Nothing to be done...

When a very-much-loved boy comes to visit, there's nothing to be done but to knit him a hat, yarn fast be damned.


When said hat turns out juuuuust a bit too small, there's nothing to be done but send the boy back to SanFrancisco bareheaded, with a promise of a new and improved hat arriving very soon by post.


So now I just need to ignore that other little something that came home with me from the yarn store...

Long long weeks

Four weeks is a long time in the blogging world, but that last post seems more like years ago to me now. I'm too sad and tired to go into why we didn't buy either of the two houses I mentioned, nor a third that we seriously considered. I just wanted to let you know that I am still alive, still crafting a bit, and still fully intend to return to this little online world soon. (It would help if I could find my camera, or if the backup camera hadn't been knocked from my sister's hands by a flock of pigeons in Venice...) At any rate, there's a lovely little quilt on my bed that I would love for y'all to see very soon.

Hope life is treating you well. If you're in Portland, enjoy the sunshine!

Pictures of knitting, Words about houses.

Pattern: Twisty socks (original)
Yarn: KP Essential
Needles: US2

This being a grown-up thing? I won't go so far as to say it's overrated, but it is certainly exhausting.

First, we spent all our free time for several weeks looking at houses, until we were certain that they were all either monstrously large, decrepit Victorian numbers or eeeety bitty shacks with not-quite-stylish remodel jobs. "Seriously," I kept saying, "can't there be anything in between?!"

Just when we were starting to get discouraged, we found a middle ground. It was cute, it was fixed up, it had two bedrooms, a bonus room, and a finishable attic. We made an offer... we spent three days in counter offers and negotiations. I hardly slept.

Pattern: My So-Called Scarf
Yarn: Something cheap and blend-y
Needles: US11

Then we had it inspected, and the adorably jolly man we hired for the job confirmed what I later realized had been a nagging feeling of mine from the get go. This house had been flipped in six months, and to say that corners were cut would be like saying that Ted Stevens has an incomplete grasp of HTML. There was literally a non-trivial possibility that the house could explode.

After much hand wringing and "well, maybe if they replaced the electrical panel...", I was about ready to cry. I didn't want to accept this house's flaws, but I was afraid we couldn't afford anything better. We were kicking ourselves for not jumping on a slightly more expensive but way, way better (dare I say perfect?) house a week or two earlier. We heaved big sighs and searched the listings again. And there it was, the perfect house, back on the market. I'm not a superstitious gal, but I'm just about ready to call it a sign.

So here we go again. We've backed out of the timebomb and are about to make an offer on the awesomeness.

And in the meantime? I've been trying to relax, and oddly enough, that hasn't meant all that much knitting -- I've been reading again, for the first time in weeks -- but I have finished up a few very longstanding UFOs.

Pattern: Sophie (one day I'll get around to felting it, too.)
Yarn: Lamb's Pride Worsted in Amethyst, Sable, and Aran
Needles: US10.5

Bloggers' Silent Poetry Reading...

... of whose existence I was made aware by Ashley and Cara.

When I first saw this poem, about six months ago, I was too much in the thick of The Lady's illness to be anything but destroyed by reading it. Today I can appreciate it for a lot more than my own sympathy with its narrator -- for the history, the stillness, and of course, the trees.

University Hospital, Boston

The trees on the hospital lawn
are lush and thriving. They too
are getting the best of care,
like you, and the anonymous many,
in the clean rooms high above this city,
where day and night the doctors keep
arriving, where intricate machines
chart with cool devotion
the murmur of the blood,
the slow patching-up of bone,
the despair of the mind.

When I come to visit and we walk out
into the light of a summer day,
we sit under the trees--
buckeyes, a sycamore, and one
black walnut brooding
high over a hedge of lilacs
as old as the red-brick building
behind them, the original
hospital built before the Civil War.
We sit on the lawn together, holding hands
while you tell me: you are better.

