It's the process

I'm sure most knitters have heard about the difference between process and product knitters. Process knitters knit for the sake of knitting and aren't terribly concerned with the finished project. If a project is boring or not working out or not enjoyable for whatever reason, a process knitter will usually just stop knitting it. This often makes them bad deadline and gift knitters.

Product knitters, on the other hand, are in it for the finished item. They will endure tedium, endless ripping and reknitting, cramped hands, and yarn that doesn't feel good to knit with, all for the sake of the end result.

Guess which kind I am? Yeah. Process knitter all the way. Which makes me 1) likely to give away my knitted items - on the rare occasions I actually finish something - because I don't really care about the end result and 2) extraordinarily likely to grow bored, frustrated or give up when the knitting isn't going my way.

And yes, it also makes me an extraordinarily tardy gift knitter. As I believe has been amply demonstrated in the past.

Given my aversion to knitting that isn't both easy and fun, I've surprised myself by undertaking (and sticking with) a pattern that I'm genuinely not enjoying: Annis, from Knitty.

Through no fault of the pattern or the designer, I hate knitting this thing. I hate the slippery metal needles. I hate the long purl back rows. And I hate all the nupps. Good lord do I hate the nupps.

It's possible I've even begun referring to the pattern as "Anus." Which is fitting, because in this pink, it bears a disturbing resemblance to a pile of intestines:



Yum!

The sad part is, I was excited about the nupps at first. I'd never made a nupp. I was going to learn something new! It was going to be great fun! And, wow, was I wrong.

Now, if you've never nupped, a nupp* is made by repeatedly knitting and yarn-overing into the same stitch to create (in the case of Anus, er, Annis), 7 stitches out of 1. On the purl back row, you PURL ALL OF THE STITCHES YOU JUST MADE TOGETHER. This makes a wee nub on your knitting, kind of like a bobble, but flatter.

The problem is: Purling three stitches together is pushing it. But seven? Pure horror.



For the first few nupps, I was sure it was actually impossible to correctly execute a purl 7 together. Surely, this was some sort of cruel joke. Then I realized I could do it (slowly and excruciatingly) if I used a size 2 needle. The first nupp row (with 30 nupps total) took me two hours. Then I did the same thing with another ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY NUPPS.



But now I can proudly say two things: First, I have made nupps my bitch.

And more importantly, I never, ever have to knit another one as long as I live. Such is the joy of being a process knitter.

* If you're curious about the difference between nupps and bobbles, or want an explanation involving less distracting use of the word "anus", Knitpicks has a nifty bit about them here.

Just a jump to the left

I've been knitting a really lovely pair of socks, my second pair of Artichoke Socks, in Madelinetosh Tosh Sock (colorway "Kale", or as I like to think of it, "KALE!!!"). I've touted the charms of this pattern before: it's pretty, easily memorizable, charmingly symmetrical, and shows off a lightly variegated yarn like nobody's business.

Also, being the giant dork about vegetables that I am, it pleases me to no end to knit "Artichoke" socks in a colorway called "Kale".

And while I thoroughly enjoyed the last pair I knit in Shibui Sock, it's even more pleasing in Madelinetosh, which somehow even in the dark smoky purple-grey Kale colorway glows with a magical inner light possessed by no other 100% wool yarn I've ever seen.



I swear there's some silk snuck into the mix. Or some obscure alchemy on the part of the dyer. Whatever it is, it's wonderful and I want many, many more balls of the stuff.

The one problem I've had is that the pattern is kind of a pain to work on DPNs. Each row starts with a Purl 1, which always looks bad at the beginning of a needle (if you're me). After that P1, there's a few columns of ribbing, then the symmetrical front of leg pattern, then a few more columns of ribbing, then the same symmetrical branching leaves pattern on the back of the leg. Using 4 DPNs, the logical way to divide the pattern among 3 needles seemed to be:

Needle 1: purl 1, ribbing, first half of leaf pattern
Needle 2 (1/2 of stitches): second half of leaf pattern, ribbing, first half of leaf pattern
Needle 3: ribbing, second half of leaf pattern, ribbing

For whatever reason, I could not grasp this set-up. I kept bungling the second half of the leaf pattern because logically (to me) needle 2 is the start of the front of the leg and should always start with the FIRST half of a repeat. I do realize this is not actually true, but my brain and hands were quite insistent that this was absolutely the case and kept sneaking in a K2TOG where there should have been a SSK.

