It’s been wonderful. I’ve slept a lot, knitted a little, read the four books in Terry Pratchett’s Tiffany Aching young adult series, started another of the Thursday Next mysteries by Jasper Fforde, spun a tiny bit, flicked some Bond locks, and carded some Polwarth batts. And you know, I have to tell you that my definition of luxury has changed. I spent part of today watching episodes of NCIS LA with the electric carder running cheerfully in the background as I fed it flicked Polwarth locks with a diet soda and a Christmas-gifted box of chocolates on the desk within reach. That, friends and neighbors, is luxury. Ask me what I’m planning on doing tomorrow. Go ahead, ask me. Of course, if you’re half as clever as I think you are, you’ll know–and will join me in your own luxury equivalent. Go ahead:  j  o  i  n  me. You know you want to . . .

For a number of years, the folks lived on a 15+ -acre section of land in southern Georgia. It was 10 minutes from the nearest town, 1.25+ hours to work in Tallahassee. There were neighbors per se, but when you’re standing in the middle of 15 acres, you don’t really need to think much about them. The land curved down to a large pond in a protected dip while the upper half of the acreage was clear and rolling, protected on two sides by planted pines and on the third by a mixed woods. The breeze swept across the open fields, whispered in the pines, and swirled in eddies down near the pond. It smelled of open country, evergreen, and honeysuckle in the summer. The road was far enough away that you rarely heard traffic. Owls hooted in the evenings, doves cooed in the day, and shadows of red-tailed hawks swept across the waving grasses.

During times like these–times when the stress levels were too high, energy levels too low, and I had forgotten how to play nicely with others but rather wanted to thwap nigh well everyone in a “here’s your sign” reality check–mom would tell me to go out and and let the wind blow through my brains.

It was an odd expression, perhaps, but it was perfect. I could visualize a dark and dusty old farmhouse with wooden floors, closed and cluttered for so long that the cobwebs became the drapes, and the dustbunnies under the sheeted furniture were the size of elephants with lives of their own. Throw the doors and windows open and let the sunshine in. Watch the wind blow the dust out the back door, swirl through the rooms and shred the cobwebs, then scatter webs and bunnies across the open fields out back.

And when all is said and done, the house is light, fresh, clear, and open again, the earlier burden of time and chaos gone.

That’s what I’ve done this week. Opened the doors and let the wind blow through my brains.

The Norwegians have an equally image-driven expression: å senke skuldrene, or to lower your shoulders. You know how you are when you’re tense? When you find that you’re so keyed up that your muscles are in knots and you’re holding your shoulders up around your ears? Then, you force yourself to relax–to take a deep breath and drop your shoulders.

I’ve done a bit of that, too.

If you haven’t lately, you really should give it a try.

So, what have I done over the past few months? Other than work and a ton of obligations of one sort or another? Well, there’s been a little inspiration in the trenches, although mostly in the last few weeks.

Knitting
Believe it or not, there’s actually been stuff made with the yarn.  Normally the standing question when someone sees you spinning is “what will it be”?  The standard response, of course, is “yarn.”  The next question, then, is usually “what are you planning on doing with it?”  And of course the response to that question is, “Do?  I have to do something with it?  I’m going to hug it and pet it and love it and call it George . . .”

Most of the time we don’t really know what that fiber is going to be when it grows up.  Yes, sometimes we start a fiber with a specific project in mind and spin to that project, but often we spin just to spin.  Sometimes it really is enough to just make the yarn, but it usually becomes something.  Eventually.

Part of the Fluffball yarn (see #53 on the 2011 Spinning page) became this tube cowl.  It’s soft, not at all stiff, and long enough to wrap three or four times around your neck, and I love it.

Another part of the yarn became this cabled hat and scarf.  The cable is reversible so the fabric looks the same on both sides, and is rather warm and cushy, and wonderfully squishy.  This was DH’s Christmas present.

Small, quick projects have been the mode lately, and DH’s head and neck wardrobe is expanding exponentially.

I actually started this for a Christmas gift for DH’s brother, but the work load kept me from getting it done in time. Since he didn’t need it, DH has claimed it. The yarn is a Corriedale handspun; “Azure Dreams” roving from Crown Mountain Farm. (See #39 on the 2010 Spinning page.) It’s a simple 6×3 rib which made a nice, cushy fabric. it was brainless knitting, but it’ll do.

None of the projects were difficult, and there’s something comforting about knitting things that don’t require you to actually think about what you’re doing.  It’s also a matter of self-preservation.  When those last two functioning grey cells start marching around with protest signs, it’s time to find something you can do reflexively.  Something that doesn’t need intelligence.  None.  Simple ribs or plain cables, yarnovers or K2tog?  No intelligence necessary.

And sometimes spinning is like that, too.

Spinning

Some fibers don’t require thought.  They spin themselves; you just sit there and hold them.

Fiber: “Through the looking glass” from Enchanted Knoll Farm. Josette calls the fiber “Shimmy Toes,” and I adore it.  It’s a 50/50 blend of superwash Merino and Tencel.  It’s strong, silky, shiny, and oh so very soft.  There are actually two skeins in the photo here.  The bump to the left (#1) is a 2-ply of top only, while the bump to the right (#2) is a 2-ply with one ply of top, and one ply of batts.  The base for the batts was the Shimmy Toes top plus some bling, which means that the yarn has a lovely glitter and shimmer.
Yardage:  #1 = 339 yards. 3.6 ounces.  #2 = 637 yards. 8.3 ounces.  Total yardage: 976.
WPI/TPI:  Both skeins 2-ply, 16-18wpi, 8tpi.

And yes, you may ask me what I’m going to do with it and I’ll have an answer for a change. This particular fiber is absolutely one of my favorite commercial blends.  The Tencel adds softness, silkiness, and shine as well as strength, and yarns made with this blend have wonderful drape.  In this case, it simply has to be a shawl. Of course. Everything (almost) becomes a shawl, don’t you know?  In this case, the Citron shawl.

On the other hand, I have absolutely no idea what the next yarn will become.

Fiber:  Corriedale from Spunky Eclectic in the “Mordor” Colorway. Club fiber from February 2011.
Yardage:  437 yards in a true 3-ply.
WPI/TPI:  14wpi, ca. 8tpi.

The yarn was on the wheel for the better part of six months, so it’s not exactly consistent.  In fact, it’s pretty inconsistent.  But it’s softly spun, semi-woolen, and oh so very cushy.  For now, however, it’s vegetating in the stash box until it tells me what it wants to be.

And then there was some silk.

Fiber:  100% Tussah silk.  I dyed the sliver with the idea that it would be a golden and more bronze color, but ended up with something that made me think more of strawberry shortcake.  Rose, gold, and white.  The fiber spun up to be a peachy-pink; the bronze “cake” part of the color turned the “strawberry” and whipped cream part of the color more golden.
Yardage:  1296 yards in the main skein, 84 in a remnant for a total of 1380 yards, 1261 meters.
WPI/TPI:  2-ply, 30wpi, ca. 10 tpi

I love this yarn.  It’s a true laceweight and the silk has marvelous drape and is going to make a wonderful shawl if I can find the right pattern.  It’s not a true pink, but a warm color which still makes me think of strawberry shortcake.  Of course, that may just because I happen to want strawberry shortcake.  Seriously, doesn’t that sound good at the moment?  Or cheesecake with strawberry topping.

