You may recall my encounter with a visiting puppy last year; she seized a pristine hank of Schaefer Nancy and gave it a thrashing, Wren:1, Nancy: 0.
Wren is back. She's older now, but still in the if-it's-somewhere-my-pointy-nose-can-reach-I-am-required-to-poke-said-nose-in phase.
As a longtime dog owner, I'm pretty savvy about puppy-proofing. Calculate how tall the dog would be standing on its hind legs, multiply by 3 to allow for jumping, and put everything at a height two feet above that. Behind a locked door.
A lot of our stuff ends up on top of the fridge, which, although it's technically accessible, is the highest surface we have.
Last night, I wasn't feeling well and I went to bed at 9:00. I forgot to put my knitting bag on top of the fridge, and I forgot to close it.
Now, for a digression. For the past week or so, I've been working on The Little Neckwarmer that Couldn't. Or Wouldn't. It's a diabolically simple pattern: K2, P2 in the round over a multiple of 4 plus 1. Work until you're out of yarn or until you're sick of it. Bind off. Could it be easier? Apparently, yes.
Because of the extra stitch, the K2, P2 doesn't line up like a rib, but rather as a traveling stitch on the diagonal. It's harder to see when you've messed up, until suddenly a 4-round rib develops. Add to this the fact that a) I was working on two circular needles so one needle had an extra stitch on it, and b) I was sick, and c) I can be dumb as a bowl of marbles at times, and you have a stunning combination of brain fog and ineptitude. I had knit, frogged, reknit, tinked, reknit, taken numerous time outs, etc. during a span of time in which I should have been able to knit 3 or 4 neckwarmers, but I was finally on the right track again.
Imagine my dismay when I got up to find it in the middle of the living-room carpet this morning, covered in dog hair, half off the needles, with suspicious munched-up areas on either side.
I took the needles out and started pulling. I unraveled one piece that abruptly ended after about 18 inches. And another, and another. I collected a nice pile of yarn suitable for needle felting or flossing. When I reached untouched yarn, I'd frogged about an inch and a half. Bah!
I took a deep breath and started working again. I was steaming along, making good progress, when I saw I'd managed to stack up 3 knits. And 3 purls. And then The Little Neckwarmer that Couldn't went back into the time-out bag. I decide to work on a dishcloth instead, since that seems to be the only thing I can manage at the moment.
A garter-stitch dish cloth.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Fascinator of Awesomeness
This Christmas, feeling even more bogged down than usual, I knit for only one person. My young friend E., age 9, wanted Christmas clothes for four of her stuffed animals. She was looking forward to her holiday trip to England to visit relatives, and of course, the gang needed some things to dress up in.
And, to answer your next question: Yes, I will have pictures, as soon as she arrives home. In my usual manner, I finished the last outfit five minutes before I had to drive them to the airport, so I'll get photos later.
Really! You can come after me with a set of Lace Addi Clics and poke me about the head and face if I fail!
So, for now, words will have to suffice.
I made all the outfits out of Plymouth Holiday Lights. I knit a skirt and a fascinator (look it up) for Kitty the pillow pet. The red skirt had a picot-edged hem at the top, through which I threaded a crochet chain for a drawstring, as Kitty doesn't have much of a waist. The bottom was slightly flared, and was finished with an interminable-to-knit white ruffle.
Kitty's red fascinator was constructed like a tam, very flat, again with a picot edged-hem. I decorated the top with two jingle bells and two fancy spotted chicken feathers. It's tied on at a jaunty angle (E. didn't want to stick a hatpin in Kitty's poor head) with a green satin ribbon. Very fancy!
Pumpkin, E.'s loved-up favorite stuffed cat, got a green Christmas cardigan vest with white trim and a single button at the top, and a tall pointy red Santa hat with white trim and ear-holes to help keep it on.
