The first time I became even remotely interested in entrelac was when I laid eyes on this beautiful pattern called The Entrelac Shawl in one of Debbie Bliss' books. It was gorgeous as it was unique. Beautifully textured rectangles with a simple cable down the middle. I knew I had to make that blanket. Entrelac was a foreign concept to me at this time, in terms of execution. Yes, I was familiar with the term, but in so far as squares alternating ugly colors that seem to have no business together, and so I never felt the least bit inspired to learn that technique. But this was different. There was no freakish use of color to hurt my eyes, just a good looking piece of fabric. And so I set out to begin work on this masterpiece. Then I got stuck. Once I got through the base triangles, the pattern began to read crazy. Each word got tangled in my head, leaving me in an utter state of bewilderment, angst and confusion. I put that shit away, but this piece just kept nagging at me to put an end to this madness. The call to completion got louder, and louder, and so I picked it up again. I found someone who successfully completed this blanket, and she not only allowed me to pick her brain, she got the light bulb in my head to go off, and helped me decode this language of entrelac. I finished the blanket and unexpectedly a whole world was opened up to me. My desire to master this technique was to finish this blanket, but then I discovered that I actually liked the fabric that entrelac created. I have since made other things, and have been given the opportunity to share the creative wealth of knowledge of the wonderful world of Entrelac at Stitch Therapy where I now help others decode this rather simple skill.
A dear, dear friend of mine is expecting her first child. One day, I asked how she was feeling. Pretty typical question you would ask an expectant mother. But her answer, while unexpected, resonated with me in the most personal way. She spoke of this strong reaction she has been having, and described it as the "Keep those crazy people away from my baby" feeling. I had to break the news that this feeling doesn't go away. I still have that feeling and my daughter is almost 6. In fact, as she has gotten older, that feeling has only intensified. I expect that will continue to be the case for the rest of my life, and maybe even after. Now I don't consider myself a great mother. In fact, I don't even know that I am a good mother. I probably let my kid eat too much candy, watch way too much TV, and let her stay up way too late, but I don't think you have to be a great mother to protect your child from craziness. But a decent mother, yes. Even the most domesticated of animals are known to go ape shit when something or someone threatens the environment of their young. Since we are limited in what insanity we can shield our kids from, it is even more important that I as parent make a conscious effort to keep the madness to a minimum within the context of my immediate family life. Now I waited until I was at the age, whereas my egg upon fertilization needed a cane to get to my uterus for implantation to have my kid, as opposed to those prime childbearing years of yore. In fact, I made a decision in my early adulthood not to have children, as I couldn't trust myself not to take leave of my senses and was not certain that the crazy person my baby would need protecting from was me. Having had front row seats to the freak show that was my childhood, I knew well enough that I was not going to bring, much less create an innocent victim to bear witness to the manifestations of my lunacy. My husband, who had been my boyfriend several years prior to our marriage was on board with this notion of no children, as his ego was not vested in populating the earth. Now my husband's reasons were different than mine. He came from a solid, caring, and loving family, which is evident by the husband and father he is today, and ultimately our choice to have children came after careful and thoughtful deliberation. Then the next 39 weeks was spent going "What the fuck did we do?". Not dealing with a full deck myself, I knew that for me to bring a child into this world into an existing precarious situation, say a partner who also isn't dealing with a full deck would be by default starting behind the eight ball. So I got to know myself. I knew that I could not trust myself not to repeat the legacy of lunacy, and I knew that there was much work to be done to repair my battered and abused psyche. Mucho therapy. I was then able to figure out that I needed a partner that was smarter than I, sensible, reasonable, and the picture of emotional health. And this was what I sought for a life partner. Then one day, I happen to notice I didn't involuntarily seize with horror when people asked us about children in our future. "This is a new feeling" I thought to myself. Instead the nausea and vomiting came after I became pregnant. Let's face it, the man or woman you are with, providing everything is in working order, has the potential to be the father or mother of your child, and if you don't have your shit together, and your partner doesn't, forget college fund, and start a therapy fund. As time passed, I began to trust myself a little more. My self esteem in tact, and the journey to keep it that way was was well under way. I had finally had a better handle on things, and the time had come for me to answer the call of the wild, and we were blessed with a great kid. There is not a decision I make without first considering how it will impact my child. That "Keep those crazy people away from my baby" are one of the few voices in my head that I pay attention to, and acknowledge in addition as a primal instinct even if that crazy person includes me. And so, I would like to take this opportunity to wish my dear long time friend the very best of luck in keeping those crazy people away from her baby, as it is a life long, and very worthy endeavor. As I recently stated in a Facebook post, I have learned that if you buy tickets to the circus, don't be shocked to see clowns. I've seen many, and a lot of kids are afraid of clowns, so forget the tickets, and put the money in their college fund.
I had never heard of SundraCroonquist. But then it has been quite some time since I've made the rounds at the comedy clubs. Then one day while driving my kid to school last week, and listening for the allergy forecast, it was brought to my attention by the 1010 WINS news people that comedian SundraCroonquist had a suit against her that was filed by her In-Laws. The suit was recently dropped, protecting her First Amendment Right to free speech. It seems her In-Laws were offended (read horrified) by her shtick. Intrigued by the commotion in this family, I located her In-Law set on YOUTUBE for my viewing pleasure.