There was a really obvious solution to this: I scootched things a bit to the left, so that the entire front of the leg was on needle 2.

And just like that, with a wee shift, suddenly the pattern flowed for me in a way that it absolutely hadn't before.



In keeping with my knitting, my job search has taken a jump to the left as well. For most of my career, I've worked in the corporate world: a corporate law firm, a multi-national consulting company, a fine publisher of cooking magazines and cookbooks, back to the multi-national consulting company, etc.

In keeping with this corporate background, I'd applied for a bunch of jobs in my field: enterprise-level HR information systems analysis. And I'd gotten exactly 0 bites. Not one damn phone call.

This was disheartening.

Until I thought about it differently - I never really felt like the corporate world was a good fit for me. I went to library school specifically because I was interested in rabble-rousing activist public library work. Helping corporations make more money for the sake of making money never seemed like a great way to spend one's life.

And suddenly, there it was: I should be applying at nonprofits. And just like that, everything shifted - every job I've applied for I've gotten an interview. Several interviews in most cases.

I think maybe the universe is trying to tell me something...

Socks, some sadness and such

I recently received an unsubtle (but charming) request for bloggery from one of my favoritest knitting ladies. It's appropriate, then, that I have something to show off that she in particular would appreciate.

Behold! The finished Nutkins.



Specs: Nutkin, size 2 Harmony wood DPNS, Ancient Threads Bambu fingering. Mods: Added one pattern repeat, and subbed standard cuff, heel and toe.

Because I rule at gift knitting, these socks were promised to my friend Kelley for her birthday last March, at which point I let her choose her favorite yarn from my entire sock yarn stash. At the time, I was pleased and a little chagrined and kind of surprised
when she chose the Ancient Threads yarn.



Pleased because suddenly I would be knitting it, after letting it languish in the stash for many years. Chagrined because I would not be knitting it for me. Mostly I was surprised, as Kelley's tastes run very heavily towards the purple end of the color spectrum. To the point where several friends have unsuccessfully attempted a purple intervention. I, on the other hand, support her purple fetish, as I have much the same relationship with the color green. And pork products. And IT guys.



Anyway, despite the extraordinarily long time I took to knit these socks (over a year, people, so please never ever feel bad about missing a knitting deadline), I loved knitting them. Every few stitches brought a new and amazing color. The dyer uses all natural dyes, like osage, cochineal and cutch ("Cutch" being a word I can't say, type or think about with chortling a little). The colors are amazing, and unlike any other dyes I've seen.



And this brings me back to my knitting friend, who[m?] I haven't seen in far too long. She's wonderful in pretty much every way someone can be wonderful. She has a remarkable combination of personal warmth, intelligence and a brilliant sense of humor that's pretty irresistible. She's also a motherfucking badass spinner and knitter.

Every time I picked up the socks that I was knitting for Kelley, I thought of my other friend. This friend and I have very similar color sensibilities *cough* seventies appliances *cough*. In fact, both of us bought this yarn at Mass Sheep and Wool, in almost identical colorways, several years ago. At the time, I thought her skein was slightly prettier and may have experienced an uncharitable burst of fiery hatred and envy for a second when she clutched it to her bosom and declared it the most beautiful thing in the world. That passed as soon as I realized my yarn had its own considerable charms. And in fact, we were both so smitten with the colors of our yarn that we were inspired to try natural dyeing ourselves, using the same dyes as were used in this yarn.



