But it's still sort of nerve-wracking and unsettling.

So when a co-worker announced that she was pregnant, I felt two things: 

1) An obligation to knit her at least a little something

2) A sense of doom

So I'm waiting for her to announce what the baby's sex which, fortunately, extends the amount of reasonable procrastination I can allow myself. Knitting tiny baby things isn't exactly time-consuming in most instances-- fiddly, yes, but it generally doesn't take long to cast on the ten stitches around most baby limbs are and work up something nice.

In other news, I've been knitting quite a bit in the last week or so. I started a sweater for which I made a -gasp- real gauge swatch. That's right, gentle readers, I knit a swatch and then washed and blocked it.

Not that my project pictures particularly illustrate it, but my sweaters have always been a little... off. Not all of them, granted, but of late, it seems like I've forgotten that knitting tends to change gauge once it is blocked. I have several sweaters knit from gorgeous yarns from brilliant patterns that don't appear to be made for human beings with a normal distribution of limbs. 

But this one, knit in the most buttery of Malabrigo Worsted in Sealing Wax-- so perfect. At least I'm hoping it is. It's still on the needles so it's somewhat difficult to tell, but it's looking alright.

Also, I finished my Prairie Drift, for all interested parties... it's a bit small. It's lovely, but I could have knit another half-dozen or more pattern repeats for it to be a proper shawl size rather than a somewhat wide shawlette.

 I'll wear it but I'll be grumpy about it. Imagine Grumpy Cat wearing a shawl and you'll have a pretty good mental image of what I'll look like; a well accessorized grouch.

Old Things, Tiny Seeds

I've been giving a lot of thought to quality of life of late.

My conclusion on this topic is that I have rather an excellent life. I have the luxury of being able to afford a nice apartment in a nice part of town and even though it's not very big, it is a vast improvement over the matchbox that Tim and I had been living in previously. I have a car that is, more or less, in good repair. Within reason, I can afford my hobbies and I have some free time to pursue interests outside of my mostly-adequately paying job.

Now, there are some luxuries that are simply out of my reach: travel (for non-work-related purposes), specialty tools (I'm looking at you, spinning wheels), a meaningful amount in my savings account (well, I'm working on it, but it's slow-going), and God forbid anything ever happens to my car-- I am completely up a creek in that regard.

I have been thinking on the impossibility of owning a home in the foreseeable future with a twinge of sadness. In some regards, this hardly matters-- but the idea of having one's own home is just so compelling. No one could tell me that I couldn't paint the walls teal, for example, and I could live in a house with walls that are all different shades of teal.

Not that I necessary long for a teal-walled house, but you get the idea.

So I have been working on contenting myself with the things that I do have and ridding myself of those things that make me less than happy.

Which bring me to this:

I frogged my Hanging Leaves shawl. That last picture I showed you all of it was about as far as it ever went, give or take a few rows. Every row was profoundly boring agony and I've just no time or inclination for such a thing.

Instead, I cast on a Drift Shawl with the yarn I brought back from Montana. It's a gorgeous thing so far and although I have no doubt that I will have to block the ever-living heck out of it to get it to tolerable dimensions, I'm looking forward to wearing it.

The yarn is lovely, though it has some vegetable matter running through it and it appears to be rubbing some orange-red dye off on my hands and the inside of my project bag. I suppose as it is dyed with natural plant dyes and is, in fact, organic wool that I shouldn't be too worried about it, despite how disconcerting I find the leeching pigment.

This shawl will require a long soak once it's off the needles and probably a bit of a wash to rinse out the excess dye.

In the arena of "new things that are making me happy", Tim and I are bringing new, chlorophyll-based life into the world. Behold!

Tiny baby seed starts! With the help of a few friends of ours,  we're starting a little vegetable and herb garden. It's quite exciting and given the amount of produce we go through, while it likely won't defray our cost of living, it'll certainly supplement the all important tasty-factor of our meals.

So that's what I've got-- getting rid of old things that I have not the mental fortitude to keep schlepping around with me and emphasizing those things that are good and best.

Also, tiny, baby vegetables. So there's that.

Return to the Land of the Living

Hello, Dear Readers.

It's been a while.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was in Billings, Montana for about a week on a work trip. It was so-very thrilling and did a lot to increase the already formidable size of my sleep deficit. Nevertheless, as I find is often the case, I did meet some truly awesome folks in my time away. I feel a pang of sadness when I think about the fact that I very likely won't see them in person anymore. Sure, we'll correspond through email and we'll probably speak on the phone, but barring a wholly unforeseen event, I won't ever be in their physical presence again.

It's a shame, too; Billings has some pretty rad people living in it.

In an exceedingly rare, almost unheard-of event, I got a hold of a car during my lunch break and was able to check out the local yarn store scene. I had the pleasure of visiting Wild Purls and I did some compulsory yarn shopping. Now, to be fair, I did need some yarn to finish another strip of my 64 Crayon Blanket. Of course I ran out some fifteen rows from the end! Apart from the necessary purchase, however, I did pick up some gorgeous Montana-made yarn. Just look at it-- it's gorgeous:

I was tickled pink by the lack of sales tax in Montana. You see, I have this habit of rounding up tax to absurd decimal places just to make sure I never underestimate the total cost of a purchase. In Montana, however, this is wholly unnecessary. You should have seen me at the Dollar Store-- I was going nuts because everything literally cost one dollar. No weird tax tacking on some seven- or eight-odd cents. Beautiful, round numbers instead.

So yeah, I may have compensated by buying more yarn than strictly necessary but it was a beautiful yarn store so I regret nothing. I am sad to report that I never made it out to another local store I was told was a must-see, Purl Yarn Boutique. By the look of their website, I missed another truly awesome shop.

All and all, there was very little time for knitting, however. Turns out, working seventeen hours a day really puts a damper on free-time activities (did I mention my outrageous sleep deficit?).

What time I did have to myself was spent in the pursuit of a decent meal (which was often a frozen yakisoba and a lackluster bowl of fruit) and then lying motionless on the bed, watching Marilyn Monroe movies.

I finally got around to watching Some Like It Hot which is arguably the funniest film I've seen in a good long while. The was followed up by episodically re-watching The Seven Year Itch-- another excellently amusing film.