How many young men, I wonder,
came here, wheeled on cots off the slow trains
from the red and hideous battlefields
to lie all summer in the small and stuffy chambers
while doctors did what they could, longing
for tools still unimagined, medicines still unfound,
wisdoms still unguessed at, and how many died
staring at the leaves of the trees, blind
to the terrible effort around them to keep them alive?
I look into your eyes

which are sometimes green and sometimes gray,
and sometimes full of humor, but often not,
and tell myself, you are better,
because my life without you would be
a place of parched and broken trees.
Later walking the corridors down to the street,
I turn and step inside and empty room.
Yesterday someone was here with a gasping face.
Now the bed is made all new,
the machines have been rolled away. The silence
continues, deep and neutral,
as I stand there, loving you.

--Mary Oliver

History

The marathon snowday knitting two weeks ago burnt me out a little bit. I found myself working on long-abandoned UFOs -- the simplicity of projects from back in the days when I was capable of little else turned out to be quite soothing. Other days, I didn't knit at all, which was itself oddly refreshing.

In the meantime, I've been cooking, cleaning, partying, house hunting, and visiting my mom, the latter of which allowed me to snap a couple shots of this:

This afghan is what made me a knitter. I should rephrase: It was the first of many things that made me a knitter. My mother knit this as she and my father drove from New Hampshire to Alaska in a VW Bus in the summer of 1969. It helped keep them warm for the 6 years they spent in Fairbanks while my Dad completed grad school, and it traveled from there to Virginia, Massachusetts, and finally, in 1978, to Oregon.

Starting when I was 4 or 5, I would spread it out on the floor, lie down on my stomach, and ask my mom the names of the different stitch patterns, until I had them all memorized. It didn't take long before I wanted to know the secrets of knitting myself. (It didn't really take, those first few lessons. I learned to knit and to purl, and this remained the extent of my knitting knowledge until just over a year ago.)

Here's the exciting part: the afghan was originally supposed to have a crocheted border and tassels, which my mother omitted in a striking instance of fashion foresight. This means that she ended up with a whole boatload of leftover yarn, which has now found it's way into my hands.



Between this, some other 70's goodness from my mom, and a yet-to-be-bloggily-unveiled Christmas present, I have what might be called a stash for the first time in my life. (This is going to help mightily with my No New Yarn Until April pact.) In other words, I have yarn for which to find a project, and not vice versa. In yet other words, I have enough for a sweater and then some.

But what sweater? Something worthy of this yarn's history and status in my life. Something cabley, obviously, and probably a cardigan or I'll almost never wear it. I thought of Central Park, but as much as I love it, it doesn't seem special enough, somehow. I thought of the Urban Aran, but it really needs a chunkier yarn than this. I thought of trying to design something on my own, maybe borrowing some elements from the afghan itself, but I'm a little intimidated by that notion -- I think at the very least I should have completed one sweater before I try to pull one out of thin air, right? Maybe I can cobble together elements of different patterns? Any ideas are more than welcome.

Lightbar eye candy

IMG_0158.JPG, originally uploaded by furplepig.

Around this time last year, my friends Mykle and Chet threw the best, smartest, Portlandy-est party ever. They made a big pyramidal tent out of white tarp, rigged up a bunch of very bright, very golden lights, requested folks to wear white, and served up delirious quantities of champagne. For one evening, we all left our seasonal affective disorder behind, and I'm not just saying that -- I've rarely seen a more cheerful and energetic bunch of people in February. You can check out more pics here, but this one, from one of the tent's darker corners, is my favorite.

Perfect timing

Dear Portland Weather,

I sincerely apologize for all the smack-talking I've been doing in the last few weeks. In fact, I hereby pledge not to complain to or about you for at least the next two weeks, because you seriously hooked me up today.

Love,
Stella

The entire three day weekend was like this:
It was perfect, with the minor exception of my not getting nearly enough sleep. So when I woke up today, cranky and tired and wanting nothing more than to be in a warm bed with a sleeping lady, it was like this:

I'm not normally one to let a few inches of snow deter me from my duties, but I work at the top of a big hill, along with 8,000 other people, many of whom have never lived in Minnesota. Enough said.