This wonderful friend also had an extraordinarily tragic event in her personal life in the past year I've been knitting these socks. And, being awkward and clumsy with emotions and unsure what to say or how to say it, I sent her stilted condolences and little else. But I thought of her. When I picked up the socks, I thought about how colossally unfair it is that this incredibly warm, vibrant, joyful woman could have something so awful happen to her. I thought about how sad and angry and disappointed she must be, and how I really can't begin to understand her loss. It's a sad and awful thing that I would not wish on anyone, but it's especially horrible that it happened to someone I like and admire so much.

And then, mostly, I thought about how very much I like her, and how much I miss her. And how my life has been better (and funnier and sillier and more filled with joy) for having her in it. And I wished there was something I could do to help her.

But I realize now that I can do something, which is tell her that I was thinking of her, with every stitch, and every time I looked at the yarn. And I am sending my love.

Damn it feels good to be a finisher

A mere 17 months after casting on, I'm pleased and proud to announce that I've finally finished the Chevron Scarf! I obviously haven't been knitting this scarf constantly for the last year and a half. For many months, I wasn't in the mood to work on it at all. And a fingering weight scarf is mighty slow going, even on size 6 needles.

Last-minute gift, my ass.



Specs: the ubiquitous Chevron Scarf, from Last-Minute Knitted Gifts. J Knits Superwash Me Light Sock, in the Reno and Colorado colorways. US 6 needles. Final length after blocking 80" (it stretched almost 8 inches in blocking). No mods, except - for some reason I now can't recall - I went up a needle size. Which makes this a relatively lightweight scarf, perfect for the Bay Area's perpetual early fall temperatures.

J Knits sock yarn comes in huge skeins - 500+ yards each. So I've got a whole lot of both balls left over. There may be matching mitts in the near future.



There's a reason so many people knit this thing - it's easy, beautiful, and a brilliant (non-sock) use for your variegated sock yarns. If you're the sort that's both enamored of variegated yarns and bothered by pooling (I am that sort), this is totally the pattern for you.



And I promise it doesn't actually take a year and a half to knit.

Fits and starts

Forgoing the usual "Wow! I can't believe it's been so long!" comment, let's just jump straight into the knitting.

I've got good stuff on the needles these days. Well, some good stuff. And some, uh, less good stuff. As usual.

First on the needles are birthday socks for Kelley, a pretty pair of Nutkins. I've just started the second sock, after a rather long post-first-sock hiatus.



The yarn, Ancient Threads Bambu, is unutterably lovely, and constantly entertaining to knit. Every four stitches or so, another gorgeous color!



Kelley's birthday is in early March, so finishing them doesn't seem like much of a challenge. Except these socks were promised to her for her last birthday. So...yeah. I win at gift knitting. Forever.

In the "less good" category, we have my mom's Charades, knit in Crystal Palace Maizy Print. Since the gauge for this yarn is the same as the last Charades I knit for her, (using Panda Cotton Print - another Crystal Palace yarn), I reasoned that I could expect similar results with this new yarn.

Just to clarify the idiocy level this assumption is operating at, let's compare the fiber content of these two yarns:

- Panda Cotton: 59% Bamboo, 25% Cotton, 16% Nylon

- Maizy: 82% corn fiber, 18% elastic nylon

See? Nothing alike, really. Despite the rather, er, glaring differences between the old yarn and the new yarn, I merrily cast on the same number of stitches for what - I hoped - would be a very similar pair of socks. Because how different could TOTALLY DIFFERENT YARN be? Lalalalala I can't hear you....

Amazingly enough, at first it looked like my master plan would work out. I had my mom try on the first sock during her last visit, and it fit well. I was cruising along through the foot. All seemed right in the world.



But it turns out, this yarn slowly but oh-so-surely stretches like a motherfucker:

After trying it on a few more times, it seemed, well...a little big...



After a few more times, even bigger yet...in fact...Holy shit! Gigantic! (yes, both my rather wide feet do fit into one sock intended for my narrow-footed mom)...



Perhaps this yarn is not actually destined to be a sock.