Bunny, who is built like a small person, not like a real bunny, got a dressy gown with a red bell-shaped ruffled skirt and a knitted-on green sleeveless bodice. Red satin ribbons are threaded into the eyelets at one side and tied into bows. Bunny would have looked nice in a fascinator too, but there was an ear-to-available-head-area ratio that would have required a 1/8" fascinator. I didn't want to insult her dignity that way.
Finally, Snowflake, a white horse, got a capelike affair that was essentially a rectangle with a hole to allow his head to go through. It should protect him from the worst of the weather. It's not decorated, since this is the piece I finished with only 5 minutes to spare. (I'm not a procastinator, I specialize in Just in Time delivery!)
Whew. Holiday knitting done for another year.
Now to turn my attention to the bottomless UFO tub which should carry me through 2020 and beyond.
Oh, and keep away from me with those Addi Clics!
And, to answer your next question: Yes, I will have pictures, as soon as she arrives home. In my usual manner, I finished the last outfit five minutes before I had to drive them to the airport, so I'll get photos later.
Really! You can come after me with a set of Lace Addi Clics and poke me about the head and face if I fail!
So, for now, words will have to suffice.
I made all the outfits out of Plymouth Holiday Lights. I knit a skirt and a fascinator (look it up) for Kitty the pillow pet. The red skirt had a picot-edged hem at the top, through which I threaded a crochet chain for a drawstring, as Kitty doesn't have much of a waist. The bottom was slightly flared, and was finished with an interminable-to-knit white ruffle.
Kitty's red fascinator was constructed like a tam, very flat, again with a picot edged-hem. I decorated the top with two jingle bells and two fancy spotted chicken feathers. It's tied on at a jaunty angle (E. didn't want to stick a hatpin in Kitty's poor head) with a green satin ribbon. Very fancy!
Pumpkin, E.'s loved-up favorite stuffed cat, got a green Christmas cardigan vest with white trim and a single button at the top, and a tall pointy red Santa hat with white trim and ear-holes to help keep it on.
Bunny, who is built like a small person, not like a real bunny, got a dressy gown with a red bell-shaped ruffled skirt and a knitted-on green sleeveless bodice. Red satin ribbons are threaded into the eyelets at one side and tied into bows. Bunny would have looked nice in a fascinator too, but there was an ear-to-available-head-area ratio that would have required a 1/8" fascinator. I didn't want to insult her dignity that way.
Finally, Snowflake, a white horse, got a capelike affair that was essentially a rectangle with a hole to allow his head to go through. It should protect him from the worst of the weather. It's not decorated, since this is the piece I finished with only 5 minutes to spare. (I'm not a procastinator, I specialize in Just in Time delivery!)
Whew. Holiday knitting done for another year.
Now to turn my attention to the bottomless UFO tub which should carry me through 2020 and beyond.
Oh, and keep away from me with those Addi Clics!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Of goddesses and gauges
My friend C.S. earned the title of Knitting Goddess this week. This is not a title you can study for, practice for, or take a test for. It is a title that is bestowed on you, much like knighthood is bestowed in the British Empire.
C.S. has many excellent qualities as a person and a knitter. She's kind, loyal, funny, and a good dog mom. But this is a knitting blog, so I'll focus on her Goddesshood. She revealed to me the other day that she does a gauge swatch for every pair of socks she knits, then makes note of who the socks are for, what size she's making, the yarn and needles, and the gauge. She also has a needle inventory on her smart phone that even indicates whether the needles are bamboo or metal. I'm scared to think about what else she might be keeping track of. She probably knows which outfit I've worn each day for the past 2 years, and whether I had peanut-butter-breath after lunch.
I bow down to you, O goddess. I will never emulate you, being terminally disorganized (it's called "creative" in my household) and in procrastination purgatory. But I sing your many praises.
I don't usually do a gauge swatch for socks, because after knitting several dozen pairs over the years, my gauge is fairly consistent when I use fingering-weight yarn and size 0 needles. If I go up to size 1.5 needles, I just bump off about 4 stitches.
