FemiKnitMafia

In looking through my ‘07 resolutions, I didn’t do too poorly. Especially when you consider the two huge life changes that were unexpected and largely out of my control: the divorce and being recruited into a graduate program. Still, as I look at the list, I feel a twinge of guilt for not achieving everything I set out to do. It’s silly, I know. But I’m a striver like that.

However, this year I pledge to be a realist. Life is short. Relationships are unpredictable. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. Therefore, I intend to focus more on the present, less on the future, and way less on what other people are doing/accomplishing. Accordingly, my goals are:

Human
… pay attention and go with the flow
… continue to be mindful of my body, fitness and health
… continue to love my little boy with all of my heart, and make all decisions with his needs in mind
… regularly tell friends and family how much I appreciate them

Employee & Student
… focus. focus. focus. produce. produce. produce.
… imagine. envision. create.

Home-owner
… buy a mattress & box spring
… buy a couch
… make wise financial decisions

Creator
… look to the stash (both fabric and fiber) before buying anything new
… finish some WIPs
… have fun

In looking back, I realize that I finished more crafty projects in 2007 than I thought.

It’s funny how you can forget about things that are finished and gifted away, temporary, perpetually in progress, or outgrown. If you ignore all of those items, that leaves 2 pairs of socks, one washrag, a pair of mittens, a hat, and my first skein of handspun. No wonder I’m forgetting my accomplishments!
I fudged the definition a little to allow the Dale to make the cut. After all, I finished the whole body. That’s a finished object, right?

Note to self: try to take more photos of completely finished objects before using/gifting them.

In a moment of crazy youthful impulsiveness, and thanks to blogless Deanna’s tip, I convinced Cheryl to drive across the state to Northampton tonight to see an incredible New Year’s Eve show at the Calvin: Melissa Ferrick, Erin McKeown and Alix Olson, together! There’s also talk of additional surprise guests, and I bet Pamela Means will be one of them. I am so f-ing excited I can barely contain myself!!! Happy Dance. Happy. Happy. Happy. Dance. After the show, we’ll drive east in the wee hours, crash hard, and then go to Danielle’s for the afternoon. What a way to welcome the New Year! Hoooooray!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

As the semester grinds to a close, my workload is unfathomable. I am settling into a new home. I am coping with this horrid divorce. My custody arrangement is such that I’m either at work, at school, or caring for Little Man. There is one night per week that I have neither, and that’s my homework night. How will I ever date? Do I even want to? [prob not. never again.] But all this stress feels so teeeeeeeny in comparison.

Because my mind is stuck on blood soaked images of one lovely womb and the insane cells that grew there, without warning, almost instantly. The best case scenario is a hysterectomy. A hysterectomy on a woman in her mid 30s. A hysterectomy on a dear sweet friend who watched her own partner die of cancer in her early 30s. WTF? How is this just? What is wrong with this world??? How could I ever believe in a god who allows such horrible ironies? This dear sweet friend is engaged to a dear sweet friend of mine. Both are such generous souls that you want to snuggle into on the couch with them to discuss art and life and knitting and music and love and heartache and fear and judgment and sex and lust and loyalty. The kind of friends who hear of your divorce and offer to drive 6 hours to pick you up and drive you away from the source of the agony. Amazing amazing women. My heart is absolutely breaking.

please please please please please please please send wishes for steel walls in her womb.
If it hasn’t spread beyond her uterus, she will probably survive.
please please please please please please please send wishes for steel walls in her womb.
Steel Womb
Steel Womb
Steel Womb
Steel Womb
Steel Womb

please please please please please please please don’t let this happen.  please.

It was my first Rhinebeck. And with all that’s going on, I was bouncing around in anticipation. Danielle and I rode together and shared a hotel room, and met up with MafiaMom, who shared a bed with me.

[sidenote: alas, there was no chance of a torrid Rhinebeck love affair for the Mafia, what with my work-wife in the next bed and my Mom snoring away at my side. not that I was hoping for a torrid love affair or anything. nope. not me. ahem. argh. and a little grrrr. and another apology to everyone i flirted with over the weekend. it can't be helped. terribly sorry. I will not be better behaved next time. i lie promise.]

Anyway … back to the beginning … Danielle and I dashed out of the office a wee bit early on Friday evening, so we could compensate for Danielle’s slow ass driving - sit in traffic with 1000 of our closest friends get a head start. I loaded all my gear, and got in the passenger seat. On the floor was an enormous bag with a fat envelope that said, “open the bag first, then this.” I opened the bag. I saw miles of knit squares. I read the letter, and the spreadsheet(!) of names and blog addresses. And I said:
Holy Shit.
Oh my God.
Are you Kidding?
Are you Serious?
How the Hell?
Oh my God.
This is Incredible.
Did you really?
What?
How?