I hope my mom will enjoy the nice scarf it will become.

Finally, there is a sweater. Previously blogged about and not much progressed since then. Here's the bottom cable band, all knit up and ready for the body stitches to be picked up.



I'm tinkering a bit with the pattern to better match Kelley's measurements, and we haven't managed to get her, the knitting, the pattern, sufficient sobriety, and the desire to measure in the same place at the same time until very recently.



I assume, given my facility with math and the humors of the knitting gods, that all this tinkering may turn out disastrously. But now I have her measurements, a giant swatch and a hoodie she likes to compare measurements to, so perhaps I will actually knit something resembling a well-fitted sweater. Optimism! Baseless naive hope! Potato. Po-tah-to.

Life, like knitting these days, seems to be a series of usually hopeful, occasionally stuttering starts, with a lot of lag time where not much seems to happen.

I finished my contract gig with my corporate masters in September. I decided to take a few months off before looking for work, and that stretched into another month and another. Being unemployed is equal parts fabulous and disconcerting. I never realized that working for a living was actually an important part of my identity. I never thought of my systems analyst gigs as a "career" or a major part of who I was, but not working at all feels very, very strange. I gave myself until after New Year's to just relax and enjoy being unemployed, but the job search will start up again soon.

I've also been dating a bit, which is instructive, terrifying and entertaining, as always. Nothing clicked for quite awhile, but I did make a good friend out of the whole process. And I hesitate to jinx it, but I recently met a guy I quite like. It's early yet, but we seem to be a really good fit so far.

The knitting, the job, the guy...I'm looking forward to seeing how all this turns out.

When you look up hubris in the dictionary...

I'm pretty sure you'll see my picture. I've started knitting a sweater.

Some of you may recall the rather, er, painful experience I had with my first sweater. But undeterred (or, only deterred for three years*), I've started another sweater.

This sweater, the Providence Hoodie, from New England Knits.

Let's look at the series of mistakes I've already made:

1. I read the instructions and thought "Hey, I can totally knit this! It's actually really easy!"

2. I knit and blocked a huge swatch - IN PATTERN - and got gauge bang-on, with the recommended needle size. Given how tightly I knit, this is a clear violation of all the laws of physics and/or an especially cruel joke.

3. The knitting is going really well. I've finished the bottom cable band, about the equivalent of half a cabled scarf (I hate knitting scarves). And I'm thoroughly enjoying every single damn stitch.

4. The friend I'm knitting it for loves it, too. She named the swatch ("Swatchy"), and carried it around with her all day when I showed it to her. She's also received periodic photo updates on the cabling and remains madly in love with it.

See what I mean? I think we can all expect an especially spectacular fuck-up any day now. Because the knitting gods surely will not stand for this.

* Jesus, I'm a pussy.

She gets it

I may have received the single best compliment a knitter could ever receive.

My BFF Quinn called me up last week to tell me she wore her new scarf and socks. First, she mentioned that several people complimented her on the scarf. They touched and admired it and praised the skill of the knitter (we knitters love hearing that). She also gave them a peek at the sparkly fairy princess socks (it takes a especially knitting-friendly person to also show off the usually invisible handknit socks), garnering more praise for the knits and the knitter.

All this was lovely to hear, but the best was yet to come. She said:

"It was cold. And I had all these great things you made. It felt like I was wrapped in cozy warm love the whole time."

Aaaaaww....

How knitters say "I love you"

My darling BFF Quinn recently left California for a two year postdoc in Michigan. While I am enormously proud of her success, I haven't really processed her departure in any meaningful way except "Michigan cold. Make handknits."

In fact, so far mostly I just pretend she's on a really long vacation. Denial aside, I did manage to knit a few goodies to keep her warm.

First up, the Ribs and Ruffles Scarf. This is a clever pattern that includes no purling whatsoever and yet makes a reversible rib-like scarf that magically doesn't look like garter stitch. Whoa!



The end result? A fine, cozy and fucking gigantic scarf.