But I was trying a new (to me) yarn today, Cherry Tree Hill's Sockittome. J. and I had a friendly debate the other day about whether it was a light DK or a heavy fingering. I claimed fingering, and J. claimed DK. So I figured it was worth a swatch.
I did my first swatch on size 1.5 needles, figuring that with a thicker yarn than normal, I needed bigger needles. My gauge came in at 7 stitches to the inch. Many people might think that is a perfectly acceptable gauge for a sock. I, however, usually knit socks at about 10 stitches to the inch, so the fabric felt like yurt felt to me. Trying again with size 0s, I achieved a marginally acceptable 8.5 stitches to the inch, which still felt like light yurt felt, but the subtle color of the yarn enchanted me, so I decided to go ahead with it.
It occurred to me that a swatch need not go to waste, so here is a little trifle for you to try next time you do a gauge swatch for something small in the round, like socks or mittens, and you have plenty of yarn:
Do your gauge swatch in the round, using your choice of method: double points, two circulars, or magic loop. If you are using fingering weight yarn, loosely cast on 40 - 44 stitches. If you are using heavier yarn, make your best guess as to how many stitches you need for a swatch about as big around as your wrist.
Work the first 6 rounds in garter stitch. Remember, garter stitch in the round consists of alternate rounds of knitting and purling.
Switch to stockinette stitch, i.e. knit all rounds, until the swatch is about 2.5" - 3" deep. Work the last 6 rounds in garter, as above. Bind off loosely.
Measure 2" worth of stitches. This is the gauge to use for your main project.
You now also have a jaunty wrist warmer, aka swatch. Or, if you don't want to wear it as a wrist warmer, use it as a cup cozy, napkin ring, decorative vase collar, sew shut and stuff with catnip to use as a cat toy, sew shut and stuff with polyfil to use as a doll pillow ... the uses are endless. Endless, I say!
C.S. has many excellent qualities as a person and a knitter. She's kind, loyal, funny, and a good dog mom. But this is a knitting blog, so I'll focus on her Goddesshood. She revealed to me the other day that she does a gauge swatch for every pair of socks she knits, then makes note of who the socks are for, what size she's making, the yarn and needles, and the gauge. She also has a needle inventory on her smart phone that even indicates whether the needles are bamboo or metal. I'm scared to think about what else she might be keeping track of. She probably knows which outfit I've worn each day for the past 2 years, and whether I had peanut-butter-breath after lunch.
I bow down to you, O goddess. I will never emulate you, being terminally disorganized (it's called "creative" in my household) and in procrastination purgatory. But I sing your many praises.
I don't usually do a gauge swatch for socks, because after knitting several dozen pairs over the years, my gauge is fairly consistent when I use fingering-weight yarn and size 0 needles. If I go up to size 1.5 needles, I just bump off about 4 stitches.
But I was trying a new (to me) yarn today, Cherry Tree Hill's Sockittome. J. and I had a friendly debate the other day about whether it was a light DK or a heavy fingering. I claimed fingering, and J. claimed DK. So I figured it was worth a swatch.
I did my first swatch on size 1.5 needles, figuring that with a thicker yarn than normal, I needed bigger needles. My gauge came in at 7 stitches to the inch. Many people might think that is a perfectly acceptable gauge for a sock. I, however, usually knit socks at about 10 stitches to the inch, so the fabric felt like yurt felt to me. Trying again with size 0s, I achieved a marginally acceptable 8.5 stitches to the inch, which still felt like light yurt felt, but the subtle color of the yarn enchanted me, so I decided to go ahead with it.
It occurred to me that a swatch need not go to waste, so here is a little trifle for you to try next time you do a gauge swatch for something small in the round, like socks or mittens, and you have plenty of yarn:
Do your gauge swatch in the round, using your choice of method: double points, two circulars, or magic loop. If you are using fingering weight yarn, loosely cast on 40 - 44 stitches. If you are using heavier yarn, make your best guess as to how many stitches you need for a swatch about as big around as your wrist.
