SeRiOusLy uNhiDeous

 I was asked to crochet this hat, The Slouchy Beret, from The Crochet Dudes aka. Drew Emborsky's  adult hat pattern booklet, called " In All Caps", for the store Stitch Therapy. A new yarn came in, and making the hat will provide a nice showcase for the hat and the new yarn.  The materials I used were the Berroco's Weekend yarn, which is 75% Acryllic, and 25% peruvian cotton, using a size G Hook.   

I enjoy crochet.  It is interesting to me that many people don't share the passion for both knitting and crochet.  Most people I know either knit or crochet, but not many do both.  Or at least both with the same enthusiasm.  I may knit more, but that is simply because crochet has an abundance of hideous patterns.  That is not to say that knitting doesn't run the gamete of its share of ugly ass patterns, but it seems that crochet has knitting beat in that department.  But then every so often I will come across something crochet wise that strikes my fancy, and this little booklet of crochet adult hats was one of those things. As of late though, it seems that while crochet is still under represented there are more and more beautiful patterns in the crochet fabric than ever before.  This Crochet Dude guy has a pattern booklet due to come out from Leisure Arts, called Crochet It. Love It. Wear It! (Leisure Arts #5058) which features some lovely designs for women.  I've already pre-ordered my copy.  And while crochet I felt had been limited to afghans, and scarfs and a few hats, it is nice to see pretty sweaters, and even a cute dress that I would crochet to wear if I didn't have the body of a baby rhino.  Be that as it may, I think this hat is gorgeous, and am thinking I might make one for myself as I am freaking adorable in it.  Oddly enough It isn't something that I would have thought that I would make for myself, but did I mention that I look so darn cute, that the hat almost demands that it be on my head?  In any case this hat will be on display like a beautiful museum artifact at Stitch Therapy. 

Ok, that may be a little much, but that is where it will be. I hope that it will inspire crocheters to want to make the hat.  While the hat may look complicated, it is quite simple. Anyone who knows how to chain, single, and double crochet can do this hat with relative ease.  And if you can read stitch instructions, this pattern reads clear, which is good, as I often need things to read as if I am a  3 year old. And not a bright 3 year old either. There have been some preliminary discussions about possibly running a workshop, where I will essentially guide one through step by step execution of this gorgeous hat. It really is fun to make, and the result quite impressive.  People will be amazed and think you are talented.  How great is that?

 

FoUnd iN tRanSLatiOn

 Knitting is like reading code. There are thousands upon thousands of abbreviations that become a cellular part of your psyche. You find that as time goes on, it takes hardly any processing at all. You just look, see K2tog tbl, and you know just what has to be done. You also speak in a code that is not apart of the non knitters frame of reference.  Soon, it dawns on you that they have no idea what the hell you are talking about. This became apparent to me when I happened to mention to someone that I recently finished an afghan for my nephew, which elicited this quick and thoughtful response, "What's an afghan?"

I had to stop and ask myself "Just what the hell is an afghan"?.

When I googled "Afghan" this came up:

Afghan may refer to:

* Someone or something related to Afghanistan
* Pashtun people, the largest ethnic group in Afghanistan and second largest ethnic group in Pakistan; see also Afghan (name)

o Pashto language (Afghan language), the native language of the Pashtuns

Further down the Wikipedia list, there was mention that "Afgahn" may refer to a knitted or crochet blanket, or throw. I even learned that the Afghan, used to describe a throw, or a throw-blanket did indeed originate from Afghanistan.  The original Afghan served the same function, was made from disposible materials and meant to be discarded, or thrown away after use.  But from now on, I think I will just tell my non-knitting, non-crocheting friends that I made a blanket. 

Last summer I made myself a shrug, from an original pattern called the Lizzie from Stitch Therapy where I teach and select yarns for hoarding. Again, my friends not familiar with the terminology used by craft fiends such as myself, needed further clarification. "What's a shrug?" I was asked.  Once again, I had to ponder "Just what the hell is a shrug?" So I once again went to my computer, and got this definition for "shrug".

