AS I sit here, in the ubiquitous computer lab, found on every college campus, I can't help but think.
In the past month, I have knit a ... boatload... of hats, to the point where my knuckles are very swollen, but not painful, and I have a basket full of hats to show for my pain.
Part of the problem, I feel is that I like knitting too much, and that I like knitting for other people too much. I'm worried that my hands will start to hurt if I keep at it like this. I don't know what else to say. But, damn those hats are pretty.
To Knit for me (in order that I don't freeze during this damned winter) :
mittens
knee-high socks (in worsted weight wool)
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Hot Potato
This summer, I decided that I had had enough of my endless parade of hats and that I wanted something spicy. Browsing around the interwebs, and bookstores, I began to notice a trend. Socks were hot. And socks were hard. Among many others, the Yarn Harlot was the loudest in extolling their virtue and just how damn smart you’d feel after having finally turned a heel. And they are small, and portable.
I shrugged. “Sounds fun.” I said and dived into my stash. Interestingly enough, my stash had a decently sized collection of sock yarns tucked away, right in a corner. It was supplemented by the Opal yarn that my mom had passed onto me, after her failed attempt at knitting (more on that later). I grabbed some of the Opal (in a colorway that I would have never chosen) and some Patons Kroy in a lovely blue green colorway. I cast on the Opal, knit it up into footie socks, and they disappeared into the abyss that is my mom’s workplace. However, this is not their story (and they don’t count as real socks, since they were only footies) .
This is the story of the Patons Kroy. The colorway is titled “Cyan stripes” and they lived up to their name. I was religious and knit a gauge swatch before starting, just so that I could have a good idea of what I was getting into. Because I’m fairly lazy when it comes to gauge, and because I didn’t know just how much yarn would be enough for a pair. I had two balls of 50 grams, and my research indicated that this should be enough. Cast on for the toe was … problematic. I like DPNs. Especially for tubes like socks. Trying to do a toe with DPNs (especially when I couldn’t find a single cast on that worked for DPNs (which is frustrating)) was a challenge. I ended up saying “Screw it” and improvising. It involved less cursing that I would have thought. After the toe came easy street, knitting in the round. That was my mindless knitting and I took to it with a will. Within a couple days, I had two halves of a sock. Turning the heel wasn’t too bad, given that I had cut my teeth on the footies. It was only after I started doing the ribbing that I realized that there might be a problem.
I tried them on. They didn’t fit. “Okay.” I said, “Grandparents are coming for their vacation in a couple of days, the socks will be for grandpa.” And I happily knit on the damn ribbing which I hate quite a bit.
Grandpa came. I procrastinated. I learned that I don’t like ribbing. Eventually, I preserved and presented grandpa with a fully finished sock. It didn’t fit. Grandpa, with his feet slimmer and smaller seeming feet then mine, turned out to have rather large feet. They were too short, and the ribbing was far too tight for him to be able to wear them comfortably. Grandma took one look at the whole sorry mess and stole the socks out from under both Grandpa and me. It took me at least a week to finish the ribbing on the second sock. During that time, Grandma wandered around with only one sock on. A rather interesting phenomenon. Looking back on it now, I realize that that pair of socks has been a pair of hot potatoes, being passed on from family member to family member until they were cool enough (fit) the person they reached. And now another pair of socks is on my needles, this time for my Grandpa.
I shrugged. “Sounds fun.” I said and dived into my stash. Interestingly enough, my stash had a decently sized collection of sock yarns tucked away, right in a corner. It was supplemented by the Opal yarn that my mom had passed onto me, after her failed attempt at knitting (more on that later). I grabbed some of the Opal (in a colorway that I would have never chosen) and some Patons Kroy in a lovely blue green colorway. I cast on the Opal, knit it up into footie socks, and they disappeared into the abyss that is my mom’s workplace. However, this is not their story (and they don’t count as real socks, since they were only footies) .
This is the story of the Patons Kroy. The colorway is titled “Cyan stripes” and they lived up to their name. I was religious and knit a gauge swatch before starting, just so that I could have a good idea of what I was getting into. Because I’m fairly lazy when it comes to gauge, and because I didn’t know just how much yarn would be enough for a pair. I had two balls of 50 grams, and my research indicated that this should be enough. Cast on for the toe was … problematic. I like DPNs. Especially for tubes like socks. Trying to do a toe with DPNs (especially when I couldn’t find a single cast on that worked for DPNs (which is frustrating)) was a challenge. I ended up saying “Screw it” and improvising. It involved less cursing that I would have thought. After the toe came easy street, knitting in the round. That was my mindless knitting and I took to it with a will. Within a couple days, I had two halves of a sock. Turning the heel wasn’t too bad, given that I had cut my teeth on the footies. It was only after I started doing the ribbing that I realized that there might be a problem.
I tried them on. They didn’t fit. “Okay.” I said, “Grandparents are coming for their vacation in a couple of days, the socks will be for grandpa.” And I happily knit on the damn ribbing which I hate quite a bit.