Work the first 6 rounds in garter stitch. Remember, garter stitch in the round consists of alternate rounds of knitting and purling.
Switch to stockinette stitch, i.e. knit all rounds, until the swatch is about 2.5" - 3" deep. Work the last 6 rounds in garter, as above. Bind off loosely.
Measure 2" worth of stitches. This is the gauge to use for your main project.
You now also have a jaunty wrist warmer, aka swatch. Or, if you don't want to wear it as a wrist warmer, use it as a cup cozy, napkin ring, decorative vase collar, sew shut and stuff with catnip to use as a cat toy, sew shut and stuff with polyfil to use as a doll pillow ... the uses are endless. Endless, I say!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Inside the Design Process, or Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here
I'm not a designer, but I play one on TV.
Recently, the yarn shop owner suggested I design a reversible cable cowl and teach a class on it. Piece of cake, I thought. I know how to make a cowl. Easy peasy. I know how to cable. Easy peasy. And I even know how to make cables reversible. What could go wrong?
I expected the process to include some trial and error. I started with two identical skeins of yarn, thinking I'd play around with design ideas using the first skein, then I'd knit the final product with the other. Piece of cake.
My first idea involved a reversible, i.e. ribbed, cable on a field of garter stitch. Garter is reversible, so it seemed like a good choice. Except that the cable didn't really stand out against the highly textured garter. No worries. It was only my first attempt.
Next I tried ribbing the whole thing, except for a column of garter alongside the cable. Now, the rib was obscuring the (ribbed) cable, and the whole thing merged together. And oh, did I mention that I was doing this in a fluffy, bulky alpaca yarn?
Next attempt: 2-stitch wide column of garter next to the cable. It was better than any of the other attempts, but I still wasn't very happy with it. Piece of cake had now turned into piece of pie.
Next attempt (and I was feeling a little hot and sweaty at this point): Stockinette stitch on one side of the cable, reverse stockinette on the other. At least it was reversible, if not symmetrical. But the edges rolled. Blueberry pie. (I don't like blueberry goo).
I took a few days off from "designing" at this point. It had begun to feel less like designing, and more like trying to hit a small nail on the head in the dark with a very tiny hammer.
I had started with my first idea, then continued with the same piece of knitting, trying another and another idea, until I had a long sampler that looked like I had been experimenting with synthetic marijuana while knitting.
After a few more days off, I thought of another possibility: setting the cable off with yarnovers. I tried it. It looked OK. The longer a piece I knit, the more OK it looked, until I decided I really liked it. Piece of French Silk pie !
I eagerly wound the "real" skein of yarn and quickly knit a fresh sample, using my highly refined pattern. It only took about two days to complete the knitting, and then I had only the seaming to do. It was then that the project turned into pie-in-the face.
I had envisioned a cowl that was truly and fully reversible, that is, with an invisible graft between the cast-on edge and the bound-off edge which looked the same on both sides. Better minds than mine have contemplated this issue, and there are two unavoidable truths: First, if you use a provisional cast-on, you will wind up half a stitch off when you try to graft the beginning of the piece to the end. And, while it may be somewhat easily hidden on stockinette stitch, it is blatant on 1x1 rib. Second, if you use a standard cast-on and bind-off, you can seam the piece, but then there will always be a Wrong Side with an unsightly seam. And mattress stitch is very difficult on 1x1 rib. (Any geniuses out there who know how to do it, let me know.)
And no, I will not tell you how many complete cowls (except for joining) I have knit to date. Just let me say that until I solve the joining problem, I will be knitting only swatches to try out my further ideas.
Stay tuned for the ultimate resolution. I'm going to compromise and set the bar a little lower this time. We'll see how well I can do the Limbo.
Recently, the yarn shop owner suggested I design a reversible cable cowl and teach a class on it. Piece of cake, I thought. I know how to make a cowl. Easy peasy. I know how to cable. Easy peasy. And I even know how to make cables reversible. What could go wrong?