I had to admit, that was pretty hardcore. And while I found some of the material bemusing, I was mostly YIKES. She may or may not like her In-Laws, but one thing is for certain, SundraCroonquist is a comic whether you think she is funny or not. Comics poke fun. Most make jokes about intimate experiences that are relevant in their lives and common overall, most notably at the expense of others. Hers while not unheard of is a unique enough situation in that she is a black woman married to a Jewish man, but the common universal thread is the annoying mother in law. Based on her stand up, she has the stereotypical Jewish mother in law. I think we can all agree that in law, particularly mother in law jokes are pretty common, and I am going to make a wager that her act is somewhat exaggerated. Sundra, being a woman of color, probably did hear some outrageous things from her husbands family who may have been a little surprised by who he bought home for dinner, in this case, Passover and who he chose as his life's partner. For the average comedian, these situations can provide much fodder for mischievous comic antics. This can be annoying, especially to those on the receiving end. The truth is, all comedians are about the joke. But Sundra's in-laws not amused, took the liberty of filing suit against her. Because of that action, I now have heard of SundraCroonquist.
One of my last blog entries where I was recalling the days of yore of how I learned to crochet, I was trying to remember how I learned to knit, in addition to noting the benefits of such hobbies. The last line of the entry read something to the effect of "something to think about the next time your insufferable in-laws are over for the holidays." Needless to say that during a conversation my husband had with his mother, he happened to mention my blog. She had in fact had read my blog, and took what I considered a broad, rather benign remark very personally. I hadn't cited anything personal pertaining to our relationship. I didn't even say "mother in law", nor had I recounted any particular episode of in-law drama, say specific to her. I just made what I considered an innocuous comment, a suggestion if you will, for those who have to deal with crazy in-laws or for that matter any insane family member one has to tolerate during familial gatherings. Interestingly though, that last line for her was the point of the story. Now I don't expect a law suit, and I am gratefully low profile enough that no one would really give a shit what I wrote, but for the record, I was not making a statement about my own in-law relationship. It was a suggestion in the form of a joke.
In-law issues, in-law jokes, just like sex and intimate relationships have always been a ripe topic for writers, and comedians alike. The sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond drew heavily on the in-law relationship between daughter in law and mother in law. In fact Everybody Loves Raymond would have 9 seasons. The 1999 move The Best Man was the story of a writer whose book caused a whole lot of hoopla for what he cited was simply "fictitious accounts of experiences" he had gone through. I conclude that everything from books to movies to plays, and blogs are based on something if even a germ of an idea or experience. It may not however mean what you think it means. Sometimes it is all very generic. And while I am not worried or concerned about any weird tensions at my next holiday soiree, boy oh boy, would I love to be a fly on the wall at the next Passover Sedar at Croonquist's house.
I am currently obsessed. Obsessed with Lizzie. You see, Lizzie is a shrug. And I don't mean the "shrug" you you give your husband when he asks you about the 20 missing from his wallet. No, I mean a garment. A sweater of sorts. An original house pattern from Stitch Therapy, and might I say one of the best shrug patterns I have ever had the experience to knit. It is a well constructed, beautifully shaped piece of clothing. If I could, I would make a hundred of them at once, and just give them out to everyone I know and like. I would make one of every color, just in case. This pattern has been around not long after the inception of Stitch Therapy in 2004. I, however didn't experience the glory until just last year, when I decided I should make something for myself. So last year I finally made myself the shrug that I loved and admired for quite sometime. I had long since bought the yarn, and had it in my stash for about a year and a half or more before I finally knit it up. I have since worn the daylights out Lizzie, who is holding her own.
And so when the annual Mother/Daughter Brunch (a yearly function hosted by my daughter's school) was on the horizon, it was that time to think about suitable and appropriate gear for cute girl child. Lo and behold, a beautiful sea green dress, with a cream mesh flower lace overlay caught my eye. It was perfect. But it was missing something. The quaint braided spaghetti strap dress begged for a delightful elegant vintage like wrap to up the anti in sheer elegance. My almost 6 year old will not tolerate a wrap. No, that would end up under the front seat of our car with footprints all over it, and my daughter staring up at me with a look of confusion when I ask where it is, but a shrug? I decided that was the way to go. A sleek garment that functions as a half sweater, providing warmth and cover for bare shoulders, while accenting, and even accessorizing beautiful dress for cute girl child. I began to look around for a nice relatively simple and quick shrug pattern. Unfortunately, or fortunately I was unable to find anything that I loved. And if I was going to take the time to make it, I have to love it. It needed to look handmade, not homemade, or anything resembling something that can show up on a fugly website. When it dawned on me that I was looking for something that looked and was shaped like the Lizzie, I decided I should make the Lizzie for my daughter. I knew there had to be a way. Lizzie was written for the adult female, ranging in sizes extra small, to extra large along with several yarn suggestions that are in line with the use of a 8, 9 or 10 needle. I ended up using a finer yarn, than the pattern suggested, and went down to a size 6 needle. And Voila, a shrug for Gia. I wish I had some complicated mathematical formula, along with some insane illustrations of thoughtful sketches that are frighting and intimidating to share as to how I came up with the sizing for small girl child, but I don't. Truth be told, I just winged it.
A hoarder, most notably of yarn, I can be seen knitting or crocheting even in 90 degree weather. Having fully channelled my OCD into kntting, I knit compulsviley, tirelessly and fiendishly. As a further consequence of my compulsivity, I MUST teach knitting and all things related to knitting.
SSK anyone?
Posts