I haven't knit on such big needles in years. Another blogger once said knitting on huge needles felt like pantomiming knitting for someone with bad eyesight who was standing very far away (sorry, I can't remember who said it). And that's exactly what it felt like. Despite that, the pattern itself is rather hypnotic, and I quite like the end result. Sadly, I don't actually need a scarf this chunky in California, or I would knit it over and over again.

And the yarn? Barely plied, super soft Malabrigo in gorgeous blues and purples. I think we can all imagine how very delightful that was.

Specs: Malabrigo Rasta in the Abril colorway. Size 15 needles. Final length: a whopping 84 inches. Completed in three nights of knitting. Take that, hateful Irish Hiking Scarf.

Quinn is also the lucky recipient of the sparkly fairy princess socks. Now completed in all their twinkly glory.



Specs: Yarn, Berroco Sox Metallic, colorway 1357. Size 2 harmony wood DPNs. My standard sock recipe, 68 stitch cast-on with an eye-of-partridge heel. Girly, girly perfection.



Both the scarf and the socks were semi-gifted to, and heartily approved by, Quinn about a month ago. Meaning I showed them to her, let her pat them and try them on, then kept them for their final photo shoot. Because if it hasn't been blogged, it's like I never knit it at all.

In my usual fashion, I did finally delivered them to her. Two days before she moved, on the hottest day we had all year. Just the kind of day you want to receive a hefty pile of woolens.

So I hope you enjoy them, pumpkin, and that they keep you warm. Because that's how knitters say "I love you, man."

It was bound to happen eventually

I spent a solid twenty minutes last night digging around for my current sock-in-progress.

It was eventually located. Behind the couch cushions.


Jabbed firmly into the back of the couch.

I suppose it could have been worse. I could have located the pointy little fuckers with my ass.

Sigh.

In which I surprise myself

I've joked before that the secret to my happiness is low standards and minimal expectations.

Despite this, I fully intended to challenge myself for the Knitting Olympics. I chose a project I knew I could finish, if I just devoted a moderate amount of time to knitting. Since I haven't been devoting much time to knitting, I figured this would be a fair challenge. I cast on the day after the opening ceremonies. And, much to my surprise I finished it a week later.

So it is with a glow of knitterly pride that I present Gold Medal the First: Just Enough Ruffles.


Details: Lobster Pot Yarns Hand-Dyed Cashmere (gifted to me ages ago by the very thoughtful and knit-friendly boyfriend I had at the time), size 9 32" Chiaogoo metal circular needle. Mods: none, unless you want to pretend "picking up the wraps incorrectly" is a modification. So yes, let's pretend the funky pick-ups were intentional, for, uh, added textural interest.

A stylin' scarf, if I do say so myself. Even modeled in a hoodie.


Thoughts: This is a nice, straightforward pattern, mostly stockinette so it really shows off a lightly variegated hand-dyed yarn. The pattern has some nifty short row shaping to give it a nice neck-drapey crescent shape, which had the added benefit of spicing up the endless stockinette. It definitely seemed kind of endless at times, despite substantial amounts of Torchwood being watched. I should remind myself that if I knit this again and think "HEY! I've only got three rows to go," I should remember that all three are 600 stitch purl rows and one of them is a purlwise bind-off. Those are some long-ass rows.

Since the first project went so well, I figured I should just continue with the red cashmere theme. So, with pride verging on glee, may I present my second Gold Medal project, also completed well before the closing ceremonies: A Noble Cowl.



Details: Jade Sapphire Mongolian Cashmere 4-ply, in a gorgeous true red that my camera refuses to capture, knit on a size 6 16" Chiaogoo metal circular needle.



Thoughts: This is another sweet little pattern (the original is written out, not charted, but the ravelry pattern page includes a link to a chart, if that's what you prefer). Quick and fun. Plus, I think I finally get the cowl thing. Cowls have many of the same virtues as knitting socks: portability, minimal purling, fun patterns and textures, and you can get an entire project out of one skein of yarn, so it's a perfect use for a special skein of something delicious.