This weekend also marked my first knitaversary -- I started knitting For Reals one year ago yesterday -- and I celebrated with not one but three FOs.

Respectively: a quick, chunky tricolor scarf in GGH Aspen; Eunny's Anemoi Mittens in Dalegarn Baby Ull; Shedir in Rowan Calmer.

I reversed the colors on the second mitten (excluding the cuff) for fear of running out of the grey, but I shouldn't have worried -- I had plenty left of both. I did run out of Calmer with just a few rows left, despite doing only 4 repeats of the main chart, but I don't mind having another almost-full ball of this stuff around, because I know I can get a 3-repeat model out of what I have left. And I will too; Shedir is easily the best hat pattern I've knit. The way the decreases are hidden in the criss-crossing lines is total genius.


Now maybe I can finally get back to that pomatomus...

Particularly welcome.

It is my favorite kind of day in Portland today -- cold and bright, of course. It's particularly welcome after weeks of cool and damp, and it reminds me of the last time we were graced with such crispness: right after Christmas, when The Lady snapped this bit of eye candy.

She has quite the eye for lillies, it turns out. I'm slowly realizing, however, that we may need to be a two camera household. This strikes the logical half (or... uh, 80%) of my brain as silly and superfluous, and it strikes my bank account as impossible. But that doesn't change the fact that I have no pictures of the Shedir I started a few days ago. Both it and the pair of Anemoi have to be done and out of the house by Monday though, so don't be afeared. Documentation is imminent.

Happy Friday, y'all. Enjoy the long weekend!

That's what I get for thinking "dominant" meant "on top".

Oh, little mitten, how I love you.


The Lady said to me last night, "That's easily the most beautiful thing you've ever knit", and I think I have to agree. My joy is only slightly tempered by two things -- 1. a little unevenness that I guess is almost inevitable in my first colorwork project, and 2. my own stupidity. I read Nona's post on yarn dominance months ago. I read it again when Grumperina linked it. I thought I knew it so well that I didn't need to read it when Eunny linked it. But I misremembered: I thought the yarn on top was the dominant yarn. It doesn't matter much in the cuff, the swirls, or the thumb, but the lozenge pattern at the top (and on the palm) isn't as crisp as I'd like.

It's a gift for a non-knitter, and I know she'll love them and not even notice a problem. But she probably would notice if the two were different, so now I have to knowingly knit the second mitten "wrong". Oh well. Stranding is fun enough to make up for it, and I'll get it right next time.

Best Christmas EVER.

So I didn't finish everything I wanted to. This is me and my very helpful little sister basting the quilt in the middle of the night, and my mom's feet, doing their damnedest to unsmoothe the layers. And the socks? Well, the first sock almost got finished. Luckily my mother is a knitter too and understood perfectly when she unwrapped a half finished pomatomus with needles still in it.


I did, however, give myself a few projects that didn't take an insane amount of time.




Two freezer paper stencilled tank tops (idea from grumperina) and a hand-beaded necklace for my sister. The necklace, in particular was a big hit.

And, the piece de resistance:




A modified print o' the wave stole, modeled by the recipient, my adorable grandmother. All in all, I was pleased with my various holiday crafting endeavors, but that's not why it was the Best Christmas Ever.

For the first time ever, The Lady and I hosted all the other lovely ladies of my family. The structure and dynamic of my family has changed dramatically this year, and for the better, and spending the holiday with four women and two pooches was the best thing I could imagine.

As for the aforementioned unfinished projects? They're both in almost exactly the same state they were in on Christmas morning, because everything is on hold for this.

Eunny's Anemoi Mittens. I am in love. Two-color stranding is actually turning out to be easier than I anticipated, though my tension could still use a little evening out. The above is one evening's work... I expect to finish the first mitt today.

Happy New Year all! It's nice to be back in blogland. (And yes, damnit, unsmoothe is a word.)