: to raise or draw in the shoulders especially to express aloofness, indifference, or uncertainty

I knew that. But now a days the first thing that comes to my mind, isn't the first thing that comes to the mind of the lay person. So from now on, I think I will say I made myself a little bolero. How many people, I wonder, have I told I made an Afghan, walked away wondering "How the hell did she do that? I didn't know you could knit that." I imagine that for as many people that will ask "What's that?", there are many, many more who won't. And when I told friends, that I was busy working on a shrug, they must have walked away, shaking their head in confusion and well . . .

 just shrugged.

the QuEsT fOr tOtAL rEcALL

I had come down with some type of throat thing, (strep maybe?) and for the last several days I and my knitting were out of commission. Too exhausted to properly obsess, I've put down my needles for a brief hiatus to recover. Having no energy to physically navigate and properly fixate over the gusset in this glove I've been working on, I've found myself really thinking about why I knit (did I mention obsessively), and where it all began. I have no recollection how I learned to knit in my youth. I made a scarf once, and aside from the sheer basics was completely useless. Crocheting was more my thing, and for years I pretended not to know how I learned to do that. What I did know was that I was in desperate need of an innocuous hobby that didn't involve a rifle, or a set of bows and arrows, so when I found out that this woman my father was fucking at the time knew how to crochet, I had her teach me. I was about 8 at the time, and for some bizarre reason that I can't recall, I was sitting in her home, and before long with hook in hand, I learned crochet basics. It started with a granny square that just kept getting bigger and bigger like the absurdity that was my life, and this woman was on hand to help me out when I got stuck. I spent enough time in her home, that I would become proficient enough at crochet to make blankets, scarfs and hats. And so, from time to time, over the years, I did as much. That very first blanket I made went to one of my nieces when they were born. Or at least I hope it did. And thus spawned the poster child for the expression, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade."

I didn't start to knit really until my adulthood. Shortly after I got married, I went into a yarn store that had recently opened in my neighborhood to ask a question about a crochet project. The store's owner happen to ask me if I knew how to knit. I responded that I did. At least somewhat. She handed me a skein of yarn, a pair of knitting needles, and asked me to demonstrate how I do it. Using the backward loop cast-on, I proceeded with my pathetic attempt. After completing a row with the finesse of a gorilla in pointe shoes, she said she could show me a better way. It was at this time time I would learn the long tail cast-on, and how to knit continental. What I demonstrated was the English method, which produces the same result, and how I figure most knitters knit. I on the other hand fell madly in love with continental knitting, and went home that night to feverishly practice my new found skill. With that, my second completed knitting project, a basket weave stitch scarf would go to my very worthy husband. But the mystery of how I learned to make my very first scarf, and do what I did during my feeble presentation to the woman at the yarn store remains as elusive as was a passing grade in math. Perhaps it will come to me during an EMDR session. I still crochet and very often use this skill to embellish my knits. I consider myself lucky to know how to do both crafts.

 

The beauty of such crafts is the flexibility it provides. You can take it with you, and you can do it pretty much anywhere. There are a whole host of different techniques to learn and perfect, so while it can be repetitive, it is never boring. For me it provides a great escape during those times when I am insanity's hostage. There is nothing like having a project handy to help endure your family's madness. Something to think about the next time you find yourself with your insufferable in laws for the holidays.