And, I’ve been experimenting.  Just a little.  Have you heard about The Longest Thread competition?  I’m a little fascinated.  Literally, it’s a competition to see how long a 2-ply yarn someone can spin for a total of 10 grams.  Ten grams is nothing.  It’s .357 of an ounce.  Out of curiosity, I decided to see what that meant; I ran a test using 1 gram.  This is what I got.

Don’t look at the spinning.  It’s horrific.  I just wanted to see what I could do without pushing things too far. I used a bit of Bond to test the waters, and could definitely have spun it about half as thick as I did, but I’ve learned a few other things via the experiment as well.

First, twist helps determine length. We all know that, but we don’t really think about it until we start playing around with this kind of thing. There’s a fine line between having enough twist for the single to hold together and maximizing length, and having too much twist and losing yardage.

Second, the thread needs to be strong enough to be measured and plied, and I hadn’t really thought about that.  So, while you want a fine  fiber, you’re also going to need a strong fiber, and that’s not necessarily a given.  These singles broke at least twice during the plying process, so clearly I have work to do.

This little skein weighs about a gram, and there are some 26.3 yards.  To give you an idea of what needs to happen, I’m about 75 yards short. Truthfully, I don’t know whether to groan or to laugh.  The whole thing is absolutely absurd, and I’m so entertained by the entire idea that I can’t help myself.  So, I’m going to give it a try, although most of the work will probably come over the summer.  The deadline is October, so there’s time to practice.  I don’t expect to even come close to achieving a record, but it’ll make a fascinating personal challenge.

With that in mind, I’ve been evaluating which fleeces in  my stash might be appropriate, and there are four.  Four which came in over the early fall and which you haven’t seen.  Four fleeces which I’ll need to find something luxurious and special to do with them.

You already know that I’m into soft.  I love soft wools.  Partly because I react to everything else, but partly simply because I’ve always loved soft fibers.  I’m one of those people who are embarrassingly tactile and are automatically drawn to fibers which feel good.  You know, the people who walk through the store and simply have to stroke every piece of clothing or fabric which looks soft to find out whether it really is as soft as it seems.  It takes us an hour longer to shop for a blouse than it takes anyone else, and you’d better send in a rescue team if we happen to get sidetracked in the plush toy and fake fur section.

And along came Custard.

“Custard” is a ewe lamb fleece from Kate Lowder of Lowder Colours farm. Custard is mostly Rambouillet (ca. 1/16th Corrie), and incredibly soft.  It’s not a big fleece, but I want to try it with the Longest Thread work; my gut feeling is that it’s around 14 microns, but I’m wondering if it will be stronger than an equivalent micron Merino, and might thus work better for The Longest Thread. I can surely spare a couple of grams to find out–and then use the rest for some deliciously soft, next-to-skin something or other.  I’ve already done a hasty (and very ugly) test spin, and I swear it feels like a baby’s plush toy.

Then there are three superfine Merinos from Humble Hills Farm (Genopalette).

Fleece 10-08, 16 micron (very bright white)

Fleece 15-09, 16 micron

(The tips are not dirty as they appear here; the camera just didn’t like the contrast.)

Fleece 9-08, 14 micron

Those should keep me busy for a while.  What do you think?

The only time I ever saw him get turned around was when he was new to Tallahassee, a city with over 180,000 permanent residents, a fair number of state buildings which all look alike, and a tree canopy which makes it nigh well impossible in many locations to see any of the buildings which might otherwise work as landmarks.  And one-way streets.  Lots of curvy one-way streets which seem to lock you into a gerbil-on-a-wheel series of circles but never quite take you where you want to go.

Admittedly, Trondheim is not exactly logically organized and its street organization leaves a lot to be desired, but many of those streets are based on routes that go considerably further back in time than the 16th-century historical settlement which founded Tallahassee.  And, let’s be honest:  the Norwegian city takes up considerably less space than its Florida counterpart, so you have less space to actually get lost.  Frankly, it’s not surprising he found a need to pull over and get oriented.  Once.

Me, on the other hand?  Forget it.  I am directionally challenged.  Put me in a place where I cannot see a landmark and ask me to point in the general direction of home and I am liable to send you out to sea every time.  The university in which I work consists of a series of interconnected buildings under one roof.  I refuse to admit to how many years it took me to find a path to the library–one which did not require that I go down to the ground floor, cross the complex, and then go up the three flights of stairs to the library as opposed to simply crossing a couple of connecting bridges and going down one flight of stairs.  The first time I tried it, I not only ended up on the wrong floor, but on the entirely opposite side of the complex.

For a while, DH gave me a map when we traveled so that I could follow where we were going.  That didn’t help much:  I get carsick when I read in a moving vehicle.  And since I couldn’t read to follow where we were going, I had no clue where we were when we stopped to let me look at the map.

He gave up.  Now he just points, or picks something toward which he knows I’ll have some theoretical sense of direction (e.g.,  way south; or in the Arctic Circle; or west of Atlanta [the latter of which, incidentally, could well cover an entire country]).  Optimistically, he still tries on occasion to give me directions based on an event I remember.  For instance,

“You know where we went to the Christmas party with the bakery that year?”

“Yeah?”

“There.”

Um, right.  I know where we were in the sense that I can visualize the inside or vaguely remember some details about the place.  Do I know where we were and could I find the place again?  Not a snowball’s chance.

Even mom commented on how clever he was about finding his way around.

Then she went home.

And, of course, then we got lost.

After she left, we took a few days to wander around in the section of Sweden east of Fredikstad.  We had no schedule, but stopped at the tourist information offices along the way to pick up whatever information was available and just went where there seemed to be something interesting.

I have since decided a couple of things.  First, tourist information offices seem to exist everywhere.  On the map, anyway.  The one I can’t read while the car is moving. Second, they are impossible to find.

It never failed that there would be a sign marking the presence of an information center on the road leading into a town.  It rarely failed that we could not find said center.  In one town, we found the infamous “i” sign with clear arrows pointing the way—until they disappeared in the center of town and nowhere near anything remotely resembling the missing “i“.  We circled the block three times and found the directional arrows helpfully pointing the way on all three possible approaches, but it seems no one had ever bothered to actually put the information office where the arrows were pointing.  That, or a group of kids moved all the signs and the office was actually on the opposite side of town.  The Swedish equivalent of the American teen’s itch to turn the middle-of-nowhere cross-post sign.

It turned into a joke, a sort of “Where’s Waldo” of travel.  Optimistically, we decided at one point to follow the sign to the “reisesenteret,” reckoning that there would be an information office at the travel center.  It started out well enough.  We followed a well-paved, wide road in the direction of the sign.  Then the paved road turned into a gravel road.  That should have been a clue.  Really, it should.

Then the two-lane gravel road turned into a single-lane gravel road.