By the time I made it home, harried from almost being late to the airport, I found myself laid up with a cold (I'm sorry, fellow airline passengers, I tried to keep my germs to myself). I had planned on taking a three-day weekend upon my return home but I hadn't expected the circumstances to be quite so feverish. Mostly, I ended up lying around unmoving, hopped up on Dayquil, snoozing and playing with some neat language-learning applications online (I'm looking at you, Memrise and Duolingo).

I have been working on my Hanging Leaves shawl (about which I am still somewhat ambivalent), but it's hard to see progress when one is working in laceweight. My boyfriend saw what I was working on and seemed almost started at it: "That's the smallest thing I've ever seen you work on." And, frankly, he's right. I usually make it a point not to work on laceweight for the very reason that I find it so discouraging. Work ten rows-- progress--what progress?

It's soft, at least.

I'm pleased to be back home. Home to bed and boyfriend and cat and familiar. At least this cold had the courtesy to kick in as I was on my way home, rather than afflicting me in a strange hotel room.

So here I am again, easing myself back into normal routines and dutifully reporting them to you, dear reader.

It's good to be back.

Infidelity and Baby Carrots

(Preface: There are no pictures in this post. I am sorry. I hope to add some later when not in such a rough technological patch [read: Billings, Montana].)

So I'm usually a strictly monogamous knitter.

In the early days of my knitting, I would start a project, either finish it or frog it, and then move on.

Then I discovered Ravelry. Now, let me preface the remainder of this blog post by saying that Ravelry, in so many ways, has improved my quality of life. That may sound a facetious, but nothing could be more honest. Ravelers and their kindness have inextricably shaped me as a crafter as well as a person. I doubt that could be said of many other websites.

Now, with that said, Ravelry has also made it much more difficult to be satisfied with any single project. As soon as I cast on one project, no matter how very excited I am about it, I invariably see something else that I just can't wait to start. Normally, I'm strong. Normally, I use that excitement to dangle a carrot for myself, so to speak. And, generally, it works.

I make the occasional concession to myself during the holidays or if I really, really can't stand the project I am currently working on, but these exceptions are few and far between.

Of late, however, the exceptions have slowly begun to multiply.

Currently, I have a stripe for my 64 Crayons Blanket in progress (why is ribbing just so tedious to knit?), I just cast on a Hanging Leaves scarf and, perhaps, the biggest distraction of all: I have purchased a circular knitting machine.

It's glorious, complicated, infuriating, and a complete time-sink. I mean this all in the most affectionate of ways, but until I become a little more competent with this machinery, the time I spend on it isn't at all productive in the end-product sense. Fluency will come and with it socks and scarves and leg warmers and all manner of tube-based knits. Until then, little progress is made on my other projects.

And I suppose that that's the way it goes.

The scarf/shawl I've started is actually pretty interesting. I've made some changes to it, the most major of which is to knit it in a slip woven stitch pattern rather than in plain stockinette. Mostly, I  just can't abide shawls curling on me when I'm trying to look fabulous while wearing them. Instead, I have substituted the Odd Slip Stitch pattern from the incomparable Crow Waltz Shawl (of which I have made three to date).

At present, I'm feeling a little guilty for not having ideal and pretty pictures to show, of all the fabulous progress of posts past, but at least I have been doing something with my time.

Currently, I am on yet another business trip in scenic Billings, Montana. I haven't been here long enough to make an assessment, but I do have this to say: the combination of staying in a hotel, not having a car, and being vegan is not an easy one.

I try to do reconnaissance ahead of time to make plans in terms of my meals, but I admit that I was at a loss when it came to Billings. Online resources are only as soon as the information supplied to them, I suppose, and I'm sure there's more here than the meager list I've heretofore compiled... but at present, the list of places I can procure vegan food within walking distance of my hotel is: Costco.

So I schlepped myself over to Costco on this mercifully warm evening, shopped, and then hauled back around 35 pounds of mostly produce and hummus. I'll be here for a week, after all, and I am a known menace to baby carrots... good thing I bought 5 pounds of them, then.

Being a knitting vegan abroad is a challenge, certainly, but it's still rather a bit of fun, even if my hands are still slightly numb from ferrying my purchases the half-mile or so back to my room.

Guilt(y) Purchases

So I am one of those people who apologizes for asking people to perform the duties of their jobs. When I call the pharmacy, for example, I apologize for taking up the pharmacist's time. If I need to return something or ask a question of a sales associate, I apologize profusely for bothering them. Heaven forbid I do waste someone's time by asking after a product that the store doesn't carry or by starting to ask a question, only to answer it myself.

Perhaps I've worked a little bit too much in the realm of customer service, but I've acquired a very reluctant demeanor when it comes to taking up the time of people whose job it is (during working hours) to have their time taken up by me.

Call it silly, call it unnecessary, it nevertheless is.

Which leads me to yesterday's events.

I found that I had to go the yarn store; I needed to compared colors in real life and not just hope that my monitor and a website's camera were both calibrated the same so that I could make some informed purchases. I arrived at my nearest local yarn shop and, as per usual, I declined the offer of assistance when I walked through the door. I riffled for a bit through the sale section, got startled by another shop attendant while doing so (they're like ninjas!), and then made my way towards the Brown Sheep NatureSpun Sport. I was on a mission, detour aside.

So I plopped down in front of the display and began pulling colors to compare them to one another. I eventually found a combination that I found pleasing and was careful to put each skein back into the correct cubby to avoid confusion for future customers/sales folk.

And then I was done.

I rose and took a step towards the door. It was then that the guilt began. The nagging and the sense of being ungrateful for taking up floor space in the (admittedly large) store with my -brief- color comparison. So I wheeled around, piloted by the sense that I should really buy something, and inspected the shop's selection of cottons-- there had been two skeins of a cotton bouclé in the clearance section that were appealing to me but lacked sufficient yardage... no, no cotton today. So I looked over the Cascade 220-- nope, don't need/want any of that...

And it continued in this fashion. I'd pass a section, thinking maybe something would call to me and I could buy a little something to assuage the guilt I was feeling. I was asked again if I needed help: "No, no thank you. I'm just looking." I'd smile at that and try to ignore the somewhat bewildered expression on the saleswoman's face.

On an unrelated note, I tend to get strange looks in yarn stores. Apparently, being under 30 (40, 50?) in a yarn store means you don't know what you're doing and/or looking for.