I expected the process to include some trial and error. I started with two identical skeins of yarn, thinking I'd play around with design ideas using the first skein, then I'd knit the final product with the other. Piece of cake.
My first idea involved a reversible, i.e. ribbed, cable on a field of garter stitch. Garter is reversible, so it seemed like a good choice. Except that the cable didn't really stand out against the highly textured garter. No worries. It was only my first attempt.
Next I tried ribbing the whole thing, except for a column of garter alongside the cable. Now, the rib was obscuring the (ribbed) cable, and the whole thing merged together. And oh, did I mention that I was doing this in a fluffy, bulky alpaca yarn?
Next attempt: 2-stitch wide column of garter next to the cable. It was better than any of the other attempts, but I still wasn't very happy with it. Piece of cake had now turned into piece of pie.
Next attempt (and I was feeling a little hot and sweaty at this point): Stockinette stitch on one side of the cable, reverse stockinette on the other. At least it was reversible, if not symmetrical. But the edges rolled. Blueberry pie. (I don't like blueberry goo).
I took a few days off from "designing" at this point. It had begun to feel less like designing, and more like trying to hit a small nail on the head in the dark with a very tiny hammer.
I had started with my first idea, then continued with the same piece of knitting, trying another and another idea, until I had a long sampler that looked like I had been experimenting with synthetic marijuana while knitting.
After a few more days off, I thought of another possibility: setting the cable off with yarnovers. I tried it. It looked OK. The longer a piece I knit, the more OK it looked, until I decided I really liked it. Piece of French Silk pie !
I eagerly wound the "real" skein of yarn and quickly knit a fresh sample, using my highly refined pattern. It only took about two days to complete the knitting, and then I had only the seaming to do. It was then that the project turned into pie-in-the face.
I had envisioned a cowl that was truly and fully reversible, that is, with an invisible graft between the cast-on edge and the bound-off edge which looked the same on both sides. Better minds than mine have contemplated this issue, and there are two unavoidable truths: First, if you use a provisional cast-on, you will wind up half a stitch off when you try to graft the beginning of the piece to the end. And, while it may be somewhat easily hidden on stockinette stitch, it is blatant on 1x1 rib. Second, if you use a standard cast-on and bind-off, you can seam the piece, but then there will always be a Wrong Side with an unsightly seam. And mattress stitch is very difficult on 1x1 rib. (Any geniuses out there who know how to do it, let me know.)
And no, I will not tell you how many complete cowls (except for joining) I have knit to date. Just let me say that until I solve the joining problem, I will be knitting only swatches to try out my further ideas.
Stay tuned for the ultimate resolution. I'm going to compromise and set the bar a little lower this time. We'll see how well I can do the Limbo.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Verbing a Noun, or Sock of Doom, part 3
My dad was a writer, news editor, proofreader, grammar guru, and a good guy. He taught me most of what I know about reading, writing, spelling, grammar, and editing, along with the regular Dad-daughter stuff.
One of his peeves was the verbing of nouns. In other words, taking a perfectly good noun, and using it as a verb. For example, a 'gift' is a thing you give to someone. You don't 'gift' something. "I gifted her a set of china" is as silly as "I pied her in the face". Now, throwing a pie in someone's face, that's funny. Pie-ing them just sounds funny.
I'm not a purist like my Dad. While I eschew the verbing of nouns as a general rule, I allow for a little wiggle room. I don't say 'gifting', but I do say 'regifting'. I think it's a funny word, and a funny concept. And if something is funny, it's all good.
So, with that exposition, I can say that today I gusseted the Sock of Doom. Yes, folks, the S.O.D. now has a heel and gussets. It's beginning to look a lot like its big sister. I'm tempted to say "I'm past the danger zone", but I won't. You didn't read it here. No. Nyet. Non. Because then the knitting goddesses, who tend to be fickle, might just have a laugh at my expense. And that kind of laugh, that kind of funny, is not all good.