Wasn’t it Bill Engvall who did the country comedy “Here’s your sign” routine with Jeff Foxworthy and the rest of the Blue Collar Comedy Tour about ten years ago?

But, on we drove because it had to change and surely we would come back on the paved road soon, right?

The single-lane gravel road began winding its way through a forest.  A tall-pine, planted forest.  A tall-pine, planted forest in flat country so that you could see nothing other than the trees.

And still we drove on, because it was such a nice gravel road and surely it would change and return us to the paved road soon, right?

There comes a time in most of our lives when we find ourselves doing something we know isn’t quite right and we realize that we should simply turn around and go back.  But we stick with it because, after all, we’ve come this far—and surely it has to change soon.  It’s a peculiar blend of stubbornness and stupidity, and we’ve all done it.

So, on we drove, afraid to turn right or left for fear of going in a never-ending circle, with nary a sign, building, or other sign of life to be seen.  Except the deer stands.  Regularly spaced, right on that single-lane gravel road, in the middle of that tall-pine forest in flat country where you could see nothing but the trees around you.  Deer stands that sat right on the edge of the road.  One every quarter mile or less.

It occurred to me that if the deer stands were on the road, it was because there was nothing else to see.  Hunters didn’t need to worry about traffic or population; the only thing out there—other than a couple of lost tourists—was the wildlife.

And the lost tourists.

We had one cell phone between us, and it was charged.  But I had no idea who we would have called or how to tell them where we were.  The cell phone is too old to have a GPS in it, so a rescue party would certainly not be able to do anything technologically savvy, such as triangulating a location.  And since we weren’t sure how we had gotten to where we were, we couldn’t have even indicated a general location for the rescue party to start searching.  I could visualize the conversation, and the laughter from the Swedes who’d had to rescue a couple of tourists from Norway—a couple of tourists from Norway who’d gotten lost within 5 minutes’ drive of the nearest town.

But still we drove on, watching the clock mark the advancing afternoon hour,  stopping at the crossroads to see if we could see anything, anything at all.  Anything other than tall-pines in a planted forest and a single-lane gravel road.

We visualized what it would be like having to spend the night in the car, our nervousness and anxiety growing with each deer stand and each unmarked crossroad, and me realizing we only had a quarter of a tank of gas.

Then we saw a couple of cars moving at a normal speed on the other side of a thin curtain of pines.

“A road!”

“What?“

“A road!”

“Where??”

“There!  See?  On the other side of those trees.  A road!”

The Whos in Whoville could not have been happier when the Grinch returned Christmas than we were when we saw that road.  The relief in that car was palpable and we laughed until we were giddy; we were back on the road.  Any road.  We didn’t care what road.  It was a road.  It could have gone to, well, China for all we cared; it was a road with people.

Unbelievably, we’d only been lost for about 45 minutes.

I thought about that estate forest recently, and the relief when we were back on the right path.  And I have to laugh.  Getting lost now and then and having to figure out your own path is not necessarily a bad thing, but it certainly is an adventure.  And yet, if you never leave the road, you never find out what else is possible.

Remember this fleece?

Which became these nests?

Which became this yarn?

I thought I would turn it into a 5-way Cable Wrap, but the more I tested the knitting, the more I decided I didn’t like the pattern.  The big cable falls directly across the bustline—which would be fine if you were a size 2 and wanted a little emphasis there. For normal people, it is rather like placing a spotlight—ok, a pair of them—across something which certainly didn’t need any more attention. But I wanted to try the structure, so I improvised.

I left the road.

The stitch pattern and that yarn didn’t go very well together; it was stiffer than I wanted, and I was looking for something with a certain amount of drape and a lot of cushiness.  Something that could be warm, soft, and comfy, but still rather dignified.  It occurred to me later that the cable could have been moved up to the edge of the stole, and that would have solved that particular problem. Of course, that occurred to me after I’d already gotten fairly far into the process.  You know, long after the point where you found yourself on a gravel road.

So, I improvised. I took the idea behind the pattern and simply created my own. In this case, I decided on a simple 10×2 rib with a 4×4 cable on one long edge. Had I known then what I know now, I’d have increased the cable pattern to occupy more space along the edge, such as with a 4×4 / 2×2 / 4×4 set of cables, or a 2×2 / 4×4 / 2×2 set.

I did the crochet edging and button placement as the pattern instructed—I followed the directions—but here I see two problems and I should have given myself permission to leave the road again.

First, the pattern calls for a round of single crochet (SC) as a foundation round, then the round of single crochet with ch5 loops created at intervals where the buttons will be placed, then a last round of single crochet to firm up those loops.

I know the purpose for the three crochet rows is to add stability, but I would recommend skipping the first round and going straight to the second. SC around, make the button loops as you go, and use the second SC round to solidify the loops and edge. The second round of single crochet is enough to provide the foundation and stability for the buttons, but it still allows the fabric to have the drape and flexibility you want. You can space the crochet out a bit further, but the effect can be rather uneven and you lose the value of crocheting the edge in the first place. Reducing the number of SC rounds would help protect the drape of the fabric and keep it from having a noticeably hard edge.

The second issue has to do with button placement. Unless I’m overlooking something, the pattern calls for the buttons to be located starting 3” in from the edge on the long sides, and centered in the short side. I would strongly suggest changing that. The short side placement can remain the same (I think), but the long side placement needs to be started at the edge and not indented. That would keep the shrug from having a sloppy edge at the edge of the sleeve.

Additionally, before the loops and buttons are added, I’d suggest folding the stole around you as if you were going to button it into a sleeved shrug, and note the amount of distance you have between the edge of the sleeve (the short edge), and your body. If you are thin, then the current button spacing (but starting from the edge) may be fine. If you are a bit larger, you may need to rethink either the number of buttons or the intervals between them. The problem is that if the buttons come too close to your body, you end up with an uncomfortable and unflattering fold. Ideally, you want the sleeves to button while the back of the shrug hangs neatly without bunching.

As one last note, the pattern instructs you to mark the position of the buttons as you do the crochet round. I found that to be counter-intuitive. Since the loops may shift a bit depending on how the stitches fall in the edging, it makes more sense to mark the placement of the loops–and create the loops there–then fold the stole and sew the buttons on exactly where you have the loops.

As for my own version … I’m satisfied, mostly. I’d like the edging and button placement to be different, but of course I did such a good job of sewing the suckers on and weaving in all the loose ends that there’s no way I’m going to attempt to undo things. But it’s definitely something I would note for a next round.

In short, the concept behind the pattern definitely works, but there are a number of changes I would make in construction, and a few I’d make to accommodate body type.

So what did I end up with?  This:

Finished size: approximately 60” x 29”. I barely blocked it, just enough to get a straight edge. It could easily have been blocked for an additional 25% in length and width.

I’d swatched this yarn for gauge to help choose patterns, and had originally thought I had enough to make a vest. But after checking patterns, I decided I needed more than I had, so some of the yarn was used for the contrast edging on the two Comfy shawls which used the Matteus yarn. I’d started out with roughly 1100 yards, but reckoned the edging for the other two shawls took a bit. I’d guess there was a final amount of somewhere between 900 and 1000 yards.