I remembered that I'd been charmed by a pattern I'd seen on Ravelry a few days before-- Hanging Leaves from an upcoming book, Botanical Knits 2. Normally, I'd scoff at the suggestion that I should knit with laceweight as the pattern suggested... but I was getting desperate at this point. So I hunkered down in front of the Mountain Colors lace weight and perused the colors one by one.

I think I was making the shop ladies anxious... either that, or I'm projecting heavily my own feelings of unease on them.

Eventually, I came up with a pair of lace weights- a Mountain Colors and a skein of Classic Elite Silky Alpaca Lace. They're both very pretty, though not necessarily something I would purchase without the impetus of retail guilt.

I took my yarn selection to the counter, feeling relieved, and asked to pay for my purchases with store credit I'd previously accumulated. Of course, I apologized for having an unusual name that is difficult to spell and pronounce-- "Yes, that's it... sorry." It took the sales clerk a moment to find my store credit card, partially because my name was spelled incorrectly on it. "Yeah, sorry. Weird name."

With my purchase made, I quickly departed and found myself wondering what percentage of purchases are made strictly on the basis of guilt.

My friend recently told me that when she visited a country in Southeastern Asia (though, of course, I can't remember specifically which), she told me that if you go into a shop, you are compelled to buy something there. This is partially because the store owner proceeds to follow you around, asking you questions and trying to get you something you want, but partially because, as she explained it, the social contract there is that the very act of entering a store means you will spend money there.

Sometimes I feel similarly, especially small, boutique-style stores. Even departing with a cheerful "thank you!" after having looked around and found nothing to purchase leaves me cringing.

But maybe that's just me.

Still, I ended up with some pretty yarn and I'll be well prepared when this pattern does finally come out... hopefully, I can avoid too many awkward sensations of guilt between now and then.

Ode to a Good Blanket

Remember when I posted about the project that took forever? Well, I guess I should clarify somewhat. It did take forever, of course, and the project that I compared it to took even longer, but I actually have a WIP that has been on my needles off and on since July, 2012. Now, before you break out the inaccuracy pitchforks, know that it was an honest mistake. I tend to forget about this project, hence the stupid-long amount of time I've been working on this.

Introducing the small and needling thorn in my side: That New Crayon Smell.

Notice the fact that it is still a WIP and only about 60% completed of yet. After two years.

It started innocently enough, really. I had a few (okay, a lot) of skeins of Noro Kureyon on hand and I decided that rather than hoarding them like some kind of deranged wool-dragon, I should use them up.

You see, I had developed something of an obsession with Noro brand yarn. In particular, I found that almost every time I visited my LYS, I came away with another oddball skein of Kureyon. At the time, I was living in Santa Barbara, California and my favorite LYS was the incomparable Cardigans. Although there has been a change of ownership since I moved away, it appears that the legacy that Pam Price started there is still alive and well. This alone pleases me as I often wish I could visit Cardigans as easily as I could when I lived mere miles away. Cardigans is and always will be my ideal yarn shop.

During this time, I was working as a long-suffering waitress in downtown SB. I had a pleasant enough demeanor and I didn't spill things on guests too often so I made decent tips... the real problem is that I was deeply unhappy. Not necessarily with the job, not necessarily with my apartment or my car or what have you but the entire situation was entirely too taxing for me.

So that's how I ended up at Cardigans more often than not. I'd chat with Pam and sometimes I'd knit at the table with a few other regulars and usually, I'd spend a portion of my tips on a pretty, inexplicable ball of Kureyon. Unlike many of my purchases then and now, I didn't have a specific plan for the balls I purchased but I found their color and somewhat scratchy texture irresistible.

After I had amassed a not-insignificant number of skeins and schlepped them all the way to Colorado, I took it upon myself to finally do something with them.

After a bit of searching, I decided upon the pattern 64 Crayons by Amy Swenson. It definitely wasn't the most interesting pattern but, at the time, I wasn't feeling up to short rows so Lizard Ridge was out and the other patterns I found just weren't inspiring to me. So I selected the pattern, made my purchase, and then I noticed that this pattern had been written for the very purpose I intended to use it: to use up Kureyon that had been purchased as a band-aid measure to dissatisfaction. Seems I wasn't the only one who sought refuge in bright colors and familiar texture.

Another advantage of this pattern is that it is knit in strips. Essentially, it's like knitting a ribbed scarf a la Jared Flood's Noro Striped Scarf though, admittedly, shorter. So I set off with that in mind, to knit a strip every other project and eventually come out of it with a new woolen blanket. That was the plan, anyway.

In reality, I get distracted like a magpie. I rush off to the newest yarn (hello, Madelinetosh!), the newest pattern that I just have to make... and all the while, my patient blanket has been waiting for me, folded neatly with all its composite skeins in a large storage bag in my stash. I'm currently on the forth strip (2 small, 2 large total) of the six I'm meant to have for a decent-sized lap blanket.

And still the project abides, kind and waiting for me. On Valentine's Day, for example, I accidentally left my project bag in the booth of a Chinese Restaurant. I returned for it the next day (not before casting on for Khoshekh though, mind you), and promptly went upstairs to my current LYS. I was making a return, but I don't think my blanket strip would have much minded if I'd made another purchase, started yet another pattern while it continued to be put up on a shelf in favor of something more interesting.

I suppose that it's a good sort of sensation to get from a soon-to-be blanket; warm, acceptance. Heaven forbid I or anyone else ever try to knit a demanding, harsh blanket.

But I think I'll make a bit more of an effort on this project-- it's waited long enough and though the weather's been in the 50s and 60s, I could still use a nice blanket under which to curl up and relax.

We all could use that, I think.

A New Addition

I seem to have acquired a new pet today!

I was taking a stroll through my apartment complex when I noticed something rustling in a nearby bush. I approached cautiously and saw a curious but sweet little face peeking out at me:

He seemed friendly enough so after a moment of indecision with those big, opalescent eyes staring unblinkingly out at me, I carefully scooped him out of the brush.

I dusted him off a little bit he didn't seem too worse for wear... maybe a little bit stranger-looking than I might have originally thought...

In so much as I am knowledgeable about feline-cephalopod anatomy would allow, I determine that he was in good health... at least all of his little paws--tentacles were intact? He didn't have a nose as such so it was difficult to test whether or not it were cold and/or wet.