I was in total and absolute shock. The best kind of shock. The kind of shock that says I’m being held up and surrounded and loved and snuggled by this not-so-imaginary crowd of generous friends, many of whom I’ve never met in real life. How can this be? How can I be so lucky? Really? What have I done to deserve this unbelievable expression of support:

-a mere 2/3 of the Maf-ghan seen here, being held by my favorite LYS maven-

I wanted to roll around in those miles of wooly squares. I wanted to wrap the blanket around and around and around me, like a shield. An amulet. A protective coating. A skin. Giving myself a layer of lanolin that would keep the rain drops from reaching me. And then sit in front of a fire, knees drawn to my chest. Let the heat penetrate the knit stitches and get trapped in there. And watch the flames dance in the fire. And see the flames morph into lovers-to-be and adventures-to-be and learning-to-be and Little-Man-growing-older and my-whole-life stretched out in front of me. Knowing that each of those stitches, trapping heat against my body, represents the kindness of people in far distant homes.

Then Danielle started telling me the stories. And I read the cards and the tags. And then I came upon Danielle’s square, which looked so familiar. I saw the yarn at her house, she explains. It was the first yarn she spun on her new Schacht! Oh my god, the first yarn from the wheel? That’s seriously important yarn! With that realization, I lost it. The floodgates opened and I cried (and I.do.not.cry.I.just.don’t.). Deep heaving sobs. All over Danielle’s handspun square. All over the Maf-ghan-in-progress. All over every single one of the 80(!) squares sitting in my lap. [sorry guys]

While driving, she hugged me (thank you Cambridge traffic). After getting it together, ahem, I spent the next hour fondling each and every square, reading every single card and tag and present, and listening to stories about how I almost discovered the project on countless occasions, and how many people were involved, and about various seaming parties and conversations and well-wishes. And I cried a little more. That’s how the rest of the trip to Rhinebeck went — I fondled, I cried. I fondled, I cried a bit. I fondled, I teared up. And so on. Until we stopped for dinner and I got it together. Then the clouds broke open and the sky cried on my behalf, while I drove white-knuckled through torrential downpours toward the Hudson River Valley.

At Rhinebeck, I hugged a LOT of people. And thanked them. I occasionally checked the spreadsheet (that Danielle … she is seriously organized) to see if so-and-so participated, to be sure that I wasn’t hugging and slobbering all over someone who had no idea what I was talking about. For someone who.does.not.cry, I told a LOT of people about the crying. I bought fiber, two of Maryse’s cards (including the one featuring her Maf-ghan square), and a Golding spindle. I spun. I knit. I met and hung out with a whole cast of incredible people. I misbehaved. I drank at every opportunity (thank you yarn-company-sponsored open bar at the Ravelry party). I spent some hardcore Q.T. with some of my favorite people on earth, including MafiaMom, who wore the poncho I finally finished. I taught MafiaMom to spin on Julia’s wheel. Julia’s wheel was clearly built to teach; it’s the Jonathan Kozol of wheels.

She took to it, but the fiber complained a little — Mafia on the right. MafiaMom on the left. Telephone cord: like mother, like daughter, even the same fiber.

I got an early birthday present from MafiaMom, who found his beautiful antique yarn winder at an estate sale

I brought some beautiful Cider Moon sock yarn from the stash, promptly tangled it, was thankfully rescued by the ever-generous Team Cheryl and Terry …

only to wind it into a center-pull ball so tightly that no amount of tugging would release the center. Even Sara couldn’t pull the center out with a crochet hook. Perhaps that’s a sign that I need to relax?

I watched Cate cut her Autumn Rose.

Which is when I met the awesome crazy Canadians that I tailed for the rest of the weekend.

And, since it is now 1:59am, the Sox have won the World Series again (yeah Sox!) and Xifey has finally returned from her nightly jaunt to the next door neighbor’s house, I need to sleep a bit before I’m expected to act like a professional human being in a few hours.

There will be more blogging about Rhinebeck, because I still need to do the link-fest. As well as more blogging about the Maf-ghan, including links and pictures and the stories behind each and every square. And there are a couple of other AMAZING bloggy prezzies to post about. But right now, I’m going into radio silence as I:

1) wait to hear about the used car that I’m trying to get at auction (i.e. half price), and

2) wait hear if my offer was accepted on a very cute condo. gotta get outta this place, if it’s the last thing I ever do**.