I'm damn impressed with myself for finishing both these projects in the allotted time and almost wish it would be colder so I'd have a reason to wear them (almost, not quite). The only downside to all this cashmere knitting is that I may be spoiled for other yarns. Picture knitting with a cloud made of orgasms, only better. And less obscene. Good lord, so much better.

I may have to go buy myself some Malabrigo, just to ease myself back into regular wool.

Technology is hard

You've probably noticed I'm not great about responding to blog comments. I'm trying to be better, and I've been really, really good about it on my last three posts.

You may be saying "Hey, I commented. I didn't get a response. Why is she such a lying liar face?"

The question you should be asking is "How can a systems analyst be so technologically incompetent as to send almost all replies to noreplycomment@blogger.com?"

Note to self: LOOK AT THE EMAIL ADDRESS BEFORE HITTING SEND.

Knitting content resuming next post. I've got two gorgeous red cashmere goodies to show off. And if you admire them as much as I do, I promise this time I'll thank you for the compliments.

On Jesus, bacon and such

Awhile back, I blogged about how very much I like my friend Sarah. And, because she is indeed just as awesome as I said she was, lookie what she sent me in the mail last week! Holy mother of fucking awesome!



You may have guessed that I'm not especially religious. Or Mexican. So this might seem like kind of an odd gift. But actually, it's absolutely perfect.

To put it in perspective, these are just a few of the similar items in the house. And I really have to emphasize just a few. I may not be crazy Jesus lady, but I sure collect like one.







Plus, did you see? The Day of the Dead skeletons are drinking!



Finally, my views on crochet are well known. It's not my thing, but it's fine if that's the kind of thing you enjoy. I don't mind. Not at all. Really, it's totally ok if you crochet. IF YOU WANT JESUS TO CRY. Ahem. Kidding. Anyway, Sarah may have proven me wrong.



Yup. It's crocheted BACON. I giggle everytime I look at it. And it's gonna fit right in around here.



Thank you so much, Sarah!

Betcha didn't know

I'm a sparkly fairy princess! Or at least I knit like one.



Basic stockinette sock. Berrocco Sox Metallic, in the "I'm a ten year old girl, let's trade puffy unicorn stickers" colorway. Or Color 1357, whatever. This has been a fast knit by my standards. Less than a week for the first leg. I'm completely enchanted by the colors, by the way the stripes aren't too perfect, by all the subtle gradations that can be achieved between pink and purple.



I also think this yarn would make a really fun scarf or shawl, if that's the kind of thing you're into. No judgment.

My only concerns so far are that the yarn seems a bit scratchy, and my ribbing looks like complete ass. My ribbing never looks great, but this is sort of ridiculous.



See? Ass.

Even the stockinette part is knitting up kind of, well, sloppy. And yes, I am choosing to blame this on the yarn. Hopefully it will even out after a good blocking. But for now! So pink! So sparkly!

And on a less girly note, I'm also considering joining the Knitting Olympics. Top project contenders include:

Endpaper Mitts: I have the yarn, and I haven't done any colorwork in ages. Problem: requires DPNs, and I know there will be unattractive laddering issues. Don't bother suggesting two circs or magic loop. That is not how I roll.

Just Enough Ruffles: 400 yards of cashmere in the stash. Plus, a chance to do battle with my nemesis, the "wrap and turn."

Rococo Socks: Pretty. And an excuse to buy the pattern.

Lenore: Dead sexy. Plus, I have two different skeins of Raven Clan STR calling my name, AND I already have the pattern.

We Call Them Pirates: The reasons should be obvious.

Extermiknit: Would make an excellent gift for many of the geeks in my life.

Pyroclastic: A damn fine-looking sock, plus a chance to try a new heel technique.

Technique-wise, none of these should be a huge challenge, but it will be a challenge for me to complete them in the allotted time, given how slow the knitting has been lately.

