“Honey, I need your advice on my knitting project.”
My husband looks up from his computer, reasonable intrigued.
I hold out a baby hat.
A fellow I work with just had a baby, and I like to knit for the office babies. I’ve done sweater sets for twins and one of my buddies in production got a Loch Ness monster for his newborn. Just a little one. This little one is a brand new baby girl, and I had just the right amount of some self-striping yarn left for a nice little hat. I picked out one of my favorite hat patterns and knit along.
Actually, I dyed this weekend.
Way more fun.
Prior to a recent knitting event, a pair of friends mysteriously announced, “We’re bringing a project. It will take three hours.”
We all speculated as to the nature of the secret project. Ideas were tossed. Needle-felting? “No way. We’d have to drive to the E.R. if someone got clumsy and stabbed themselves.” And everyone looked at me. Sigh.
So mystery it remained. You can imagine my surprise when a gift bag was thrust upon me and I opened it to find a pair of latex gloves.
My cookies are missing.
I considered calling the cops, but I don't think they'd get it.
I wasn't expecting much in the fair this year. I entered items that were favorites of mine but were either simply constructed or minorly flawed. Not the kind of stuff that places, necessarily. "Except your socks," Shawn says. My husband doesn't knit, but long practice has taught him to converse intelligently on the topics of toes and heels and stitch patterns.
I know a few people who are all up in arms about this article in the Huffington Post. I read it. It made me laugh a little. When you’re confronted with that kind of ignorance, often the only practical thing to do is to take whatever amusement you can out of it (that being said, if she had linked out to my blog in that piece of rubbish, I would have been pissed too; I’ve totally got your back, Stephanie) and then let it go.
Wednesday, the Ninth of August, 2011
A lady sits in her kitchen, weaving in the last ends of a sweater, carefully reinforcing seams. The sweater is knit at five stitches to the inch in silk and stainless steel fiber, spun so fine it can’t be called other than thread. The sweater took ten months to knit. The sweater took ten days to seam. The sweater is due in the textile arts building of the exposition hall in twelve hours.
I haven't done a finished object blog in a long time, but it's not like I'm not knitting. So let's have a parade.
A couple at my office recently produced a set of twins so I made a set of sweaters. Incidentally my task was less time-consuming, less messy, and doesn't keep me up at night.
I walked Luke to an aisle at the back of the fabric store. Surrounding us were bolts of brightly colored fabric in neat rows and columns nearly to the ceiling. I spun him around to face the wall of felts.
"This is Robin Hood Hat fabric."
My son's old green play hat, which has served us well on adventures from Neverland to Sherwood Forest has grown too small and today we were questing for a replacement. This one was to be a Robin Hood hat.
Two Robin Hood hats, actually.
I have a serious case of startitis. This is not my standard m.o. I’m a serial monogamist when it comes to needles and skeins. I pick a project and slog it through to the end. Okay, sometimes there’s a little socks on the side, but that’s in the name of a travel project.