That kind of joke doesn't laugh me. It sorrows me.
One of his peeves was the verbing of nouns. In other words, taking a perfectly good noun, and using it as a verb. For example, a 'gift' is a thing you give to someone. You don't 'gift' something. "I gifted her a set of china" is as silly as "I pied her in the face". Now, throwing a pie in someone's face, that's funny. Pie-ing them just sounds funny.
I'm not a purist like my Dad. While I eschew the verbing of nouns as a general rule, I allow for a little wiggle room. I don't say 'gifting', but I do say 'regifting'. I think it's a funny word, and a funny concept. And if something is funny, it's all good.
So, with that exposition, I can say that today I gusseted the Sock of Doom. Yes, folks, the S.O.D. now has a heel and gussets. It's beginning to look a lot like its big sister. I'm tempted to say "I'm past the danger zone", but I won't. You didn't read it here. No. Nyet. Non. Because then the knitting goddesses, who tend to be fickle, might just have a laugh at my expense. And that kind of laugh, that kind of funny, is not all good.
That kind of joke doesn't laugh me. It sorrows me.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sock of Doom update (sort of) and Shoes of Doom
The update on the Sock of Doom is that there is no update. Not that I haven't been making progress on it, just that I don't dare make any comment lest I inadvertently put a curse on it. Sometimes I think a dybbuk* has interfered.
On my way home from work today, I noticed quite a few roadside shoes. No doubt you have seen them, lone shoes on the shoulder amidst the empty Tide bottles, hub caps, broken taillights, random bumpers, mattresses, sofa cushions, broken-down 1970 Mercury Marquises, and the like. What are your ideas about how they get there? Have you ever lost a shoe to Roadside Purgatory?
I always imagine that many of them get lost by motorcyclists, or by people with their feet out the window. When you look for it, you see more people with their feet out the window than you'd think.
What other options could there be? Knocked off when a roadside motorist fixing a tire gets hit by a car? Flung out the window by snotty older brothers? Thrown at George W. Bush? Hurled in a rousing game of Whose Shoe Can Hit the Cop Car?
Put your entries in the comments.
*You can look it up. Or watch the Coen Brothers film A Serious Man.
On my way home from work today, I noticed quite a few roadside shoes. No doubt you have seen them, lone shoes on the shoulder amidst the empty Tide bottles, hub caps, broken taillights, random bumpers, mattresses, sofa cushions, broken-down 1970 Mercury Marquises, and the like. What are your ideas about how they get there? Have you ever lost a shoe to Roadside Purgatory?
I always imagine that many of them get lost by motorcyclists, or by people with their feet out the window. When you look for it, you see more people with their feet out the window than you'd think.
What other options could there be? Knocked off when a roadside motorist fixing a tire gets hit by a car? Flung out the window by snotty older brothers? Thrown at George W. Bush? Hurled in a rousing game of Whose Shoe Can Hit the Cop Car?
Put your entries in the comments.
*You can look it up. Or watch the Coen Brothers film A Serious Man.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Sock of Doom
Since I have been blabbing about my sock knitting disaster the past few days, I thought I'd give an update.
Yesterday, as you may recall, I realized I had started my gussets before I turned the sock heel, and I ripped back to the end of the heel flap and got all the stitches back on the needles in a half-assed sort of way. After that, I put the sock in its little red pouch so I could do some serious self-recrimination.
Today was a new day. The air was clear, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and I went off to work with an idiotic smile on my face. Can you tell where this is heading?
Around 10:30 we had a small break in the action at work, so I pulled out the sock, confident that I was of clear mind and yippy-skippy attitude. I fixed all the stitches to they were whole-assed, not half-assed. I picked up a few dropped stitches, fixed some slipped stitches, righted some twisted stitches, and repaired some split stitches. Maybe 'repaired' is a little grand. The yarn was shredded and looked like hell, but I decided that the only way to fix that was to rip back again and start with a new piece of yarn. I'm a perfectionist in theory, but a realist in practice. On I forged.