Best of all, though, he seems pretty friendly:

So I brought him inside and introduced him to Herr Kittie... thus far, Kittie is pretty ambivalent about our newest addition. I'm not too worried about either of them, though; Kittie is too lazy to fight and our new house guest appears to have the ability to stick to any surface, making a quick escape simply of matter of slithering up the nearest wall.

I hope he'll be happy here, but I'm worried he might be getting a little home sick:

Plausible Map of Night Vale by Melissa Dalton

Things are good here and I am most pleased with my newest project, Octopuss by Jill Watt. I couldn't resist using the pattern to make myself one of my favorite characters from my favorite podcast, Welcome to Night Vale, Khoshekh! 

If you are into any and all things H.P. Lovecraft, or Twin Peaks, or just general weirdness, check out Welcome to Night Vale.

I hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's Day and an equally nice weekend. I myself just wanted to do a quick, silly post because I was just too excited about my newest FO.

Also, I just wanted to give you all a heartfelt thank you for bringing my modest blog to over 200 pageviews. I am thrilled-beyond-thrilled to offer words and pictures and much silliness to all of you. Thank you!

Murphy's Law and Other Constants

So the good news is that I finally finished the gloves I've been working on. Huzzah. I'm ashamed to admit that these took me the second-longest of all the projects I have ever knitted.

To give you some sort of perspective on how ridiculous I think this is, here is the only project that exceeds these gloves in time taken:

Matyev's Bedjacket

Yeah. That's all-over stranded colorwork worked in the round then steeked... not to mention hours and hours worth of duplicate stitch in several colors. I'm actually a little bit bitter about the time this (admittedly beautiful) project took... mostly because my shoulders are sloped enough that this falls right off of me when I attempt to wear it. 

At any rate, I don't do well with projects taking so long. I'm much more accustomed to knocking out two or three projects per month-- that's a rate I can definitely get behind. 

Things as they are, however, I'm lucky if I'm able to knit during my lunch break at work and perhaps for a few minutes in the evening. Seems I've finally made the horrid transition into Normal Adult Life and, thus, have much less time for all the things I'd rather be doing. 

I don't believe I've outright mentioned it in a post, but I have several other past times very much apart from knitting. Shocking, I know. The things that take the most time are, inexplicably, not craft related: I belly dance and I lift weights. Stating that so plainly makes it seem a little paradoxical but it's true. I have a couple dance classes a week (and the occasional performance), as well as lifting heavy at the gym a few times a week. Throw that in the mix with cooking and trying to make sure the house isn't a complete disaster, suddenly I have a lot less time to devote to knitting.

I shall have to work on that.

So here are the long belated gloves:

And they're lovely and so incredibly warm. I knit them at a much tighter gauge than suggested to make up for my very short fingers... it made the actual knitting less than pleasant (lace-tipped needles + cables knit through the back loop + tighter than usual gauge = ouch) but the result is quite nice.

Of course, though, the day I finished them, it was too warm to wear them-- but I've come to accept this about my life and accomplishments. Nevertheless, it has cooled back down again and now there is ample opportunity to wear weird split-fingered glove/mitten hybrids.

Just after I finished these, I quickly cast on for a hat for Tim. He asked so nicely for a hat that wasn't too long and that he could wear casually around the house and office. I was happy to oblige him and pawed through a veritable mountain of leftover mostals and came up with a coordinating pair of Cascade 220 balls in some shade of brown and Pumpkin Spice Heather (courtesy of the Doctor Who scarf I finished for him recently). I blithely started knitting Stephen West's Botanic hat. It's a lovely, simple pattern that I have made previously. 

And then I became very aware of the fact that the darker brown yarn was running out awfully quickly... I started to get that familiar sinking feeling that accompanies poor planning.

But disaster was averted in the end: I ended up having a whole 5 inches of yarn left over. That's practically a mile. Made it with yarn to spare! Take that, Murphy's Law! Haha!

Feeling perhaps overly confident and maybe just a little swollen with pride, I cast on yet another project! 

This time it was Alchemy Yarn's Scribble Me Timbers cowl. I'd picked up some (non-Alchermy) yarn of a novelty sort recently on credit... I was feeling untouchable and not even weirdly scratchy-textured yarn could defeat me.

And this is the result: 

I promptly gave this away upon completion and, of course, didn't get a FO picture

You will notice that this looks rather nothing like the sample.

I find myself recalling earlier during the weekend when I noticed I'd made a mistake while casting on Tim's Botanic hat. I sat back with a huge sigh, flicking my work away in disgust. Tim looked over and asked me what was wrong. I moaned: "Why don't I ever read instructions?" Without skipping a beat, he supplied: "Hubris?"

Touché, Tim.

Touché, Murphy's Law.

Let's Talk About Color

For those of you who have seen my Ravelry projects page, you may have come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, completely enthralled by color. In the vein of 'pics or it didn't happen', I present to you the inside of my cedar chest:

Both highly colorful and highly disorganized!

As a little girl, I wore a wide variety of colors (I'm told, though some of that may have been under maternal duress) but as I got a little older, my wardrobe became more and more monochromatic. If I'm completely honest, by the time I hit high school, one could rightly classify the contents of my closet as 'melancholy' and 'drab'. Now, this isn't to say that my clothes weren't nice-- they were! It's just that every piece I owned was, invariably, black or grey. Not even white. Black or grey. I wasn't even inherently adverse to color-- I mean, I quite liked it, I just didn't know what to do with it.

This is no longer the case, fortunately. My stocking/legwarmer/tights collection alone would have sent my high school self into melodramatic conniptions. To give you some idea of the extent of my depravity: last night I went to Target and -wonder of wonders!- the entire stock of opaque-ish tights that are normally $5 each were on clearance for $3.something each. I may have a minor weakness for both clearance items and colorful tights.

Anyway, I picked up three pairs of tights: turquoise, teal, and damask blue. I got home, pleased with my purchase and realized that I already had that exact pair of turquoise tights. Not even a different pair of turquoise tights-- the same. pair. Fortunately, I was able to pawn the still-sealed pair off onto a friend so it was not a complete waste.

The inclusion of color into my wardrobe is something I credit largely to my knitting. Before knitting, it was easy enough to always wear black and grey because, dammit, it always matched. When I started knitting, however, I had absolutely zero interest in black yarn: it was simply too hard to see the stitches, first off, and second-- have you seen a yarn store recently? It's a riot of color! It's so loud and wonderful and even though I was doing a lot of my purchasing in Michaels, there was still so much to look at! The first time I visited my first local yarn shop, I thought I might actually die of chromatic happiness.