Grandpa came. I procrastinated. I learned that I don’t like ribbing. Eventually, I preserved and presented grandpa with a fully finished sock. It didn’t fit. Grandpa, with his feet slimmer and smaller seeming feet then mine, turned out to have rather large feet. They were too short, and the ribbing was far too tight for him to be able to wear them comfortably. Grandma took one look at the whole sorry mess and stole the socks out from under both Grandpa and me. It took me at least a week to finish the ribbing on the second sock. During that time, Grandma wandered around with only one sock on. A rather interesting phenomenon. Looking back on it now, I realize that that pair of socks has been a pair of hot potatoes, being passed on from family member to family member until they were cool enough (fit) the person they reached. And now another pair of socks is on my needles, this time for my Grandpa.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Anticipation
Currently, I am in summer school. This is both wonderful and terrible. One the one hand, I am getting ahead/catching up to my peers and getting in a an extra bit of credit hours, getting me closer to my degree. On the other hand, I'm studying obsessively and freaking out about exams.
I have a rather interesting reaction to stress. The more there is of it, the more I'm willing to push myself, but at the same time the more I need to get away. In the last year or so, my escape of choice has been the fiber arts. Case in point, I have a huge midterm tomorrow and so I'm desperately fantasizing about learning how to spin. I'm already halfway there, with a neat little bundle of fleece from my LYS and some books. Now I just need a spindle. I'm gonna try and get my grandpa (who is very handy with tools, bored, and here) to make me a couple (top down vs the other way) and try to teach myself from a book. That's how I learned to knit properly, and that's how I would like to learn to spin, at least at first. I plan to take a class after summer school is done, so that I can refine my techniques there.
This is a long way of saying that I plan to learn how to spin. Wish me luck.
I have a rather interesting reaction to stress. The more there is of it, the more I'm willing to push myself, but at the same time the more I need to get away. In the last year or so, my escape of choice has been the fiber arts. Case in point, I have a huge midterm tomorrow and so I'm desperately fantasizing about learning how to spin. I'm already halfway there, with a neat little bundle of fleece from my LYS and some books. Now I just need a spindle. I'm gonna try and get my grandpa (who is very handy with tools, bored, and here) to make me a couple (top down vs the other way) and try to teach myself from a book. That's how I learned to knit properly, and that's how I would like to learn to spin, at least at first. I plan to take a class after summer school is done, so that I can refine my techniques there.
This is a long way of saying that I plan to learn how to spin. Wish me luck.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Ignorance is Bliss
I thought that I was above all that hoarding and buying yarn uncontrollably. I thought I was above all those crazy symptoms that the Yarn Harlot mentions in her blog.
I was wrong.
It only really hit me as I started to sort through all the stuff in my room. I am currently living in the basement, and my grandparents are living in the room that I used to call mine. That's not that important. What matters is that they have the boxes where I stored my yarn. "Stored" being the operative word here. Somehow, part of my stash migrated down into the basement with me, but really, that's rather understandable, given that that's where I spend most of my time. It wouldn't do, sneaking into the room where my grandparents are sleeping just to grab that one last skein for a project. Even if my grandma is a knitter, she won't understand. I thought I had everything under control.
But then I started looking around the house. There's a pair of unfinished socks in the main room, for when the women gather to do some type of craft after dinner. There's another pair of socks in my backpack (for when I have to sit on the train for an hour) and the car (in case I get stuck somewhere). There's pieces of the blanket I'm knitting for my grandparents in the living room, and another project hanging out near the couch where I'm sleeping.
I've skipped right from "who can tell that I have yarn?" to "Going out into the street in order not to be within ten feet of yarn".
Lesson learned: Yarn is far more addictive than I have given it credit.
I was wrong.
It only really hit me as I started to sort through all the stuff in my room. I am currently living in the basement, and my grandparents are living in the room that I used to call mine. That's not that important. What matters is that they have the boxes where I stored my yarn. "Stored" being the operative word here. Somehow, part of my stash migrated down into the basement with me, but really, that's rather understandable, given that that's where I spend most of my time. It wouldn't do, sneaking into the room where my grandparents are sleeping just to grab that one last skein for a project. Even if my grandma is a knitter, she won't understand. I thought I had everything under control.
But then I started looking around the house. There's a pair of unfinished socks in the main room, for when the women gather to do some type of craft after dinner. There's another pair of socks in my backpack (for when I have to sit on the train for an hour) and the car (in case I get stuck somewhere). There's pieces of the blanket I'm knitting for my grandparents in the living room, and another project hanging out near the couch where I'm sleeping.
I've skipped right from "who can tell that I have yarn?" to "Going out into the street in order not to be within ten feet of yarn".
Lesson learned: Yarn is far more addictive than I have given it credit.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Hello and Welcome
Hi,
My name is the Yarn Minion, both through choice and circumstance. I Started in the fiber arts and thought that I was strong and could easily escape. This has proven to be a very false conclusion on my part. In the end, I decided that it would be easier and better if I found a place to sort/store all the accoutrement of my fiber obsession so that I could be recorded for posterity (or to give me/someone a laugh). Please, feel free to look around, but please try to be a little courteous and a little kind. Thank you.
My name is the Yarn Minion, both through choice and circumstance. I Started in the fiber arts and thought that I was strong and could easily escape. This has proven to be a very false conclusion on my part. In the end, I decided that it would be easier and better if I found a place to sort/store all the accoutrement of my fiber obsession so that I could be recorded for posterity (or to give me/someone a laugh). Please, feel free to look around, but please try to be a little courteous and a little kind. Thank you.
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