KNITTING 101-Words of Wisdom

Let me be the first to say, that knitting is not for sissies. That's right, you heard it here first. It is not for sissies, the faint of heart, or for those looking to relax. What you just read are the opening remarks of my Beginning Knitting Class. It is important to know this going in. If you picture yourself sitting comfortably, luxuriating in a big cushy chair, knitting, smiling, while periodically sipping on a glass of vino, while working on a beautiful bonnet to go with those matching booties, you should know that the voice in your head is that of Rod Sterling narrator of the Twilight Zone. If that fantasy, minus the "comfortably luxuriating and smiling", has you screaming a stream of expletives, at 3am, drinking whiskey instead of vino, surrounded by frightened and bewildered family members, fingers covered in scabs and callouses, blood everywhere because you stabbed yourself repeatedly in the eye with your knitting needle with or without the work on it, on purpose, then you my friend are either a serious knitter, or ready to learn. My students look on with horror as I explain that the first thing they need to do is get comfortable with the idea of making a lot of mistakes and being open to ripping shit out. Jaws drop to the ground when I recount stories of having riped out a whole knitted sweater to do it over, or having worked on an intricate color pattern, to find that I made a mistake 12 rounds below, only to have to rip it back to rectify the error. And not just beginners either. This holds true for even the most seasoned yarn craftsmen or craftswomen. While knitting may not be by default the most relaxing hobby, it certainly will take your mind off of things. That is except your knitting. If what you are seeking is a relaxing hobby, collect stamps or coca cola memorabilia. But if you need a way to channel that OCD that is ruining your marriage, knitting could be for you. I often hear "I don't have the patience for that", but will hear in the next breath that they have been dating that asshole for 5 years. So knitting can be for you. Hell, it can be for everyone. I tell my students that knitting is 90% desire, 10% technique. It comes down to how bad you want it. What I teach is the 10%. Having been teaching for a while now, I give the following advice to anyone interested in learning to knit. 1)Practice... 2)Practice some more 3)Does it feel awkward? Like you are knitting with your feet with your hands cuffed behind your back, while blindfolded? Many report that feeling and I am here to tell you that it is not uncommon. 4)Don't let that feeling frighten you. Keep knitting. Soon it will feel like you are knitting with your hands, and before you know it, it will look like it too. 4)Trust that the more you do it, the easier it gets. Not knitting, just life. 5)You will find that you are enjoying yourself.

The Slow Go

It is almost my nephew's 13th birthday. I began working on an afghan for him at the end of August, thinking that this would give me plenty of time to complete this warm cozy colorful throw. I proceeded to pick out this beautiful yarn. An interesting afghan pattern, called Rambeling Rows. Armed and ready, with my tools, and the use of a knitting technique called mitered squares, I was ready to go. Then tomorrow happened. Then many, many, many tomorrows happened. And here we are in November with no end in sight. OK. So I took a break to knit a couple of hats. Then I became distracted by my new "crackberry", which I have been downright addicted to since getting this phone, having come to terms that my previous phone, being held together by a rubber band was due to crap out on me at any moment. Then Halloween. And Halloween madness. The question now is, can I get this thing done in 15 days? I am going to say . . .

I have no idea. Perhaps I should start thinking about this as a Christmas gift.

A Crawling Adventure

This Colombus Day weekend marked the first ever NYC Yarn Crawl. What this means really is just taking yourself, and/or a group of like minded yarn fiends, and going around to each yarn store that is participating in said event. Now I personally am perfectly happy to stalk yarn stores at my own leisure, without the crowds and the frenzy of such. I don't need a "yarn crawl" to be enticed to visit these stores, but I do get how this can be a fascinating event. I managed to crawl to Stitch Therapy, my local yarn store, with exciting things of their own planned for the Yarn Crawl, not to mention where I teach. During the festivities a fellow knitter buddy of mine had made an interesting remark. While she did in fact take part in the Yarn Crawl and visit some of the stores here in the city, she mentioned that it would be cool to go to a Yarn Crawl in say Philadelphia, and make a weekend of it. Yes, that I would do. Unfortunately by the time the NY shindig was planned, it was too late to mention it in the trade papers, and other knitting, crochet related publications. That of course would have invited another brand of insanity, with fanatical knitter tourists from all over. This made me think. I would love the excuse to flee my mundane existence, and travel to a far away place to lasciviously fondle yarn in different yarn stores. Each store, or so I was told was doing different things to bring the fiends out. I understand that Brooklyn General was doing music, and all the stores were involved in a raffle, which I cheerfully took part in. I've been having some luck with raffles having won 2 raffle prizes at A Get Acquainted Dinner, hosted by my daughter's school, and admittedly I could possible pee myself should I win this basket of yarn I clearly don't need. Stitch Therapy hosted a lovely book launch reading/reception, which I made with child in tow. I was super psyched for author Beth Hahn, a fellow knitting buddy, and blogger at willowrosa.blogspot.com, and the opportunity to bask in her celebrity. Beth not only a talented knitter and knitwear designer, she is also a talented writer, and painter which is showcased in her newly released, The Adventures of Miss Flitt. A 19 c. Mystery in Four parts. With watercolors and knitwear designs. To buy this book, See link: missflitt.com. I already have my copy.