Please send some of that amazing loving energy to the condo deal. Remember how we got Ms. 1890 together? Let’s do it again. If the Maf-ghan is any indication, then clearly my peeps are capable of incredible acts.

*extra points to the person who can identify the post title without googling it. big points to the person who can say the next line. kisses to the person who knows this one**.

*** ETA: Danielle would like me to add … if anyone is still interested in knitting a Maf-Square, there are a couple open spots. Email her at ASwimInKnits AT yahoo DOT com.

*** ETA #2: Danielle says that the remaining spots are now taken. Thank you to everyone!!

There are so many things happening all at once. Philly trip was great, despite a couple setbacks. Sesame Place sucks - don’t take your kids there. And kids aren’t exactly welcome at Loop: I’ve been there before, and I love the selection, but it’s a yarn museum. Consider yourself warned. However, the train ride was easy peasy. Brigantine beach was perfection. The Please Touch Museum was incredible!! Pure bliss for kids and adults.

Mafia and Little Man in the Alice in Wonderland exhibit’s Hall of Doors & Mirrors

Then I ran off to a conference for work, which was great, and I learned about the “conference slut” phenomenon from a colleague. No worries. Despite the lure, I’m no cheater.

Now I’m back to my regularly scheduled life, and MIT work is insane. Full of pressure and people freaking out. My gay consulting gig is also freaking out, which is totally natural considering that it’s T-minus-10-days until their big fundraiser. And I start teaching another class in T-minus-7-days. I decided on a program for grad school, so I’m planning to take the GREs this fall (studying to begin in late August).

In the spirit of Favorite Things Monday, here are a couple of my current favorite things.

SockPal socks are about 70% done, thanks to the work conference, where I’m known as the “knitter.”

A pair of sock blockers from a Leggy Creations contest, thanks to Danielle! They’re wonderful!

The best $6 I’ve ever spent — this butterfly caused fits of giggles, pride, and some serious strutting around the Phildelphia Zoo, which was an incredible place!

>

The blog is suffering, and will continue to suffer for a few more weeks. Don’t abandon me, okay?

Just when I thought I couldn’t go any longer, I finished the body of the Baby Dale. Behold.

Here are the 34 ends that I wove in tonight (which doesn’t count the 16 (?) that I did in the early virtuous days of this project.

Now that you’ve feasted on the glory, let’s talk about pain.

1) The bottom edge really wants to flip, and it’s totally my fault.  After the garter edge, I accidentally added two rows of green before I changed needle size. Those two rows are actively biting me in the ass right now.  ouch!  But see that orange grosgrain ribbon? Let’s see who’s biting whose ass when I’m driving a sewing needle in and out of said edge. Just sayin.  [thanks to the wonderful old lady at Windsor Button who suggested it.]

2) When I cast off for the front neck edge, my stitch count was off. After serious gnashing of teeth, I decided there must be 5 center steek stitches. I only had 4. So I grabbed a stitch from the bottom of the steek column and laddered all the way up. Now I have a SteekRidge Mountain from the tension of the floats. Whatev’. I’m gonna cut it anyway, right?     [ ... right? ... ]

3) So I drop-kicked it into the Eucalan bath. A full soaking. A towel squeeze. And we have 19″ long by 14 3/4″ wide. Good lord!!

With a little shaking and puffing and stroking and sweet talking, I coaxed it back to 17 3/4″, which is still much longer than the 15″ it measured prior to the bath.

Mind you, I realized my gauge was off weeks ago, but I was running the right size for 24 month. So I followed the instructions for the 24 month size instead: 15″ long and 14 3/4″ wide. When I finished the body, it was right on the money. Did it really grow by 2 3/4″ after the bath??

In any case, it’s done. A big chunk of this sweater is done. I’ve reached a major milestone in this project, and in my first true stranded colorwork.  I’ve done it in the round. I’ve done it back and forth. I’ve done it on the train and on a bus and on plane*. I’ve done it here and there. Hell, I’ve done it everywhere. And I do like colorwork, Sam I Am.

*not really on a plane, but I couldn’t resist the rhyme.

Yea, I’m sayin’ it — Beth totally digs me. She bought me a present to celebrate the beginning of my spinning obsession career, saying that every new spinner needs to be indoctrinated encouraged. Isn’t it beautiful? At some point I’ll be skilled enough to use this. For now, I will pet my beautiful braid of perfectly Mafia colors. Speaking of — she’s so skilled at nailing my color scheme, when she gave it to me, I was wearing a shirt that watched the roving perfectly.

