A Cautionary Tale

Never assume you know what the symbols mean.

On the other hand, at least it was twelve rows of mostly plain stockinette . . . 

Things on my Rav page

Things on my Rav page listed as WIPs despite being complete and just needing washing/blocking/photography: 2

Things on my Rav page listed as WIPs that, despite being active projects that I've worked on within the past week, have no photograph: 2

Things on my Rav page with pictures that reflect the status of the project approximately one year ago: 2

Things on my Rav page that are actually 100% complete except for a wash and yet have never had a photograph taken of them: 1

Conclusion: I would look like a much more productive knitter if I ever took a freakin' picture.

(Incidentally, I chose the sweater for TV knitting, and have finished a sleeve, the back, and one front. The other front is nearly done, which means that I have only to knit a sleeve and then I can start putting it together. Yay.)

Olympics, Day 4

Well, I got off to a blazing start by . . . forgetting the needles I needed to cast on and therefore not casting on until Saturday.

Whoops!

But Irtfa'a is safely on the needles now. The provisional cast-on gave me a bit of trouble, as I'd never done one before, but I think i figured it out . . . Anyway, I finished the opening edging section, and I'm now working on the shoulder shaping. I only have 15 rows of that knit, but it's been getting faster all the time. My hope is that I can really fly once the increases are finished!

Meanwhile, here's something I finished a while ago:


This is a plain scarf for the Red Scarf Project, which, basically, gives care packages to young people with no families. These kids (I say kids, but they're not much younger than I am) are making their way with virtually no support networks. My family has been very supportive of me, especially in the past year, financially, emotionally, spiritually, and in generally making my life easier, and I can't imagine living without them. So this is definitely a very, very worthy project, and I encourage any of you reading to check it out.

I'm part of a 2010 KAL for the Red Scarf Project running through the #1 Knitspot Fan group on Ravelry, so I hope to knit 12 scarves to donate this year. As well as being lots of fun, it's a good way to give back with my knitting.

Whoops

I am so sorry I disappeared on all two of you who read this. Long story short, my desktop is busted, and that's where I keep all my photos and whatnot. Between the desktop and work, I haven't been able to get things together long enough to blog. But I promise, I swear, that I'll be back for the Ravelympics and after.

In the meantime, more comics:


marriedtothesea.com

Pi are not square

It embarrasses me to post these photos, it really does. Here's the original pi sock, as photographed last year.


And here it is with its mate, as finished earlier this week.


I have NO idea what happened. Same yarn, same needles, same knitter . . . and yet. One thing that did occur to me is that the yarn stretched when I left it wound in balls for a year. This is certainly possible, especially since I hand-wind my yarn, rather tightly. I'm not sure, though. You'd think I'd get to be a tighter knitter as I knit more and gain more experience, but apparently not.

What I'm going to try to take away from this is that it was an incredibly valuable lesson in a lot of ways. I knit a lot in college, but more or less stopped when I went to grad school. I only picked it up again spring of last year at the encouragement of my then-boyfriend. And then . . . then I was obsessed. All of a sudden I was knitting all the time, reading knit blogs, and getting more ambitious by the second. But I still had a long way to go, and these socks demonstrate that. When I first got the idea to knit pi socks, I wouldn't have dreamed of doing a little swatching and writing my own pattern from scratch. I adapted someone else's. It was awful--the pattern didn't suit the concept, the yarn, or the way I knit, and the results were disastrous. Now I would just make my own pattern. (Which I would then proceed not to follow, but that's neither here nor there.)

The other thing was the yarn. I just pulled what I had from the stash without really thinking through what the pattern demanded or the qualities of the yarn I had (in this case, a cotton blend). Nowadays, I'd try to marry the yarn to the pattern.

Finally, I knew when I finished the first sock that nothing worked. But, stubborn me, I didn't frog it and dispose of it then and there. The stubbornness remains a constant, but now I wouldn't have gotten past the cuff on that first sock. I'm much more flexible and imaginative now . . . I only hope I'll continue to grow as I keep on knitting.

And in the meantime, these socks are pretty comfy.

The Endless Sweater, Part One

So I mentioned that I was knitting a sweater. The sweater in question is the Boyfriend Sweater from Hip to Knit.

I love this book. The patterns are very clear, and her instructions are excellent. Thus, I have only myself to blame for the rocky start I had. First, when I bought the yarn (Bemidji Woolen Mills Original Homespun), I didn't have the pattern on me, so I guessed on how much I'd need.

I guessed wrong. And when I ordered more online . . . I bought the wrong color. /facepalm.

No problem, I hadn't planned on using a contrast color, but it would still look nice. I soldiered on and swatched. Enter much swatching angst. We'll pass over that as both boring and aggravating. I was ready to cast on. But . . . I didn't really like where the cables on the sweater were placed.

This is why I shouldn't knit other people's patterns. I only mess with them anyway. Math complete, I finally cast on . . . and promptly made a mistake in the ribbing. Rip rip rip. Ribbing done! Hmmm, wasn't I supposed to switch needles after the ribbing? *sigh* Rip rip rip.

So you see before you the sum total of my progress. This thing is going to take forever.

Cross stitch indeed: a rant.

This may come as a shock to you all, but knitting was not my first love. I didn't learn to knit until I was in college, but I'd been doing needlework for years and years. My big thing for a long time was cross-stitch.

Now, I haven't cross-stitched in something like ten years, but I got a hankering for it last week. Why not, I thought, and picked up a kit at what we'll call Craft Store A. At home, I dug out my needlepoint paraphernalia and set out to stitch. I noticed that the kit was missing the promised needles, but I didn't think that was such a big deal--I had some anyway. A moment of digression: this is the frame I use. The rods I have require that you sew your working fabric to the attached webbing. You then put the rods in the bars and use the knobs to hold everything in place. So I sewed the fabric on, put the frame together, and started to sort the thread . . . only there was no sorting list. Half the instructions were missing. Grrrrrr. No cross-stitch for me!

Fast forward to yesterday, when I went to the grocery store. I wasn't at my usual store, but another across town, which just happens to be next door to Craft Store B. I went in, and they had a ton of stuff on clearance--so I got another kit. I also grabbed another set of rods for my frame (I needed a bigger set, anyway), noting vaguely that the package said something about a "two-part" system. Since I had a frame already, I figured that was what they meant.

At home, I opened up my new kit, checking VERY carefully that all the bits were there. Success! Now to put the fabric on the rods. Um . . . Turns out that, since I'd bought my frame, the company has introduced a patented "no baste" system. Instead of my familiar webbing, attached to the rods is this weird cloth. I need the specific part for the fabric to make it work . . . which of course I didn't have. After a little (okay, a lot of swearing), I decided to go to Craft Store A and see if they had any of this magic no-baste crap.

Turns out, Store A does have the fabric part it--but they don't have it alone. It's all packaged in with rods and frames. More swearing. Facing the prospect of buying a whole 'nother frame just to get the stupid stuff, I take a closer look at it through the package.

It's just velcro. It's just motherfucking velcro.

Literally two yards away, I grab a package of velcro and proceed to buy it in triumph.

I get home, pick up my prize . . . and realize that it is iron-on velcro.

I believe this is the point when I lost my shit.

Anyway, I finally got my fabric in the frame (I will say this, iron-on velcro means business--that shit's not moving), sorted all the colors out, threaded my needle, and finally, at long last, began to cross-stitch.

And then I remembered why I'd quit cross-stitching in the first place. It's fucking boring.

Forgive me, knitting. I will never leave you.

(By the way, if you were under the impression that this was a family blog . . . I do apologize.)