After all the stitches were happy and smiling and lined up like little schoolgirls, I set to work in earnest. First, I picked up stitches along the sides of the heel flap.* I started knitting across the instep. I got to the point where I was going to redistribute stitches to work on the gussets.*
That's when I said 'D'oh!'
And then I said to myself something a little more salty.
And then I un-knit back to where I had started for the day.
How many ways can you spell D-U-M-B? How many ways can you BE dumb? Well, let me count the ways, for I am inventing new ones daily.
At this point, I got out a copy of the pattern.** Understand, I have knit socks from this pattern for so long that I memorized it years ago, and can usually knit a sock with only my pinkies and both eyeballs tied behind my back. While I stand on my head. In a bucket full of syrup. Naked. On drugs.
(Come to think of it, after years of doing the above, maybe I have some cognitive impairment).
I forced myself to read the pattern, a line at a time, and knit one row at a time, pausing to admire my work after each row. I'm relieved to say the sock now has a heel, and I don't have to go buy coaches' shorts to wear with tube socks.
After turning the heel, I carefully put the sock away in its pouch, so it wouldn't attack again.
It may be several days, and several pints of vodka, before I attempt the next step, FINALLY picking up the gusset stitches. Or maybe I'll just strip and get out the bucket of syrup.
*See yesterday's post.
**Nancy Lindberg's Knit to Fit sock pattern, # NL 7. A fine pattern. I recommend it for anyone of normal intelligence and sound mind.
Yesterday, as you may recall, I realized I had started my gussets before I turned the sock heel, and I ripped back to the end of the heel flap and got all the stitches back on the needles in a half-assed sort of way. After that, I put the sock in its little red pouch so I could do some serious self-recrimination.
Today was a new day. The air was clear, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and I went off to work with an idiotic smile on my face. Can you tell where this is heading?
Around 10:30 we had a small break in the action at work, so I pulled out the sock, confident that I was of clear mind and yippy-skippy attitude. I fixed all the stitches to they were whole-assed, not half-assed. I picked up a few dropped stitches, fixed some slipped stitches, righted some twisted stitches, and repaired some split stitches. Maybe 'repaired' is a little grand. The yarn was shredded and looked like hell, but I decided that the only way to fix that was to rip back again and start with a new piece of yarn. I'm a perfectionist in theory, but a realist in practice. On I forged.
After all the stitches were happy and smiling and lined up like little schoolgirls, I set to work in earnest. First, I picked up stitches along the sides of the heel flap.* I started knitting across the instep. I got to the point where I was going to redistribute stitches to work on the gussets.*
That's when I said 'D'oh!'
And then I said to myself something a little more salty.
And then I un-knit back to where I had started for the day.
How many ways can you spell D-U-M-B? How many ways can you BE dumb? Well, let me count the ways, for I am inventing new ones daily.
At this point, I got out a copy of the pattern.** Understand, I have knit socks from this pattern for so long that I memorized it years ago, and can usually knit a sock with only my pinkies and both eyeballs tied behind my back. While I stand on my head. In a bucket full of syrup. Naked. On drugs.
(Come to think of it, after years of doing the above, maybe I have some cognitive impairment).
I forced myself to read the pattern, a line at a time, and knit one row at a time, pausing to admire my work after each row. I'm relieved to say the sock now has a heel, and I don't have to go buy coaches' shorts to wear with tube socks.
After turning the heel, I carefully put the sock away in its pouch, so it wouldn't attack again.
It may be several days, and several pints of vodka, before I attempt the next step, FINALLY picking up the gusset stitches. Or maybe I'll just strip and get out the bucket of syrup.
*See yesterday's post.
**Nancy Lindberg's Knit to Fit sock pattern, # NL 7. A fine pattern. I recommend it for anyone of normal intelligence and sound mind.
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