As an added benefit, I finished my Anastasia socks yesterday, and I love them. The Sophie’s Toes Froggy is stunning. The design was easy enough to memorize quickly, but created excellent visual interest with that spiral column of eyelets. Love.

Oh geez. Where did the photo of both feet go? Give me couple hours…

A couple months ago, this appeared on our caller i.d.

and I laughed my ass off.

Ever since, I’ve been wondering who called. Well today, Big Brother called again. Yes, as you probably already guessed, it’s Big Brothers Big Sisters, doing the lovely community service of calling to see if I have any clothes to donate, because they’ll be in my area and can pick them up.

Community service, whatever.  They ruined my paranoid delusion that Big Brother had finally found me.

1) After reading about spinning silk hankies on Two Sheep and KnittySpin (via WhipUp), I was itching to leave the office. So I jumped on the train, destined for Lucy’s shop. I ran down to the Kendall Square station, and dashed toward the train sitting in the station. I slid through the closing doors, knocked my arm on the edge, and dropped my T-pass ($235/mo!). The doors closed and I watched my pass hit the yellow stripe on the platform as we pulled out of the station. “OH SHIT!” The entire car full of people looked at me. “I dropped my pass!” I got off at the next stop. I found a T staffer and begged him to call someone at Kendall Sq. When I told him it’s a “Zone 7,” he said “OhhhhNoooo” and fired up the walkie talkie. He beeped me back through the turnstile (i.e. free ride), told me not to worry, explained how he could “dig in the pit” (i.e. the tracks) between incoming trains to find it, and rode back to Kendall with me. When we arrived, an old man in a T uniform strolled up to me and handed over my Zone 7. I nearly tackled and kissed him. Seriously. Instead, I think I’ll bring cookies to his booth tomorrow.

2) I went back into the station, gripping my pass, and the train carried me to Lucy’s place. I introduced myself by name+moniker and got a big hug with “I thought I’d recognize you!” [which made my covert soul very happy. mwah ha ha] We chatted about spinning lessons (note to self: schedule one), fiber, drop spindles, yarn, patterns, etc. It was lovely. Shortly before I was due back at MIT, Guido walked in. I’ve never met him, but he’s very sweet, and when I got back to my office, I immediately downloaded a couple of his podcasts. Oh, and did I mention the wee indulgence (stash bust who)?

Want a closer look at Lucy’s hand dyed sock yarn? Yeah, I thought so.

What should I do with it? At first, I imagined socks. But the tencel is so shiny, it looks like silk. So maybe a shawl is a better plan? Perhaps a nice rectangular one that Wifey could use for a scarf? Would knitting a beautiful scarf for Wifey get me out of the indulgence dog house?

That Elsebeth Lavold book also includes the illusive CAT that I’ve been seeking for over a year! Little Man is clearly getting a sweater soon.

3) As I’ve mentioned before, I knit almost exclusively on the train. Since I spend so much time on the train, I get to know the conductors. Beth, with whom I share most evening commutes, thinks this is hilarious. But she also says that Brian has “twinkly eyes,” which is absolutely the truth. Every day, when he checks my pass, Brian asks how the knitting is coming along. He’s particularly interested in the Dale sweater, and after hearing about the steeking process, practically begged me to do the steeks on the train. [I'm considering it...] When I get tired of the Dale and switch to the Anastasia socks, he walks by and says “Moved to the socks, have we?” After I completed the bulk of the body of the Dale, he rejoiced like any good Stitch & Bitch member, saying “you’re out of the black hole!” [clearly someone's been reading the YarnHarlot after his wife goes to bed] So of course I asked him to pose with the Dale:

Sorry for the blurry. You only have one shot at such things.

I finished the Dale body yesterday (yes, it’s huge. don’t ask).

Since then, I’ve been fighting with the front neck cast off stitches. I suspect that there’s a typo in the pattern, but I can’t find Dale errata anywhere! Surely even the Norwegians make mistakes from time to time. So I’ve been knitting and tinking and knitting and tinking ad nauseum. Just when I figured it out (I think), the next step is to knit back and forth. Stranded purling? yuck! Then I looked at the pattern. Shit, it’s a 3-color row! Stranded purling on a 3 color row?? YuckYuckdangdamnYuck! More knitting and tinking, knitting and tinking. Just when I got the hang of the purl tension and the proper color dominance orientation of the yarns and remembered to read the chart from L-R (that would be three tinks, if you’re counting along at home), I discovered this:

I was knitting with the short end, not off the bobbin! Only Brian kept me from tossing the Dale from the moving train. For real. He’s a good muggle-conductor-man. Everyone needs a Brian.