I'm leaning towards Just Enough Ruffles or Lenore, but the other patterns have much to recommend them.

Any other Olympians out there? What are you knitting?

Finding what fits

Alternately titled: Yet more navel-gazing, now with bonus socks!



I was bitching about my job recently, as I do on (ahem) very rare occasions.

Now, I'm a systems analyst for a multi-national consulting company, and I've worked for them for 7 of the last 10 years. Yet somehow, I've never thought of this as The Job I Am Meant to Have. I should be a writer, or a cook, or an activist, or a ninja or, dear god, anything but a systems analyst.

I even got a masters degree in NOT BEING A SYSTEMS ANALYST.

BFF Quinn, the lucky recipient of my complaints, suggested I might want to let go of this sense of what I "should" be. It seemed like I was rejecting my job not because it actually sucked, but because the idea of it sucked. And my aversion to thinking of myself as a systems analyst was clearly getting in the way of enjoying what was actually good about my job.



Frankly, I was stunned. What if I embraced this whole systems analyst thing? What if I just thought of this job as something I was really good at and even - gasp! - could enjoy? What if I can make a decent living and still laugh every time I hear the word 'caulk', still say fuck way too often, and finish the bottle of wine way more than I should? I'd just be a foul-mouthed, tipsy systems analyst with a juvenile sense of humor. So, um, exactly the person I've been for most of the last ten years.

And that doesn't mean I can't still be a writer, and a cook, and all those other interesting things (shut UP, I so could too be a ninja). It just means I'd fully engage with my job and start considering it an actual career. i.e., I hear there's this thing called "networking" that people do. And that people sometimes seek out promotions and such because that's how you advance in your chosen career. Crazy!



The best part is, this is a lesson I should have already learned from knitting. I knit because I enjoy it, and mostly I don't worry about whether there is Knitting I Should Be Doing. Like making something more complicated, or something that isn't a tiny sock, or learning a new skill, or knitting for charity, or whatever. Knitting doesn't have to be anything more than something I like and am (occasionally) pretty good at.

Which brings me to my latest pair of socks. I've knit better, more complicated, and prettier socks. I've actually knit this pattern before, so I'm not even trying anything new. But these socks are the most me of anything I've ever made.



Charade. Knitpicks Superwash Bare Tweed, Koolaid-dyed by me (with a treasure-trove of lime green Koolaid from Double Helix). Size 2 Harmony wooden DPNs. Modifications: 72 stitch cast-on, garter and eye of partridge heel. Fucking fantastic.



Lime green hand-knit tweed socks. It doesn't get any better than that. For me.

And it doesn't need to, either.

There's no place like the last place I lived

I know I've posted about this before, but bear with me...

I've spent roughly a third of my life in three places: Arizona, southern Oregon and Massachusetts. Now I've started a new chapter here in California. And I'm still not sure which, if any, of these places is home.

Of all the places I lived, I always said I liked New England the least. So I was mighty surprised to find myself referring to Boston as "back home" recently. It didn't even feel like home when I lived there, so why, after spending a week in Arizona with my mom, chatting with a transplanted Cape Codder, on a shuttle back to my Oakland apartment, was Boston, suddenly, "home"?

Up until September, Boston was the only place I've really lived as an adult. I had my first grown-up job there, rented my first apartment, shacked up with a guy, learned how to cook and knit and unraveled the arcana of library science. I still have a lot of really good friends there.

So does all of that make it home?

When I was in Arizona, the food, the Spanish street names, the astonishing spread of the sky overhead, the adobe houses and javelinas, horned toads and gila monsters: it was all so familiar and somehow right.

But does familiar make it home?

And then there's Oregon. Where I exchanged ardent and anguished love letters with a boy I'd known since seventh grade. The place where I smoked my first cigarette and pierced my nose. Where I wore shitkicker boots and ripped jeans and bewailed the tedium of small-town life in an endless series of coffee shops. The place where my father died.

But does that history make it home?