12 year old YIKES

My 12 year old neighbor and I had a discussion yesterday surrounding her shitty day at school. It seems that a playful physical encounter with a boy got a little rough, and she ended up on her ass. This little incident of course played out in clear view of all her friends, and of course there was laughter from her peers. This was one of many conversations between me and my 12 year old neighbor regarding adolescent angst. This started me thinking about two things. My own adolescent angst, and the adolescent angst that will be my daughter's some day. I was struck by the fact that I was having this conversation, more so that here I was remembering being 12, and just starting to notice boys. Or rather that boys were starting to notice me. It was all very innocent. Or so I thought. A boy name Donnie had taken a liking to me, and I was just flattered that anyone could be interested in little ol' me. He was older, say 13, and ran with a rougher crowed than I did. At the time I did not seem to notice this. He began writing letters, and having his friends hand deliver them to me. One day I gave him my phone number so that he could call me at home. This would be the onset of one of the most difficult periods in my life. While this may seem pretty normal development for a 12 year old girl, just beginning to become curious about boys, it would create a tension, and supreme upset in my household when the boy did call. To say that my father went crazy would be a profound understatement. To say my father went completely ape shit, would also be a profound understatement. I can recall being sat down, and screamed at, for what seemed like hours, being told essentially that sluts and whores have boys call them, and that all would be done to prevent me from meeting such a fate. That is being a slut and whore. If that meant death, so be it. The line "I brought you into this world, and I'll take you out", was as common in my household as "good morning" is in other households. Having already given my number, I could not now undo it. And Donnie didn't seem to get the backlash that had occurred, and figured calling my house, and hanging up if I didn't answer would resolve any upset his call would cause. This of course made things worse, and for years after, when someone would call, and hang up, I would by default be in serious trouble. My father went as far as to tell me one day, that I was his woman. Weird. But that was my life. And this nightmare did not go away quietly. After one such call and hang up, my father was at my Junior High School, threatening to "stomp" the offender. If I were dismissed late from school, from that moment forward, I was accused of all kinds of things I'd never even heard of. Who knew you could squeeze in a blow job right after dismissal? And so my life began to suck in a way most people could not begin to imagine. My public humiliation would come in the form of my father, restless, out of his car, looking at his watch, and then hollering at me the second I emerged from the school doors with my classmates were routine. Yikes. And what did I learn? Something is really wrong with my family. And while the word dysfunctional was not commonly used to described fucked up family life in the olden days, fucked up family life suited my own personal description just fine. I learned to never give out my phone number. To keep secrets, and that to survive anything was an option. Lying, stealing, maiming, whatever had to be done to prevent the fury of crazy man. By the time I left my junior high school, I had gained a notoriety as opposed to popularity. The deans, the guidance counselors, and the principal all knew my father. I remember getting a detention once for tardiness, and our dean Travelli called me down to his office and said "Are you crazy? You can't get detention!" With that he ripped up the detention slip, and remarked "I can't have your father up here again", and with that he dismissed me. And off I went, never to get detention again. Well, there was that time for chewing gum, but that slip got ripped up too, and prompted another visit to Travelli's office, but after that, I would get no more detentions! I swear. Determined I was to have as normal an adolescent life as I could under the circumstances, I allowed myself to enjoy my later junior high and high school crushes, which involved nothing more than talking, and walking to class. And so here I am, many years later, with a daughter of my own, and dispensing wise sage advice to my 12 year old neighbor. Looking at the bright side of things, my little neighbor shuddered with relief that as bad a day as she had had, at least she doesn't go to my daughter's school, which is an all girl catholic school.