Pattern: sort of
Cast on 132.
Knit 3 rows. Then, on right side:

k3(edge ) | p4 | k10 | p2 | k10 | p2 | k10 | p2 | k10| p2 | k10 | p2 | k10 | p2 | k10 | p2 | k10 | p2 | k10 | p4 | c8 | p4 | k3(edge)

Keep knitting in the pattern until you have the length you want.
Knit three rows.
Cast off.
Block.
Single crochet the edging, forming the button loops on the first round, and firming them upon the second.
Position the buttons directly across from the loops, sew the suckers on, and weave in any loose ends.
Voila, you’re done.

On the wrong side, always knit the first 3 and last 3 stitches. Beyond that, follow your pattern. You choose how many sections of stockinette and which cables you want. It’s a no-brainer.

The stole actually wound up a bit deeper (across the short side) than I expected, and rather than do 9 sections of 10-stitch stockinette, I could have done 7. Likewise, I opted for an 8-stitch cable (c8), and could have used a wider cable pattern  since I placed it at the edge rather than toward the middle.

Otherwise, I should have made the change to the crochet edging and button placement.  I’m chalking it up to a “listen to your own instincts” lesson. You know, the moment when you see that the road has turned into a gravel path and you probably should turn around.

The buttons are 25mm, so a bit larger than the pattern called for. They brightened things up, and added the points of interest which keeps the stole from turning into a lap rug. And they’re spaced a bit further apart at 4” rather than 3”, which may have been a mistake. Likewise, the pattern wants them 3” from the edge of the long sides, but they really need to be flushed against the edge first and then spaced accordingly, rather than indented the 3”. It’s dawned on me that I could simply pick up a couple of extra buttons and add them where I want them on the edge, and crochet a simple loop on the opposing corner . . .

The irony here? Clearly I had enough for a vest after all. On the other hand, I wanted a rectangular shawl, and I can always do a vest when I can be certain I have enough yarn—and can follow directions.

We’ve nattered, laughed, kvetched, and enjoyed each other’s company.

We watched the news from the bombing and shooting tragedies in Oslo and Utøya, and grieved over the growing roll call of dead and injured, recognizing how much an impact one person’s insanity and hate can have on a society which never expected such an event on its own soil—and how much it shared with the Oklahoma bombing and the shock the US experienced during its own tragedies and terrorist attacks.

And, we’ve been tourists.  She’s had the chance to laugh about roads (while being thankful that she wasn’t driving),

to oooh and ahhh over some of the scenery,

to stand in the shadow of Nidarosdommen,

and in the shade of the birches behind it while DH explained the history and pointed out points of interest.

She saw the magnificent and the funny, and fell in love with this not-so-little fellow at Geiranger fjord,

while she followed DH around with her own camera, entertainingly enough capturing him or part of him—a sleeve, a hand, a nose—in a large number of her photos. She’s decided she wants to play a version of “Where’s Waldo” with her 5-year-old grandson.

And, of course, she was captured in return.

In the end, it was time to leave, and after spending a day sorting through well over 1000 photos so she could have a selected number printed for a photo album, she is now on her way home. I will miss her, but I know she’s taking a host of memories with her, and a better understanding of how her only daughter lives.

On a Fibery Front . . .

There was knitting, and I helped her complete a prayer shawl for her dear friend, one who just lost her own husband to cancer a couple of weeks ago.

It’s a duplicate of the Comfy Matteus shawl, using the other half of the Matteus Shetland lamb yarn with Thomas the Bond yarn as trim. We got it blocked on Saturday, and dry enough to pack on Sunday. A bit last minute, but given that you’re talking to the slowest knitter on the planet and the slowest knitter’s mother—whose knitting projects have not yet gone beyond washcloths—it’s rather a miracle that it took less than a month to finish. I do hope the recipient loves it, but more than that, I hope she is comforted by the affection and concern that went into it.

It’s been a month for finishing up leftovers.  The rest of the Gold Dust Woman silk was turned into a simple lace cowl:

Rather than put a button on it or graft the ends, I decided I’d rather use a light shawl pin or brooch to close it. Ignore the loose end; I didn’t weave it in before I took the photo.

On a spinning front, Tour de Fleece ran during Tour de France, so there was a bit of fiber in the small gaps between work and family.

First, there was Red Bling.  The photo doesn’t capture either the color or the bling, but think of Santa’s suit with glittery embellishments and you’ll start to get the idea.

Fiber: Enchanted Knoll Farm, Superwash Merino, Tussah silk, sari silk, and glitter.
Weight: approx. 6 ounces.
WPI/TPI: The yarn is slubby, so WPI varies between 10-16, while TPI averages about 10.

It’s a fun, soft, squishy yarn, and is ultimately destined for a funky shawl. It’ll need to be a fairly simple pattern since the sari and the bling really create their own degree of interest, and an involved (or even delicate) pattern would ultimately be overwhelmed.  I’m looking forward to seeing what it grows into.

The grey Polwarth is slowly making its way into batts.

And Clio the Bond is slowly being combed,

formed into nests,

spun,

and cast into a 3-ply.

At the moment, I have nearly 300 grams of true 3-ply yarn, roughly 14wpi and 10tpi, for 850 yards. Not quite half a sweater. It’s a start, and I have nearly four pounds left to spin. Since the Bond fleece was larger than the Polwarth fleece and I want both at the same grist, I decided to spin it first; I have more room for mistakes with it than with the Bond. It’s a bit uneven; I’ve been spinning opposite ends of the grist spectrum lately, and it took me a while to find a happy medium. But it’s such a beautiful color, and I love the breed.

Hm.  So, perhaps all good things don’t come to an end.

But then, I’ve also grown rather fond of the theme song to New Tricks (the BBC detective series), “It’s alright.”  It’s alright, it’s ok.  Doesn’t really matter if you’re old and grey . . .

Certain songs are just happy songs.

And yes, it’s a new dawn, and a new day.

And I’m feelin’ good.

I’m back.  I am, as of this moment, entirely caught up with work.  It only took an entire semester.  And, aside from a bout of TMJ which means that talking and chewing are problematic, I am feeling good.

Feel free to laugh about that latter; it’s a bit of a riot, even though it’s annoying and tedious.  It’s amazing how much work you can get done when you’re not talking to colleagues or friends, or how often you can actually eat yogurt or cottage cheese and fruit for lunch (breakfast, dinner, snack . . . ).  On a positive side, DH is rather enjoying the quiet—although he knows it’s only temporary.  Poor dude.   And wow what a change an increase in calcium—you know, that yogurt, cottage cheese, risengrynsgrøt, and so on—can do for your nails . . .

Life has finally balanced out.  It took rather a long time, and I’ll be honest and say that I’m not thrilled about how well I’ve met my own standards.  But it’s done.  All teaching aside from exams—including a handful of Masters theses—is done, and I only have about 50 exams to mark in the coming four weeks.  Not bad at all, and I can deal with that.