This post has been in draft mode for at least four weeks, and in addition to the WordPress issues I’ve been fighting with (does anyone know if there’s a limit to the number of photos you can include in one post?) I have to confess: I’ve also been avoiding it. It’s long. It’s mushy. It’s gushy. It’s braggy. And while bragging is oh-so-necessary in this case, it’s also kinda unpalatable. I don’t like reading braggy posts on other blogs, so I’m reluctant to write one. But, good goddamn, I had the most incredibly brag-alicious blog break in the history of all blog breaks. And yesterday, I got the icing on this multi-layered chocolate mousse cake from a dear friend. Friend. It’s a simple word. Sweet. True.

***********

CLAPOTIS, from the incredibly generous Kimberly

Wifey: You got something in the mail. Should I open it?
Mafia: Hell yeah.
Wifey: It’s yarn. Wait … no, it’s a scarf or something.
Mafia: Is is green and blue with dropped stitch panels on the bias?
Wifey: Um, yes. How did you know that?
Mafia: Oh. My. God!! [jumps up and down on the street corner] I was hoping it was for me!
Wifey: Seriously … how many of these women are you sleeping with?
Mafia: Um, none.
Wifey: Well hell, I sleep with you, and I don’t get handknits in the mail.

ENTER BUBBLES, stage left

The next day, Suzanne had her own dilemma: only after completing this stunning shawl, “Bubbles,” she discovered that she’s allergic to mohair. She asked me if Wifey would like it. Suzanne was very impressed that Wifey was a surrogate and thought that deserved some recognition. She dropped Bubbles into a box and sent it northward. It arrived. Wifey was thrilled. [and I was temporarily off the hook. thanks suzanne!] Wifey’s too shy to pose for photos, so the above pic is the best I could do. Go see the incredible photos that Suzanne took too. Here are a couple more of mine:

Amazing color changes

Amazing halo

Amazing present for me too. What do you think? Hat? Mittens?

MONKEYS

I made these for Danielle because one day I’m on the train and I’m ready to graft the toe, but I can’t remember how. I call Danielle on her cell. While driving through Boston traffic, she’s able to walk me through grafting a toe.

The real reasons that Danielle needs these socks:

1) she just bought her first house, for which she’s been saving and planning for years.
2) one night when I was teaching, she picked Wifey up from the hospital and drove her home.
3) she risks her professional reputation by admitting to people at work that she likes me.
4) that emergency ‘how do i graft a toe’ call results in my best toe ever:

BEIGE STOLE

Martha is a 70 year old semi-retired woman who works on part-time special projects in our office. One day she walks up to me, tells me that she has a gift for me, and hands me a carefully wrapped tissue paper bundle. Inside was this beautiful wool stole that her aunt made at least 30 years ago. The aunt was a rabble rouser who lived in Greenwich Village from the beat days until the 60s. In her youth she married a middle eastern man and was therefore shunned by her family. Within a couple years, she was a widow. The shawl has been packed in tissue paper for most of those 30 years, but Martha wants it to be worn by someone who will appreciate it. It stays on my office chair and snuggles me when I’m cold at work.

SOPHIE’S TOES

For my birthday last November, Suzanne showed up to our MIT Stitch and Bitch unexpectedly with a gift for me. Froggy from Sophie’s Toes. The colorway I’d been ogling, but determined not to buy any more yarn, I resisted. Then it disappeared from Etsy, as all good Etsy finds are wont to do. Apparently Danielle and Suzanne had this planned, and I was none the wiser. I nearly jumped up and down when I saw the Froggy, my dear Froggy, that nearly slipped from my grasp. Now, dear Froggy is sliding through my fingers and I love it. Love.

This is true meaning of friendship. I love y’all.

Alright — now that I’ve made my SockPal purchase, I’m sending out the word — Emily updated her Etsy shop tonight and skeins are going fast.

I grabbed some Fresh Air for my Pal, and some Tapestry for a long-overdue knit gift. I fought the Blackberry temptation, and it was hard (the color is similiar to the Gramma’s Blueberry Pie socks that I already own). Okay, fine, I admit it. I got Iris Garden too. I’d really like Fall Mums to reappear. Or Hollyhocks. Or Muir Woods.

For the moment, I’ll have to be content with the Froggy that I’m currently knitting into Anastasias.