What can I make for you please?

I knit mainly for my daughter. You see, she has no choice in what she wears, although with every passing day, this is less and less the case. I have a nephew, who in the past I have tried to knit for, and long, long before, when it could be cute to wear something that embarrassing Aunt has made for you, he had long since been rejecting any of the hand made items I made for him with love in every stitch. As he got older, I began to query his reluctance to wear anything I made, and have as a result discovered two things. Number 1 -- Do not knit with itchy yarn. Kids hate it. He was always very sweet about protecting my feelings, but he was not going to put himself in a position to itch voluntarily. Number 2 -- I figured out that you should probably ask anyone over the age of 5 what you should knit for them if you are bent on knitting something. Since my kid had been the main beneficiary of my creative woolen goods, I began to feel I should make something for my beloved nephew Chris. As that urge to knit began to take hold like a rabid case of scabies, I was determined to knit something for him. I asked him if there was anything he wanted. He of course politely declined, expressing that one as cool and manly (as his 11 year old self was at the time), had no such need for silly hats to keep his head warm, and scarves are just annoying. OK -- so he didn't quite say all that, but trust me people, it is all in the subtext. One glorious day my nephew came to me with tears in his eyes requesting that I use my gift of having string to do my bidding be used to make him some gloves. Truthfully, that moving interaction went something more like this -- "Hey, how about a pair of mittens?" To which he laughed. 11/12 year old manly boys DO NOT wear mittens. Gloves? Eh, no. No interest in gloves either. But then finally he did decide on something. Fingerless gloves. I offered (because I can't help myself) the convertible mitten option to which he again politely decline. But we were on to something, and I could not let this opportunity pass me by, so I feverishly began to work on fingerless gloves with the same urgency as one who is conducting DNA analysis for the Innocence Project, and within a couple of days my beloved boy had his fingerless gloves whether he really wanted them or not. More importantly though, I wanted him to have them, even though I worried that his little finger tips might get cold. After spending sleepless, and painstakingly long nights worrying about this, I was happy to see that at the end of the winter season last year, he had not only wore them, nor did he render them or one of the pair of gloves homeless, he ended up asking if I could make the convertible mitten hood after all. His fingers were warm last winter as were the cockles of my heart.

Jesus has left the building.

I began knitting around 2002, and began knitting compulsively shortly after a miscarrying what would have been my second child, a girl, at 4 and a half months on Good Friday, 2007. That sucked. Being somewhat Catholic, I thought to seek refuge at St. Augustine, which is around the corner from my home. I would often stop in there when I needed some peace and time for quiet reflection on this unique brand of insanity that is my life. Anyway, there is a life size crucifix, with Jesus and everything. So I figured I would stop in, say a few words, or not,cry, and feel sorry for myself. That might seem pretty selfish considering that from the looks of it, our brethren Jesus has bigger problems. Be that as it may, I was feeling a tad selfish and really needy that day, and since I grew up being told HE died for my sins, and that he can be a good to talk to in moments like these, I thought I might as well give it a whirl. I walk in, prepped and ready to completely unravel and freak out that I was now carrying a dead baby, and feeling pretty wretched to boot. Who better to share my profound horror and devastation? So I walk in, and it seems Jesus has left the building. I had forgotten that on Good Friday, it is not unusual to cover the crucifix to commemorate the death/Crucifixion of Christ in anticipation of the celebration of his Resurrection on Easter. But I must say, walking in the church, and not seeing Jesus was a huge bummer. In any case after feeling profoundly abandoned, the need to channel my energy into something that didn't involve being angry at God, and wallowing in self pity, I found myself at my local yarn with a desperate urge to knit. Kudos to Maxcine who, after I could not find a pattern I liked, insisted that I could design one I do like. I ended up making this beautiful lavender poncho for my daughter, thus giving birth to something I wouldn't have otherwise imagined. And that is where it all started. The good, the bad, and ugly. The good is the knitting part. The bad, and the ugly is whole other freak show.