On a professional level, I have work cut out for me this summer.  I have reading to do, and need to figure out where my own research stands and see if I can pick it back up again.  I have prep for upcoming masters students, and some limited prep for two courses I’ll be working with in the fall.  And none of that is bad at all.  I’ve also learned that I absolutely must take time out for myself, so yes:  the summer will be a much slower pace, focusing on my own interests, and actually taking time out.

We ARE making progress, aren’t we?

I think we have a tendency to forget there is no “S” on our chests, or that we are allowed to find some things overwhelming.  I’m convinced that the key lies in how we handle that moment when we recognize our own frailty, and what we do next.  We cannot fix everything.  We are not responsible for fixing everything.  It is not my job to convince a student that putting a bit of effort into his study would actually be a good idea.  I can show him the ramifications and try to make the material interesting.  I cannot make him learn, or necessarily even want to learn.  It is not my job to right every unfairness, although I can indeed (and should) try to make a difference.  Some of those things I’ll be able to do something about; others are well beyond my power.

It is my job to do the best I can with what I’ve been given under the circumstances in which I’m placed, to treasure and support my friends and family to the best of my ability while also recognizing that if I push myself beyond my own limits and crash myself then I will no longer be able to help anyone else, to value my faith, to give myself permission to step back from the general chaos of everyday life if I need to, to enjoy those things that give me joy, peace, and even simple satisfaction.

I believe that charter belongs to all of us.  I’m afraid, however, that we tend to forget that.

So, ladies and gents, that Superman/-woman complex you’ve been laboring under?  Ditch it.  You may accomplish small miracles and feats of strengths now and then, but you cannot do that all the time and every day.  You, friend and neighbor, are not Superman and there is no “S” on your chest, either.  It’s time to step back, figure out what’s important—who is important—and give yourself permission to fail on occasion, succeed on others, and actually enjoy the things that give you pleasure.

Things that give me pleasure.  In odd moments, I’ve managed to finish a few.

A Spunky Eclectic “Rubber Grapes” Corriedale/alpaca fiber became a simple 3-ply, which became an even simpler checkerboard scarf.

And do you remember Fluffball? The Teeeswater/Rambouillet lamb fleece?

It’s finished, and I’m in love with this yarn.

There are roughly 1500 yards in a true 3-ply, at roughly 10-11wpi. This fleece was a frankly sensual spin. The fiber is incredibly soft, with a lot of the silkiness of the Teeswater, moderated by the Rambo’s fineness. It has a subtle sheen, a definitely silky feel, and I’ve promised a cabled hat and scarf out of it for DH. There is considerably more yardage than I expected, so there may even be enough for another scarf or shawlette for me. Seriously, I love this yarn.

And finally, do you remember Matteus, the Shetland lamb?

And Thomas the Bond?

Look at them now.

The shawl pattern is Miriam Felton’s Comfy Shawl from her Twist & Knit book, with Matteus as the body and Thomas as the edging.  They play beautifully together, don’t they?

It’s a wonderfully easy pattern just made for rustic yarns or yarns with character.

I love this shawl. It is 38″ deep with a 74″ wingspan, and not in the least bit heavy because the yarn is lofty and airy, which means that the shawl was soft, soft, soft, and wonderfully comforting. I only used half the yarn, and I have enough left for a second shawl—and I’m going to reserve that for mom to decide whether she would like to turn it into a prayer shawl for a special friend. It and the pattern are perfect for that.  And I would like to think that Matteus especially might be pleased to know that his fleece has turned into a spiritual and physical comfort for someone who needs it.

For future prospects, Clio the Bond is fully washed and ready for combing or carding.  Doesn’t she look at home on the sofa?  I actually ran out of hot water half through the process, so there is a small portion which may need to be rewashed, but I suspect it will be ok if I comb it.

And two Polwarth fleeces from Wendy Dennis are received, washed, and on the way to the carding machine. Aren’t the locks gorgeous?

There’s a white:

and a beautiful dark grey with warm brown tips:

the latter of which is destined to become a sweater for DH.

Last, but far from least, this past month I was blessed with two small but very special handmade gifts.  There are neat little stitchmarkers and two very practical magnetized pattern markers/book markers from Made by Mona (from Mona herself):

And a gorgeous pair of handknitted socks in Trekking yarn from Charlotte—for me who never knits socks:

I cannot say how much I appreciate their thoughtfulness, and their generosity.

Telenor is the carrier, and after two weeks of negotiations and broken promises, I’ve come to a conclusion.  Specifically, I’ve decided that the problem is not the employees.  At least, not generally.  There was an exception.  One individual hung up on DH when he called to see if we could pick up the modem they were requiring we get, and when DH began to ask also why no one had called us to tell us that there would be no one coming out for a service call even though they knew that there was someone (me) sitting there waiting for them—riiight.  Apparently the fellow didn’t want to be reminded about concepts such as professionalism or customer service and decided to hang up.  Clever, eh?  And DH never even got to ask about the silly modem.  (Which, incidentally, turned out to NOT be the problem.)

Generally speaking, though, the employees are polite and do want to help.  The problem is that the system in which they’re working is chaotic, ineffective, and prioritizes the company rather than the customer.  They have the worst customer tracking system of any company I’ve seen in decades, and other sections—sections which are more concerned with company expenses than customer service—are permitted to override the technical section.  That’s problematic since it’s the technical section which makes the first evaluation of a problem.  If the technical section can look at their own systems and see, for instance, that the problem appears to be a break in the line and NOT the modem, then it should not be possible for another section to decide they’re going to require you get a new modem instead of sending out a service tech two days later and while you’re sitting there waiting for said service tech.

The more we worked with Telenor, the more I found myself convinced of one thing:  Telenor’s administrative procedures and internal data systems frankly suck.  They need a major overhaul—and they need training for their people, and then followup on that training.  Their slogan is that they’re trying to improve, but without completely revamping their system and processes, I genuinely believe they’ll never be anything other than mediocre, and will never portray any interest in or concern for their customers.

Was I frustrated?  Obviously.  Was I ticked off at the fellow who hung up on DH?  Absolutely.  That individual should have been reprimanded.  But again, the fact that it could happen demonstrates a lack of professional training for the company’s employees—and no followup.  While I can blame the employee—and yes, he should have known better—this is the company’s problem.

These kinds of things bother me.  Customer service is not rocket science.  It should be common sense.  In many places, however, it is not.  In Norway, it’s a developing concept.  Norwegians are simply not accustomed to good customer service.  Neither have they felt they could demand it, and here I think a colleague nailed the problem:  Norwegians come from a history of purchasing from or receiving services from a single source which had no competition (e.g., a state-sponsored telephone company).  Until fairly recently, it was a poor country, and what was available was all there was.  There were no options.  Neither was there motivation for companies to improve themselves; why should they, when the customer wasn’t going anywhere?

That’s changed.  Now there are choices, although not as many as I’d like.  And, I can honestly say that I’ve seen a difference even in the past ten years.  Young people and those who’ve experienced good customer service outside the country are bringing those standards and expectations home with them, and people in general are beginning to demand a bit more.  People are beginning to feel they have a right to complain—and are actually doing so on occasion.

I’m proud of them; it’s taken a lot for them to reach that point.