One of my first finished objects was a pair of somewhat hideous legwarmers (I still wear and get a disproportionately huge number of compliments on them) made from Lion Brand Homespun in some muted rainbow-ish colorway. At the time, this was the first shock of color my wardrobe had seen for years.

Um, yeah, that's a toe ring.

During the successive years, I've had quite the opposite problem as before: there is, perhaps, too much color in my wardrobe. I've actually had to rein things back a little and try to put a little bit of neutrality back into my knit goods. I've actually had to knit a few grey shawls recently, just to offset the Crayola-bright look my clothes have attained of late.

Mostly, I'm okay with it. Knitting the occasional neutral-colored thing (which reminds me-- I need to make something in navy blue and/or black forthwith) is tolerable in the grand scheme of things as long as it keeps me, generally, in technicolor.

Cables, Wires, and Other Things

I have a confession to make: I love cables.

Banal and humdrum an admission as this may be, for the longest time, I didn't think cables were something I'd ever like doing. I don't know about you, but there are a great many knitting things that I sort of wish I could get someone else to do: picking up more than a handful of stitches, for example; weaving in ends; untangling the last bit of a yarn cake, et cetera.

Cabling, however, has been a real surprise to me over the years. Now--like most knitters and craftspeople, I am willing to suffer (to a degree) for my art, but what began as a grudging 'fiiiine' whenever it came to actually cabling, has become a perky 'oooh, yay!'. And it isn't that I'm not perky, but my reaction to cabling is a bit more pixie-bright than most.

My relationship with this technique began pretty poorly. I'd taught myself how to cast on, knit, purl, rib, etc, and I decided I wanted to attempt a sweater. What can I say-- I was a precocious baby knitter. Now, I knew that cable needles existed because they were in Michaels and I knew you used them to knit big circles: and what is a sweater if not a big, knit tube?

So off to Michaels I went! coupon in hand, I picked up seven skeins of Lion Brand Thick n' Quick and a cable needle. To give you some idea of the depth of my knitting knowledge, here is how I selected what needle to pick: I consulted the ball band for suggested needle size (little did I know that I did and do still need at least two needle sizes larger than suggested in order to get gauge), and then picked the length of needle that would fit all the way around me. I remember taking the needle out of the package carefully, unwinding the stiff cable and holding it around my chest-- you know, to make sure it would match my circumference. Which made complete sense to me. Thirty-six inch, huge-gauge needle in hand, I checked out, pleased with myself for being so clever.

Yeah, kind of like this. *shudder*

So I did with anyone with a faulty understanding of how knitting works would: I cast on enough stitches to fit on the length of the cable needle and started knitting. Now, the first problem with this became apparent pretty quickly: the number of stitches that will fit on a 36" cable needle is not necessarily the number of stitches it will take to knit a 36" circumference garment. So it was more like 36" in diameter-- fine, I like big sweaters. So I kept knitting.

That was my first mistake.

Then I decided that just knitting endlessly in the round (while novel-- look, ma, no purls!) was pretty boring. So, naturally, I consulted my Knitting Field Guide and found a simple cable. Easy enough. Fortunately, I didn't have trouble thinking I had to physically twist the stitches together so the cabling itself, while near-impossible on a giant, blunt Clover circ, was actually pretty fun. I also had no concept of how to figure out which direction the cable would cross so although the cables lined up (sort of), they were not crossed over consistently. Fine-- it's a design feature.

That was my second mistake.

So I knit this huge, hideous tube until it was the length of my entire torso, shoulder to hip (not counting the extra that hung from the enormous size of the thing). And then I realized that I had no idea how to make sleeves, let alone attach them in some cogent way to the body.

So I abandoned the project. I meant to eventually pick it up again, I meant to maybe make it into a dress or a couch slip cover (okay, a pillow.. but it was still pretty darn big), but I didn't. In hindsight, I could have sewed up the bottom and used it as an industrial trashcan liner. This poorly conceived and even more poorly executed thing is still in my childhood house in Southern California-- lurking.

That said, cabling and I are a thing now. We're an item. We're going steady. We're pinned. My boyfriend is jealous of cables and my love. Not really, but almost.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit C

Exhibit D 

(Remember these? They are taking forever. I'm in the middle of the second one now.)

I have many more examples but I don't wish to bore you. Well, not entirely true... I could talk for days about cabling. In fact, I sat down with the resolve to show you my collection of cable needles but then I realized belatedly that I don't use them anymore. That's right-- all of the above cabling was done with no needle. No safety net. I'm a rebel, after all.

If you've never attempted to cable without a needle, I highly recommend it; if only for it's death-denying, free-wheelin' loose stitches. I always feel a little bit like a shepherd rounding up my flock as I slip the stitches back onto my working needles. 

Basically in sum: CABLES. Knit them! 

That's what I've got. Now to finish these darn Glittens before winter ends and I can't wear them for another billion years. 

Passing It On

This may be something of a small departure from my normal attempts at a coherent blog post, but bear with me. I swear, it is still (however tangentially) knitting-related.

I don't know about you, but I often get the sense of being isolated. Not necessarily at home, but certainly in my life outside the private sphere. Certainly, this has to do with not often making eye contact and at least attempting to go about my errands and such with a sense of purpose and direction. That is to say, unless I'm in a yarn or fabric store, I try very much not to wander around aimlessly. If I am in a grocery store and I just need a package of tofu and a head of cabbage, look out: I will politely wait for you to move and then relentlessly find the head of cabbage I am looking for.

But in all seriousness, I often get this disconnected feeling, sort of like that annoying, disheartening busy signal on the phone. Pulsing and uncaring, or worse yet-- that three-note, trill, "be-Ee-EP! We're sorry but the number..." 

I try not to be that sort of person-- I try to genuinely smile and engage with clerks and customer service representatives, I compliment people when I feel the need to... Although I have a pretty profoundly unfriendly neutral expression, for all intents and purposes, I am not truly unfriendly. 

So imagine my surprise today when I found that I'm not quite as marooned on an island of my own making as I originally thought. 

The news came to me in what was a pretty innocuous comment made by a coworker/friend/human that I often converse with. She is bright and friendly and also shares my paradoxical love of both Hello Kitty and zombies. It was easy to begin chatting with her about bento and video games and all manner of nerdy/cute/fun things. She came to admire the knitting projects that I often wear to the office (I sit under an air conditioning vent so this is more practicality than vanity).