And what of California? Will it take another ten years, and moving to yet another state, for me to call it home?

I say no, damnit. I will not be writing maudlin blog posts ten years from now about how California never felt like home. I hereby resolve to explore and fully enjoy my new home.

First on my to-do list? Finding good steamed pork buns in Oakland.

What? Everyone has their priorities.

I like Sarahland

I've been thinking about my friend Sarah a lot recently, and I thought I'd share just a few of the ways in which she's fantastic.

First of all, she's whip-smart, funny and pleasingly neurotic. Further, she has excellent and adventurous taste in food, and a keen appreciation for both Joss Wheedon's entire oeuvre and the wankability of Alton Brown.

Despite her continuing and willful refusal to knit socks, she is actually a fine and eclectic knitter. From silk scarves to toy chickens to fair-isle mitts, her knitting is varied, lovely and a genuine pleasure to watch roll off the (circular) needles.

Further, she has an appreciation for and deft hand with googly eyes, the likes of which I have never seen.

She also has feet that I hope will be really, really happy in these socks.



And finally, in case there's any doubt about just how likeable Sarah is: these mother#&%@ing socks fit me beautifully.



I can only hope that she'll enjoy them as much as I do. And perhaps she'll be inspired to make some of her own some day...

And this is why I stash

I think non-knitters have trouble with the stash concept. To non-knitters, having yarn and not knitting it means you do not like that yarn.

If a non-knitter gifted that yarn to a knitter, it might seem like the knitter doesn't really like the yarn at all. For example, a particular friend of mine just can't understand why I would ignore the 400 yards of gorgeous cashmere he gave me. He thinks I don't like the cashmere.

Knitters know not liking cashmere is impossible. But I do think there are several factors at work in the stashing and project selection process.

1. Non-knitters don't really understand just how much yarn some of us actually have. There is more yarn in my stash than I could possibly knit in the foreseeable future. Not knitting a particular yarn is, admittedly, at least partially due to the fact that I am a fickle, fickle tramp when it comes to new yarn. But it's also due to the sheer amount of other yarn in the stash. I don't really knit all that much, and I have a shitload of yarn. Therefore, the backlog is substantial.



Monkey, in Fiber Confections hand-dyed merino. Stashed December 2008. Project started July 2009.

2. Sometimes I don't knit precisely because I love the yarn so much. I am waiting for the perfect project that will best complement a particularly gorgeous yarn. Such is the case with my cashmere stash. And honestly, I think some sock yarns are prettier in the skein than they could ever be knit up.



Auracania Ranco, Multy. Yarn stashed April 2008. Unknit.

3. The stash is a constant source of joy and inspiration. I browse my stash the way I browse cookbooks, to remind me of all the possibilities that are out there. And because it just makes me happy. I may not knit something immediately, but visiting my stash reminds me what I could be knitting with. And as I browse patterns, I mentally align pattern to stash, and every now and then there is a spark. The perfect alignment of pattern and yarn and (this is crucial) the desire to knit this particular pattern in this particular yarn immediately.



Chevron Scarf, in J Knits Superwash Me Light Sock, Reno and Colorado colorways. Stashed March 2007. Project started September 2009.

4. Sometimes I just want to knit and not think. I keep self-striping sock yarn on hand for just that urge. A stockinette sock is soothing, like a glass of wine (or three) or a long hot shower. It doesn't challenge me, I don't have to think about how it's going to turn out (cough *toosmall* cough), I don't even need to read a pattern.



Uh, some kind of striping yarn. Maybe Trekking? Meilenweit Megaboots? Purchased at some point, somewhere.

My stash is not just for those rare occasions, when I look at the yarn and know exactly what it must become. Though that is nice. I stash because I like knowing I have something easy to knit. I stash because yarn is beautiful and because it gives me pleasure to look at it and touch it and imagine what it could become.

Also, because I can't pass up nice tweed when it's on sale, but that's another matter entirely.

How about you? Why do you stash? Are you saving up anything particularly juicy?