But there is still a long way to go.

On a more cheerful note, a few things made it back with me.  Quit laughing; you knew there would be something!

There were actually several things, but you’ll forgive me if I dole them out a little at a time.  ONE of those things, however, I really want to show you now.  Remember this?

Remember my telling you that it was being used in a project? And I think I eventually also told you it turned in the Tudor Stole in Miriam Felton’s new book, Twist & Knit?  Scroll down on that link page and you’ll see Miriam’s professional photos of the completed projects—including this Tudor Stole.

Well, guess what has now come back home.

The pattern is easy to follow and to knit, assuming you have two functioning grey cells.  I didn’t at the time, and poor Miriam had to undo and reknit one of my borders.  I tried to use all the yarn, but let’s get real:  the thing currently measures in at 18 inches wide and 8.6 feet long in its resting state.  And therein lies the key to something I’d thought when I was knitting it . . . I want it wider.

My gut feeling when I was knitting was that it was going to be narrower than I wanted, and I came within a hair’s breath of ripping it back and starting again.  Were it not for the fact that I’m the world’s slowest knitter and that Miriam had already waited an eternity, I’d have done it.  Had I had more time and energy and focus, I’d have done it.  If and when I knit this pattern again, I will do it.

See, here’s the thing.  If you’re short or petite, then you don’t really need a wide stole.  If you’re taller or, well, not petite, then you need the extra width.  In this case, the current pattern configuration works beautifully if you want a scarf—or you’re short/petite.  If you’re normal and want a stole, and you want that stole to fit comfortably around your neck and still go past the small of your back, you want more depth.  In this case, I’d recommend doing half again the number of repeats.

Note that the middle portion of the stole—that honeycomb bit—is incredibly elastic, which means that some of the weight of the stole will help expand that depth a little.  While my example was knitted in a heavy laceweight yarn, I have a feeling that this pattern would work very well indeed in a heavier yarn.  Increase the width and shorten the length (considerably), and you’d have a perfect mid-weight stole rather than a scarf.  Knit the pattern as it is and in laceweight, and you’d have a scarf which will do beautifully to keep your neck warm against a winter chill.  Knitted in a glittery or glamorous lace or fingering weight and with the added length, you’d have the perfect accessory to that special evening dress.

It’s good to see it home.

Like #5, I am alive.  You’ve been neglected, I’m afraid, so let me catch you up.  Grab your cuppa, because this promises to be a long one.

January was busy.

There was a quick visit to here . . .

(Stone Mountain, Georgia)

. . . just for the fun of it.

. . . on one of the coldest days of the year.

It was the start of the coldest period in Florida since 1965/66.

Two days later we bought heavy winter coats, mittens, and scarves.

You know, there’s something very very wrong about going from Norway to Florida and having to buy wool coats and insulated jackets.  And it’s not as if we didn’t already have those things; we just didn’t expect to need them.  Normally a heavy jacket or solid coat, a scarf, and light gloves are enough.  But this time, this time we had Norwegian temperatures while Norway was having its own record cold snap.

But, seriously?  Tell that to a friend.  “I went to Florida and bought a wool coat.”  Yeah, riiiight.

On the other hand, much of the month was spent here . . .

This is Strozier library at FSU. 200,000 square feet of space. That means books. Lots and lots of books. Access to digitized and other media  resources, current journals, and while it may not be the Ivy League library some folks crave, it is a Level 1 Research University with a full-service library—and a pleasure to be in.

And yes—I was able to get rather a lot done.

There was a fair amount of time with family in the interval, and yes–it was good time. It was important time, and it was—and is—short time. To say that there are clouds on the horizon would be to indulge in a cliché, but there are few others which are appropriate.

This little fellow has been with me for a long while.

I’ve used him as a shelf-minder, for writing exercises, and as an occasional paperweight or book block, but I keep him in sight because he reminds me of something.

“Here there be dragons.”  The phrase crops up on old maps and in folklore, but generally speaking, the thing which was really there (obviously not dragons) was never as frightening or awful as a dragon would have been.  It may have been a new challenge, an unknown, or even a new danger, but it was something which could be learned about and then handled—or at least avoided.  You see, even dragons can be tamed, trained, or simply understood, and the dark spaces which they are used to represent on the map are generally never as frightening as the imaginative image of the dragon itself.

In other words, there really are very few things in our lives worthy of being called dragons.  Death and loss are, perhaps, competitors for the title, but yet, even they . . .

I’m increasingly convinced that most of the time we just need to get past our own fear and lack of knowledge and figure out what the heck that thing in the mist really is.  Once we’ve named it, we can deal with it, or at least come to terms with it.  And then, it seems to me, that the issue is whether or not we can control it.  If it is not something within our control, then being afraid of it feels very much like a waste of time and energy—and we all have better things to do.  If it is within our control, then it’s time to start working with the beast.

So, here there be dragons.  If I cannot eliminate them, I can at least teach them to sit quietly on the shelf and make themselves useful (or at least not detrimental) in some way.

Here there be dragons.  But I can deal with them.  So can you.

Thus far this year, I’ve finished three projects.

First, if you don’t already know it, Miriam Felton of MimKnits is getting ready to publish a book.  The hard part of the work is already done:  she’s already created the patterns.  Now she just needs to put it all together.  But see, the very very cool part of this is that the book is a book of lace specifically for handspun yarn.  The kind of yarn that you want to be able to knit until you run out of yarn, or until you’re ready to stop.  The kind of patterns which allow you to do that, and which won’t be obscured by the often-shifting colors that handspun tends to be.  That.  That’s the book.  And if you’ve never had the pleasure of working with a MimKnits pattern, you do need to try one.  The patterns are all clear, well written, easy to follow, and the finished product is inevitably beautiful.

Remember this?

1200 yards of it are in one of those patterns. You’ll see it. Complete with all my test-knitter’s mistakes. Poor Miriam had to re-knit one border because I hadn’t twisted a stitch properly, but I know it took her a couple of hours to do what it took me two days to complete! I keep saying this, but I don’t think people believe me: I am the slowest knitter in the world.  So, folks, please:  don’t judge her beautiful pattern based on my wonky knitting.  Trust me; the pattern is perfect, and the stole is beautiful.

And do you remember this?

It’s now this:

and this:

and this:

Don’t you love the dignified blocking method?  It’s 69″ across and it could have gone further.  It’s 47″ tall and wraps over to the back on both the top and the bottom by about 6″ each.

It takes up most of the living room floor.

It’s the Feather & Fan shawl from A Gathering of Lace, and I’m rather pleased with it. Of course, I’m particularly pleased with the fact that it’s done. Let me repeat myself:  I AM the slowest knitter in the world. This shawl was on the needles for 13 months.

But in the vein of finishing things, do you remember Matteus? The lovely Shetland lamb from Stonehaven Farm?

He now looks like this:

The picture doesn’t do the fiber justice. It’s a lovely dove grey with a golden brown cast, and it’s going to turn into a Sleeves In Your Pi shawl.  It goes to the wheel this weekend, and I can’t wait.