Yeah, this is (one of) my lunch boxes. 

(I actually bring between three and four containers of food to work daily. It's hard out there for a vegan with culinary-based sensibilities.) 

And then she said it-- essentially, she had been telling her daughter about me and my... exploits, I guess, specifically in the field of knitting, and the reaction of this young woman was the desire to learn how to knit. 

I was charmed, of course, and then a little taken aback. Surely, this was some innate desire to learn already in the girl. From what I understand, she is rather crafty. Still, the sensation that-- well, maybe I may not have been the root cause, but I was at least a catalyzing agent was nevertheless profound.

When I think about people regarding me, both my character and my physique, I generally assume that it is negative. Probably not the healthiest frame of mind, but nevertheless a realistic portrayal of my train of thought. To find that I am admired if not, dare I say it-- mildly idolized? This is nothing short of an epiphany.

I was this young woman's age when I started knitting and apart from the somewhat ageist treatment I receive(d) in some yarn stores, there is no better time to hone your skills. Despite how it feels in high school and even in college while pursuing a bachelor's degree-- one still has quite a bit of free time in which to improve technique and make some neat practical applications in wool and other fibers. Nothing quite like having the neatest pair of handmade woolen gloves while your friends and shivering in their acrylic, mass produced attempts at warmth. 

So I gave my coworker/friend/human some advice about knitting tutorials (knittinghelp.com 4 LYFE), some information about where to buy, what to get, some suggestions on a first project, suggestions about yarn, etc.

I was feeling bolstered after this exchange. In fact, I still am, even as I chronicle this rather inexplicable event. 

Adding to the serendipity of this occasion is that I am currently listening to an audiobook that features predominantly the Dalai Lama's thoughts on happiness. Lasting, profound happiness, he says, comes from realizing the connection between all beings and the feeling of compassion towards one another.

Pass it on, everyone: we are each uniquely awesome and no one thinks as ill about us as we do ourselves.

So chalk this up to the vast interconnections of mankind. Also, I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself.

Here, There & Everywhere

Well, this week has been hectic.

I was away from home for six days on a business trip and during that time I got shamefully little done in terms of knitting.

Certainly, I did a lot of work-work. I formatted a lot of spreadsheets, I wrote a lot of emails, I worked face-to-face with a lot of new and often endearing people. However, I am completely exhausted from traveling and living in an unfamiliar place. As I have previously established, I am a creature of habit and without my habitual spaces and people, I get a little... loopy.

Maybe it was due to the sleep deprivation-- after all, I was sleeping on weird, not-my-pillows; there was no cat trying to eat my feet; there was no boyfriend's comforting presence. Maybe it was due to the stress of my job-situation. Maybe it was the on-going foraging for food... and let me just digress for a moment to say that I am frustrated that in high-stress situations, people (I am also guilty of this, though I try not to be) tend to admire it when their coworkers/fellows disregard their very human, biological needs in favor of 'working hard'.

I'm going to come out and say it: it is not admirable to forego food, sleep, water, or any other physical needs for the perceived importance of work. Unless you are saving lives directly, maybe it's okay to take a break and eat a granola bar or down a bottle of water. I swear, I was dodging hate-glares because I, at a point, stopped and said 'you know, I'm parched, I'm going to grab a drink, do you want something?' Is that so very terrible? Dehydration is apparently an accurate measurement of how dedicated you are to your job. Sure it is.

Anyway. I did very few things I enjoyed while away. Which is just a different kind of shameful.

I made a little progress on a project I started with my birthday yarn-- I would make more, but I find that I'm knitting much tighter than usual, resulting in a somewhat painful experience (care of Chiagoo's awesome lace tips). But! It's coming along.

I'm calling these 'Celtic Vulcan', due to the split in the fingers.

Ultimately, my time away (as it always does) made me incredibly grateful for my home. My boyfriend had a home-cooked meal prepared for me when I walked in the door (seriously, he is objectively the best boyfriend ever), the cat put aside his "I'm not paying any attention to you" mannerisms for a while and we all sat, watched a silly show on Netflix, and reconnected. 

There is little that is better in this world than coming home.

Refurbishment & Capital Letters

I am a creature of habit.

I find comfort in things that are and will be the same. I know that this is not unusual for humans but I think this preference runs a little deeper in me than in most. For example I have a playlist that I've built of only my most-favorite songs that I listen to almost every day and despite knowing every word and the order of every song, I keep listening to it because, gosh darn it, I like it. I know it.

You may notice that I'm actually in the middle of a layout change. I'm working with a very talented graphic designer friend of mine, Brianna Blue, to add a certain je ne sais quoi to what would otherwise be a pretty bland, generic blog template. Please check out her website for more awesome designs.

In practice, it's a little more than a makeover, even. The fancy banner at the top of the page and all of its accouterments actually constitutes a pretty Big and Scary thing for me: progress towards a Vague and Potentially Unattainable Goal.

For as long as I've been knitting (and that's actually been a fair number of years now... seven or eight, depending), I've wanted to do something Bigger and Net Positive with it. I always knew that I enjoyed knitting. Even when I wasn't really sure why knitting a stitch and then purling a stitch ended up geometrically increasing the number of stitches on my needles, I knew that I liked working with my hands. And by the time I figured out that throwing one's stitches means having to move one's yarn to either the front or back of one's knitting to prevent unintentional yarn-overs, I was pretty fixated on this vague idea that I'd like to do Something with this

All of these capital letters do a poor job of illustrating the discomfort of doing a workaday job that has very little to do with your actual interests that leaves you too mentally and emotionally exhausted to do much else. Performing a job function admirably can be its own reward, but not necessarily when you've got your heart set on something else. All the capital letters in the world can't adequately explain coming home from a day of spreadsheets, weeping and unfulfilled. Frustrated that this Isn't What You Want and Why Did I Let Myself Become This?

So you decide that, maybe, it's time to try something else.

Then comes the nagging sense that even if you could find a job or niche to fill with your preferred skilled set, would it transfigure the passion of your life into something menial and ultimately soul-sucking? The doubts and fears come slinking in, black and inky, and start to mar the dream you'd begun to cultivate in your head. Because there isn't enough room for you to dream with all those pragmatic thoughts in your head-- there is always someone more talented and more poised to succeed than you. Why even bother?