But you see, part of the reason all those 21 batts are finished is because of this arrival:

It’s a Pat Green Supercarder. I know, that doesn’t mean much to many of you, so let me tell you the important bit: It’s an electric carder. No more cranking, you can use both hands to handle the fiber, and that third drum creates a silky smooth batt as long as you have the fiber properly prepared.

It is my new best friend. Its name is George. (Of course, anything that doesn’t talk back is usually named George, but this is George of Disney’s cartoon “and I will hug it and pet it and squeeze it” fame.)

It has also taught me a few things, but you’ll forgive me if I save that for an upcoming post. Instead, there’s one other thing I want to share with you . . .

This.

I’ve smudged out the last name for personal reasons, but that’s the label on my office door. MY office door. The “førsteamanuensis”? Associate professor.

I got the job.

Lois said that she’d rather have a clone. And, given the insane pace at which she’s working and traveling for work, I think she needs more than one. But you know, this past week has convinced me that she was wisdom personified and I was wrong and I just need another me or two. You may not need another me, but hey . . . !

See, totally aside from work prepping for the coming term and working on course development for the next, this past week has been filled with all those jobs you’d really rather send your clone off to do. Like clearing out all some of those catch-all areas which seem to gather everything, including the kitchen sink. You know, the corner in the hall where you find the missing saw, a never-installed faucet you’d forgotten you had, a can of spray starch you’d given up on finding an entire size of shirts ago when you were still actually ironing shirts, and the Big Mouth Billy Bass singing fish which, if you drank, you could at least have a good excuse for having bought in the first place. (C’mon, ‘fess up; you’ve got one those silly things hanging around somewhere, and still giggle when you hear it singing “Take Me to the River.” If, however, you’ve led a sheltered life and have no clue what I’m talking about, you can find a dozen videos like this one on YouTube, and Gemmy Industries even has an iPod version. Really.)

But aside from excavating my office, putting sanity back into my files by actually filing things, and going through three major “miscellaneous” areas, I’ve been doing a few other things.

See all those glossy reflections? Dearie, that’s because the house has now been painted. Windows (the trim between the panes), doors, and the trim on one side are still to go, but the house is otherwise painted. Ok, that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? Except that the Norwegian tradition is to paint the doggoned thing with brushes. All of it. Every single board. With brushes. Seriously.

Sigh.

I can’t quite figure out whether it’s because Norway was historically a very poor country until fairly recently and people used what they had (brushes), or that the technology for commercial sprayers has just been terribly slow arriving, or that “this is the way we’ve always done it” is controlling the work, or if there’s truly a good reason to not use a sprayer. I’ve no clue, but DH has now spent his entire vacation period painting a house (with help from me and his dad), and it’s still not entirely finished. And bless his heart, he had to go back to work this morning. Frankly, I think that’s a pretty sucky vacation and I feel for the dude. Even if he did decide he was absolutely not going to use a sprayer and he really did want to use brushes. By hand. On every single board. By hand. Brushes. Every. Single. Board.

Did I mention it’s a two-story house?

Then there’s this.

Normally there’s a fabric-covered door covering that black hole behind my desk, but remember those catch-all areas which were cleared out? Well, this was one of them. Except that it was more of a “catch and forget” than anything else, and some of the stuff in there had been forgotten for at least 25 years. I won’t tell you what I found, and you should be grateful I didn’t show you a pic of the place before I emptied, swept, and vacuumed it out. Let’s just say that everything went out of the house, mostly into a burn bin, and I went straight into the shower. Sheesh.

But, there are a few details you should notice here. See how low the roof is? My office is right under the eaves, and it’s a pretty small space. But if you look in that closet, the roofline there is still nearly 90cm/35″ up off the floor, which is just enough for a bookcase and some storage shelves or boxes. The closet runs the length of the office (8.3′), plus an additional three feet (behind the camera) which runs behind a tiny closet inside the office. It’s not very deep . . .

It’s only about 70cm/27″. And yes, those are glimpses of light you see through the boards on that end wall, which is about 7 feet away.

So, what are we doing? Well, a layer of insulation is going on top of those walls and ceiling. Then the wall you saw in the first picture (surrounding the door) is coming out, and new paneling is going on top of the insulation in the closet. The floor will need some click-in-place flooring, and that beam on the ceiling will need to be painted. And that will extend the office space by almost exactly 2 feet. That may not sound like much, but when it’s only 8.3′ wide and is filled with a daybed that’s 2.5′ deep, a computer desk that’s 3.5′ wide, a legal-sized file cabinet that’s almost 2′ wide, the writing desk in the picture, a bookcase, a folding work table, a free-standing radiator, an office chair, and part of a fiber stash . . . Get the idea? Two feet is huge.

Just don’t ask me when that’s actually going to happen. One sort of needs to be sure that ripping out the wall isn’t going to bring down the roof. Minor detail, that.

I’m about to decide I don’t need a clone after all. I need a Home Makeover team of my own who’ll do what I need done while I go away for a few days. Now doesn’t that sound like a plan?

By the way, the Feather and Fan shawl? It’s here.

At row 125.

There are 189 rows plus the edging.

It takes me nearly an hour and a half to knit a pattern row. Have I mentioned I’m a slow knitter?

Don’t ask me how many stitches there are. I refuse to count them. No, wait, now I want to torture myself by knowing . . . There are 792 stitches. That’s not bad, right? But wait, there are 64 rows to go, and of those, what?—23?—are pattern rows, which will increase a stitch at 24 equal points across the row for every pattern row. So there are, assuming I’m counting correctly and let’s not push that assumption too far since there’s a reason I teach English, 552 stitches left to increase. I’m just over halfway in the stitch count. That’s not exactly much comfort since each round gets progressively longer, and takes increasingly more time. Have I mentioned I’m a slow knitter?

I figure it’ll take me a day to do a round by the time I’m finished. Doing nothing else. Maybe I’ll brush my teeth.

The visit was a good one despite the triple-digit temperatures (seriously, 110F heat index?? on a regular basis?? In what world is that a comfortable??). It was, however, too short and a bit chaotic, and one of those which leaves one thinking of buying a lottery ticket or finding that elusive genie.

Aside from a tiny bit of shopping, a lot of visiting family, and an even greater amount of gasping for breath in impossible temperatures and humidity levels, I did a bit of spinning, some washing fleece (which I’ll show you later), and some knitting.

And believe it or not, I actually finished a few things.

First, the skein of Manos wool/silk which was gifted in the SP13 swap was just enough for a Flock Together cowl.

It’s an easy pattern, although I modified it a bit to add the increases toward the end. It threw the pattern off, but I can live with that. It’s a soft yarn and has good drape, and the cowl is cozy and soft. And yes, I’m rather intending it to be for me.

Second, remember these batts?

Which became this yarn?

Well, it became a Wavy Feathers Wimple (actually, a cowl).

I’m not a sock knitter, but cowls make easy travel knitting, and are small enough for knitting on the plane. The pattern is easy, and I used nearly all the yarn for this particular pattern, and I’m very pleased with how the yarn handled. The cowl is soft with a bit of a halo from the kid mohair, and a bit of shine and glitz from the minor fibers. And no, I’ve not yet decided whether it’ll stay with me or move on, but I have a hunch it’s destined for a gift.

On another front, I needed a spinner’s lap cloth and realized I couldn’t make it myself. For a long time, if someone asked me if I could sew, I used to answer that I could at least sew a straight line. HA! Let’s get real; that line is about as straight as a sidewinder snake’s track. It wasn’t rocket science to realize I couldn’t make something which would look halfway decent. So, I asked a very special gal at the folk’s church—one who is a serious quilter—if she’d do the job for me. I gave her the design and specs, and cannot say how pleased I am with what she did. Check this:

That back (or front, if you prefer) looks rather plain, but notice the middle section:

The pocket is exactly the right size to hold a small plastic cutting board which works beautifully for flick carding.

And the other side:

The bars are exactly 1″ deep, and the contrast colors will make measuring twist easier. Both sides allow you to see a dark fiber against a light background, and a light fiber against a dark background. I’ve broken it in and am just—as some folks on this side of the pond might say—chuffed.

But, I have manged to clear away a few small non-work loose ends.

I’ve outgrown my old knitting needle case and needed another, and since I loved the one I sent my SP13 pal, I had to make one for myself.

It’s a plush upholstery fabric with a rich silk-brocade type interior lining. I added a turquoise–>teal band (the color darkens to teal further along the band) to help hold things in place and where I could pin stitch markers, a row counter, and a gauge. It works like a charm, and is hereby designated as the Lace Case.

It’s essentially the same as the others I’ve made myself, but I love the richness of the fabric!

Lace is making progress:

(The markers, by the way, are from Karen of Beadmarkers.  They don’t snag on the lace and are frankly perfect.)

You’re looking at the first 75 rows of Eugen Beugler’s Feather and Fan shawl from Gathering of Lace, in Zephyr.  There are 114 rows to go.  And no, there’s no way I can finish it by June when I head stateside for a few weeks.  But I’m going to try.

And last, there’s this:

I had the *worst* time getting the colors in the photo, and they’re still not quite true. The dyebath was a blend of colors in order to create variation in the yarn, but the base was green and turquoise.  The real color is somewhere between a deep emerald and green-turquoise, and I just can’t seem to capture that.

Fiber: 50/50 blend of Teeswater and a Corriedale/Rambouillet cross, hand prepped, carded, and dyed.  The raw fleece came from Kate Lowder of Lowder Colours Farm.
Weight: 185 grams/6.5 ounces.
Yardage: 315yards.
WPI / TPI: 12wpi, 2×2 cable.
Spun on: Rose

The lessons. I learned a few things in this round.  I started with raw, unwashed fleece and did a combo dye/wash job.  This was the first time I’ve done that, and it’s a process I’ll cheerfully use again.  I’ve always been told that you cannot dye fleece in the grease, and that’s actually true—to a point.  The key is that the process needs all the necessary ingredients and temperatures to set the dye and the detergent, temperature, and time necessary to get rid of the grease at the same time.  If the grease isn’t removed, then no:  It won’t work.  The color will crock off.  That’s pretty straight forward and makes perfect sense.  But what fun!  It’s a process you’d use for variegated rather than even color, and is beautifully appropriate for kettle and rainbow dyeing.

There was an even balance of Teeswater and Madison (the Corrie/Rambo cross), and the two fibers work very well together.  The Teeswater is silky and shiny while Madison is fine and crimpy.  Madison adds an incredible bounce and elasticity to the Teeswater, while the Teeswater adds a bit of sheen and a rather silky handle to Madison.  The interesting bit here is that while you may have even amounts by weight, you don’t have even amounts by volume, and that makes a difference.  Teeswater is a heavy wool, while both Corrie and Rambo are lighter wools.  So, blending these two lightens the Teeswater, but adds a bit of sheen and drape to the Corrie/Rambo.  I’d like to try this experiment again, but this time with a larger quantity of Teeswater.  I have a hunch that a 70/30 blend would create a lovely lace yarn with lots of sheen and drape, but just enough bounce to have the right amount of memory.  In an even blend, the Corrie/Rambo actually comes very close to overwhelming the Teeswater.

That was the first lesson.

The second was that I didn’t do as good a job of carding as I’d have liked—there were a few noils and a few bits that weren’t blended as well as they should have been.  I’d also have preferred a more aligned fiber prep.  Had I realized, then I’d have run the carded batts through combs one time in order to eliminate any noils and finish lining things up properly.  It has also confirmed how much I really, really want an electric carder.

Because I didn’t prep the fiber as well as I’d have liked, the singles weren’t as even as I’d have liked.  I didn’t quite have enough to do a 3-ply comfortably, and rather than have a rustic 2-ply, I decided fairly early to make a cabled yarn instead.  It’s been a while since I’ve done one, the process would even out the yarn, and I had a hunch the fiber would make for a very cushy cable.

It was nice to see that SOME expectations hold true. 

So, I finished DH’s Cobblestone, and that which was intended for last Christmas was actually received on Christmas Day.

It fits, it feels good, but I’m not entirely happy with it and I don’t like the pattern. It’s an easy knit, but the garter stitch yoke has too much give and doesn’t provide the stability to the sweater it should. It allows the sweater—including the sleeves—to lengthen a bit more than it should, and the yoke puckers if it’s pulled up. Will I knit it again? No. Nor are my knitting skills good enough to redesign the structure. Had I anticipated the problem, I’d have shifted down a full needle size in order to stiffen the fabric, and would have reduced the garter stitch in the yoke to a third of what it should be. That would, I think, make a huge difference. In a way, I can’t help feeling that the pattern is a bit backwards; the softer fabric shouldn’t be at the point in the sweater which needs the most structure. Otherwise, my feeling is that the yarn needs to be very light, and a bit stiff in order to make this work. A softer yarn—while it may feel good—wants to drape instead of stick, and that seems to be a problem.

Nevertheless, it’s done, it feels good, and it’ll be a comfy casual sweater that DH truly will wear.

And I’ve been doing a little playing. These . . .

are about to be blended together.  Clockwise from top left, there’s bombyx, a lovely lovely Shetland fleece from a lamb named Flora of Stonehaven Farm, and some kid mohair. I’ve been experimenting with them over the last few days to find the right blend so that I’d have enough to do a good-sized project. I tried thirds, but the wool . . . Guys, that wool is simply wonderful. I don’t want to lose the quality of that fleece, and I think a yarn of even thirds would not have the elasticity I want. I have a dream of turning it into a laceweight or light fingering weight and making myself a lovely shawl. But a 50% Shetland, 25% kid mohair, 25% silk . . . THAT is a lovely blend. The yarn has the memory of the wool, and the mohair and silk add a bit of extra softness and shine. But I don’t want to lose the black, either; both the Shetland and the kid mohair are simply lovely true blacks, and blending with white silk leaves it greyed and tweedy. So I dyed the silk. It’s now black.

I’m carding this weekend.

I can’t wait.

By the way, New Year’s resolutions? I don’t do those. This year, however, there are two:

Happy New Year, everyone.