I still daily struggle with this self-defeating idea. Some days, I kick it in the face. Some days, I valiantly ignore the doubts gnawing on me like an overzealous terrier... some days, and they seem to still be more numerous than the others, I can only do my absolute best not to agree in despair.

There's nothing quite like putting yourself out there. For as much as I don't much care for change or strife or struggle, I'm still here. I've still started this blog, I've still worked with a graphic designer to make some lovely designs. I'm Trying and, for me, that's huge. It's momentous.

As someone who has been known not to try because there's the off-chance that any attempt might end in abject failure, doing Anything still amounts to a pretty big Something.

Even though I'm not exactly sure where this Something might take me, I'm still pleased to be attempting it, nevertheless.

_____________________________________________________________

My birthday was last Saturday and while I spent the weekend miserably sick with the flu, I was still the recipient of some excellent yarn-related gifts.

My dearest boyfriend took me to Fancy Tiger Crafts in Denver, Colorado where he thoroughly spoiled me by purchasing me an armload of yarn. He kept asking 'are you sure this is enough? You knit so fast, I don't think this is enough-- go pick out more'. What knitter could possibly ignore a phrase like that? Yeah, I think I'll keep him around. Not just because he willingly wandered around a high-end yarn store with me for the better part of an hour without complaint... though that certainly doesn't hurt the case for him...

I ended up with two skeins of Madelinetosh Light Merino in Saffron to make a Maple Leaf Shawl, a skein of Madelinetosh Tosh DK in Moodland to make a pair of Glittens, and a skein of Madelinetosh Sock in Tart to make a pair of No Glove(s), No Love.

Glittens sounds so borderline obscene but it's a nice pattern...

You may have noticed a slight obsession on my part towards Madelinetosh. Yes, it's true. MadTosh and I have a torrid love affair going on. I was going to diversify and get some Quince & Co or something instead but then I figured-- who am I kidding? It's my birthday, I'll MadTosh if I want to. 

Thank you to the ladies at the Fancy Tiger. I swear, I didn't sneeze or sniffle on anything, despite how flu-zombie'd I may have looked. Thank you for not throwing my butt out into the snow. 

Now With Pictures!

What a year.

What a dizzying, wonderful, overwhelming, and now-over year.

I find that it's useful for me to perform a small inventory of the things I've managed to accomplish in the year, once I can see the end of it.

And this year has been fairly eventful: I quit a job with a fairly toxic environment; got lucky and immediately started a job with a new company; moved into an awesome, spacious apartment with Tim and our cat; found out that our cat was actually sort of depressed in our last apartment; got serious about weight lifting and improving my diet; belly danced at more than a few shows; started bettering myself as a person; fell off the weight lifting bandwagon (temporarily); discovered I really like horror movies; and knit. A lot of knitting was done this year.

All told, this year I have finished 30 projects this year. I have two WIPs currently: one is a looong term project that I've been working on since '11, I believe, and the other is the scarf I'm actively working on. I also have two projects that may or not be frogged in the near future so I am not counting them.

Among other small accomplishments, I managed to knit much of these projects from stash. Remarkably, my stash didn't really grow much this year-- I bought yarn, but it was most-generally with a purpose in mind which was almost immediately used. I think in 2014 I might seriously look at destashing some of the pretty yarn that I've acquired either through gifts or faulty judgment that I just can't think of any good outlet for.

But onto highlights of the things I've managed to finish this year:

Green and Grey

This is the scarf I wear most often of all of them I've ever made. It's not a nice slipstitch ridge down the middle  and each green section is actually knit in ribbing, meaning I can pull the scarf end through any of them. It's very useful and warm. Not to mention, it's alpaca so it's very cozy. 

Graduated

I don't often make sweaters. Ironically, though I wear a cardigan almost every day, I don't typically wear those sweaters that I've made for myself. I quite like this design despite the fact that it falls down my slight shoulders. Regrettably, I also made the buttonholes a little uneven so all 13 silly red and brown buttons aren't spaced nicely along the front. Still, it's nice to look at.

Mitey

I am ridiculously proud of this one. Tim was playing this charming game called Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch and I was completely enchanted by this character. As the game is basically a Miyazaki-based Pokemon game, of course I have a favorite and Mitey is it. I think I did a pretty good job. I still need to make his sword and shield... but minor details. I made this pattern up as I went along using reference pictures and taking cues from Rebecca Danger's Book of Monsters. I used her for her shaping, mostly, though I adjusted as necessary.

Neon Lights

This was definitely an oddball project for me. Let it be known that I love shawls-- they are my most-often knit accessory. Still, this one was a little strange. The color selection, though I like it, is a little... jarring. The yellow-green is a highlighter-shade. Also, as ever, I made the top edge a little too tight and, thus, had to block it aggressively to make it behave. I wear it, though, so I guess I must not dislike it too much.

Aerodactyl

Of course I named this after a Pokemon (are you noticing a theme?). I shamelessly use the color selections of another Raveler because I liked them so very much. I'd had quite enough of short rows by the time I finished this project. I find that is is a little difficult to wear, though-- the shape of the shawl is awkward on my sloped shoulders. It is very pretty, though.

Milk Jam

So I am moderately obsessed with this FO. It's so pretty and intricate and knitting it, while tedious, was very rewarding. I respond very well to charts, it turns out. I messed up a few of the cable crosses and thus repeated my mistake a 'design element'. You all know how it goes.

Hue & Shade Shift

This is, without a doubt, the most-liked project I'v ever knit. It's a significant departure from the pattern I based it from, but all the earmarks are there. I rather like this shawl. I like the absurd colors that make me feel like a ladybug when I wear it-- I like how people can't figure out how the heck I made it. 

Unbound

This is a project that I knew I wanted to knit the moment I saw it. The green, the cables, it's perfect. It definitely took some time and cabling on the backside sort of messed with my head, but it was worth it. Thoroughly.

Overdue Stocking

And here is the stocking I finished at 2:30 am Christmas Eve. I manged to get it done by the skin of my teeth, despite the fact that it was unblocked at the time it was filled, Tim was nevertheless pleased to receive it on Christmas morning. 

And here are some more pictures of several more of the projects I finished this year. Just for fun.

Wishing everyone a safe and excellent New Year's Eve, and a remarkable New Year.

Merry & Bright

May everyone's holidays be just as you wish them to be, be it quiet and peaceful, or boisterous and otherwise. 

I myself had a rather calm holiday. My parents visited two weeks prior so the frenetic energy associated with out-of-town visitors was not something I had to contend with during Christmas itself. I have a very large extended family with whom, as a child, I spent most major holidays. But, since getting older and the passing-on of my grandparents, I haven't see much of my numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins. In a way, it's a relief but, likewise, there's nothing that reminds you it's Christmas quite like coordinated (non-ironically) hideous sweaters and watching your family's matriarch get familiar with a bottle of Chambord. 

I am blessed with a little family unit of my own now which, at present, consists of my dear boyfriend, our ostensibly nameless cat, and several (named) houseplants. They are all sources of immense joy to me (well, mostly the cat and boyfriend; the plants are nice, though).

I stayed up until the wee hours of Christmas morning finishing Tim's stocking so I could fill it full of the assorted candies and such I'd gotten for him, all the while watching every Christmas special Netflix had to offer. 

It was pleasing, sitting back in exhaustion as I finished the last of far too many duplicate stitches (why did I think it was ever a good idea to leave that much embellishment?), looking over at Tim who could barely manage to keep his head up-- all because he didn't want to go to bed without me. 

Christmas day was lovely. I managed to scrape together the funds and forethought to get Tim a nice present that he thoroughly didn't expect. It was also nice to get it out of my closet where it had been hidding since before Thanksgiving.

I myself was the pleased-as-punch recipient of a gorgeous full set of ChiaoGoo interchangeable lace knitting needles. I have only played with two sizes of needles as of yet-- but they're, so far, entirely great. I also received some cute stuffed Pokemon because Pokemon are the ultimate expression of affection in our household. 

Even our cat (miraculously) liked his new toys. He didn't even disdain them a little!

I made a massive (vegan) lasagne for dinner and we had some of our good friend over for some clay-related crafts and the viewing of the Doctor Who Christmas special. I even got into the spirit of the occasion by casting on this little ditty:

Ten points to Slytherin to anyone who knows what this project is/will be.

All and all, it was a lovely day. Tim and I even managed a nap during the day with our fat, orange cat greedily hogging the blankets between us. It was perfect.

I only hope everyone was so lucky. 

Now, onto a prosperous New Year. 

Holiday Knitting (And Other Perils)

As a maker of things (and, especially, as a knitter) the holidays hold a special kind of foreboding and panic.

For anyone who has decided to make gifts for their loved ones and relations, the feeling of high-strung anxiety is nothing new. Whether these feelings manifest as the 2:00 am realization that 'holy God, I don't have enough yarn for this' or in looking down at the thoroughly crooked stitch you've just sewn and wondering, tears in your eyes, if anyone will notice; the sensation of holiday-related gift angst is a universal one for anyone who has ever undertaken the project.

Now, if one has one's wits about them, gift-giving can be planned for and scheduled far in advance. But many of us know that this rarely comes to pass. It seems that, for me, approximately every other year I am capable of doing my Christmas knitting in summer, starting in July.

There is, however, something disheartening about making something so lovely and festive and then having to hold onto it for months, squirreled away at the bottom of a cedar chest or tucked into some closet. This year was one of those years that left me with a kind of malaise symptomatic of too much planning and follow-through. Yes, this year I finished my gift knitting by October. Granted, I have a small list of people to which I give handknit gifts for reasons of deemed 'knitworthiness' as well as simple economy. Even with my aforementioned dull-as-paste day job, my funds are not unlimited. Nevertheless, I am left with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction.

I have tried to assuage the doldrums that have set in this December. You see, I'm knitting a stocking for my boyfriend in an absolute riot of colors with Doctor Who, Lovecraft, and other nerdy motifs all represented. I simply can't abide another year of my dearest lacking in as basic an amenity as a handknit stocking. It's actually somewhat disgraceful that I've allowed it to go on for as long as I have. Plus, it's a good way to use up the almost embarrassing amount of mostals I have at the bottom of my stash.

Looking back, I probably shouldn't have opted for so much duplicate stitch...

So I'm left thinking if I would feel, perhaps, more in the frenetic spirit of Christmas if I'd waited until the last minute to make those gifts I deigned to give. Last year saw me making three exceptionally large projects on commission that were all completed by Thanksgiving, necessitating a rabid, hurried dash to the finish for all of the hand-made gifts I'd assigned to myself. Oh, and Christmas cards were sent, too. I am nothing if not an over-achiever.

This year, has been a struggle to inject myself with quite enough tinsel-shiny cheer to jolt the realization that it's a week until Christmas. Yes, the tree is decorated, gifts have been wrapped-- a few gifts have even been given! Despite this, it all seems yet still more artificial than my plastic, pre-lit tree.

I can't believe I'm actually committing this to anywhere but the hazy space of my mind but next year I think I'll try much harder not to be so damnably organized. Last minute gifts, despite all the cursing the skies are just so much more satisfying.

Of all the things I am, I am this.

I do a great many things. Apart from the predictable and often forgettable gainful employment that demands so much of my life, I find myself, thankfully, still able to carve out enough time and disposable income to pursue what actually interests me.

So I sew costumes, I belly dance, I cook with some degree of skill, I craft when the spirit takes me. But I would not call myself a dancer, or a seamstress, or a cook. I am not those things, though I often perform their trappings.

It's a curious sort of disconnect between noun and verb. Whether this distance comes from doubting my own abilities upon silent, internal inspection or whether the nomenclature strikes me as somehow too incongruent with those other things that I am, I do not know.

And for all of the dancing and crafting and cooking, there is still yet one verb that defies this convention and encroaches upon the world of nouns instead. It is only fitting, however, that it is that which occupies the majority of my free hours that has come to define me.

I am a knitter.

As gauche a word as it is, it is still the only label I am comfortable assigning to myself upon those things that I do. I am self taught from endless watching and re-watching of videos on the subject (wait, how do I start Kitchener's stitch again..?); from fumbling with needles and string; from cursing and frogging; and from the dubious application of the phrase 'design feature' when I'm too emotionally invested in the stitches to do much of the aforementioned frogging.

A knitter. A knitting knitter who knits.

And I don't believe that for any of the dancing or cooking or oyster diving or glass blowing or underwater basket weaving that anything will ever get in the way of this singular, firmly affixed label: I am Kori of Castbout Knits and I'm a knitter.