Well, not me. To String. Sort of.

I've heard tell it's customary on the first anniversary of blogging to link back to one's first post and prattle on about the experience. My first post was February 12 of last year, but I dithered a bit before really getting the thing off the ground a month later.

First, thanks go out to those who have encouraged me to do this - the gang at my local yarn store - both staff and core regulars (if I began naming them all this would be like the Academy awards), BlogDogBlog's Lisa, QueerJoe, Wendy, Linn, esteemed needlework pals of long standing (thanks Kathryn!); folks who are frequent readers/posters here, and the KFlamers (you know who you are).

I wasn't sure why I wanted a blog. After all, I already had a website - itself celebrating it's tenth anniversary this year. But it's cumbersome to update, sometimes requiring the intervention of in-house programming gods, and too structured to allow free play. I certainly rattled on enough in the various knitting-related email lists. But almost every post brought snarking from people who felt I was too long winded and was wasting their time. Plus the lists themselves are less interesting to me these days, as many of the most insightful and thought-provoking posters have moved on to their own blogs. So I decided to cut back on the eMail notes, limiting on-list participation to answering questions, and post the rest here.

String has sort of evolved into a running column on knitting and needlework in general (admittedly, with side trips), rather than a pure diary or personal log. I try to keep it up daily on weekdays, plus whenever I can on weekends. Sometimes life intervenes. I find that even though it's daily, I'm rarely at a loss for subject matter. There's plenty among my own projects past and present, old books, how-tos that seem to be a good idea at the time, things I stumble across on the Web, and discussions piqued by questions sent to me by others. Some weeks I have three or four general notes written up to post in advance, fitting my project progress bits in between them. Other days I write as the fit takes me, being neither disciplined enough in my habits to set aside one particular time to do so, or even trying to get something written by a particular time each day.

I guess the best part about it all is that I am no longer imposing on anyone with these diatribes. I can be more critical of things because the mass tyranny of political correctness and public niceness isn't in force for a personal log. (It's wonderfully liberating to lose the straight-jacket.) I no longer feel any guilt for imposing on anyone because people have to seek me out and visit. If they don't like what they read, they don't visit again. And that's fine by me.

Things I hope to do with String this year:

• More how-tos.
  
• Continuing the series of yarn maker website reviews. Possibly starting a directory of manufacturer/distributor sites (not retailers - just makers).
• More patterns. Some of these will end up maturing onto wiseNeedle.
• Whatever other whims take me.

Things you won't see here:

• Pictures of me.

Trust me on this. The most photogenic thing about me is my children.

Someone posted a question on one of the knitting eMail lists yesterday, asking why some people think that cables are difficult. Then I popped into the LYS and into a discussion on what criteria were used to assign difficulty levels to knitting patterns in magazines and books. Both things happening on the same day tossed me down another rat hole of thought.

I'm of two minds on labeling patterns with difficulty levels. The first and stronger opinion is probably a product of being a Child of the '70s. I bare my teeth, hiss and spit if anyone so much as suggests that I might like to abide within a set of limitations defined by others. I see skill level labeling as an arbitrary fence that does more to keep people in than to let them out. I've seen far more people decide NOT to knit something because of an "intermediate" or "advanced" label than I've seen people who warmed to the challenge.

Who decides what's advanced, anyway? I've looked at the Craft Yarn Council standards document. They define the levels this way:

• Beginner - Projects for first time knitters using basic knit and purl. Minimal shaping.
• Easy - Projects using basic stitches, repetitive stitch patterns, simple color changes, simple shaping and finishing.
• Intermediate - Projects with a variety of stitches such as basic cables and lace, simple intarsia, DPNs, knitting in the round, mid-level shaping and finishing.
• Experienced - Projects using advanced techniques and stitches: short rows, Fair Isle, more intricate intarsia, cables, lace patterns, and numerous color changes.

By this standard, most everything that's not written specifically for a beginner is either Intermediate or Experienced. The categories are broad enough to have very little meaning, yet are widely used, appearing in books and magazines. Simple things like the 42-stitch hat are Intermediate just because they use DPNs and decreases. (I've taught little kids to knit and used this as their second project, after the ubiquitous beginner's Garter Stitch Scarf).

I think a rating system like this encourages the perception that certain things are difficult. Knitting on DPNs, for example. I see people contort themselves in all sorts of ways to avoid using them. Cables and lacy patterns, too. It frustrates me to no end to see someone who's an effective, insightful, intelligent person bleat out "But that's way too hard," when confronted by anything new. Yes, I know that in knitting as in everything else, there's a bell curve of ability, and not everyone can (or would want to) explore extreme knitting challenges like complex lace; but I think that people are capable of far more than they think they are, and only lack of confidence (bolstered by ratings so generously provided by "experts") keeps them bound inside a limited are that will eventually grow stale and boring.

But then my second set of thoughts squeaks weakly in protest. In a fit of overconfidence I may place myself more towards the leading pointy end of the bell curve; but there are lots of people in the belly and trailing end who are legitimately challenged, who labor on to the best of their ability but may never have the patience, skill, or perseverance to tackle something new. They deserve to be spared frustration, and so welcome skill level labeling so they can choose suitable projects. We then cycle back to my first reaction to such labels. It's damn patronizing for any one entity to decide what's beyond any one individual.

Case in point, I've got a knitting friend who is blind. She routinely does spectacular colorwork, and is currently working on the Pacific Northwest lace shawl (you can see Wendy's magnificent version of it here). Difficult for sighted knitters? You bet. Extra difficult for her, working off a recording of the directions read out loud? You bet. But her determination to do it and to do it well trumps all difficulties, and that determination is only exceeded by the absolute joy she experiences from overcoming the challenge.

What would I like to see done instead? It takes more real estate on the page, but I'd like to see a more granular list of skills presented, especially for leaflet or broadside sheet patterns. Something like

Skills required: Increases, decreases, twisted stitches, cables, knitting in the round, reading a chart

That's a lot more specific than "Intermediate." I can visualize someone reading that list ticking off the skills "Yup, can do, o.k., done that, fine; hmm - maybe this will help me get more comfortable with charts," rather than saying "I've just started, Intermediate must be too hard for me."

Yesterday's Rant - Self Stripers

A couple of people wrote to say that they loved the stripers and didn't want to see them go away. Neither do I.

I have lots of fun playing with them, too. But they've taken over nearly all the available retail shelf space around here, and there's lots of shelf space, so that's really saying something. I'd like to see self stripers stay available, and see new and playful reinterpretations of the theme. But I also would like to see more of the solids be available, too, to use by themselves, or in combo with the stripers (or other solids).

Today's library find is another knitting book from the 1970s - Mark Dittrick was the editor of Design Knitting (New York: Hawthorne Books, 1978). It's a pattern book, featuring collections of work by Marianne Ake, Barbara Baker, Dione Christensen, Phoebe Fox, Maria Hart, Linda Mendelson, Dandree Rubin and Monna Weinman. I admit most of these names are unknown to me. A couple I'm familiar with but haven't seen in a very long time, but I didn't begin to knit until the mid '80s.

Like any book of trendy patterns, this one is dated. Stuff in it was the ultimate, latest thing when the book was new, but now looks saggy, sad and dated. This should be a caution to those of you who run out and buy hard-cover pattern books. Unless the designs in them are classics, you've just spent money on something you'll be comfortable using for only a year or two.

That being said, there are designs here that may be of interest. No ponchos, though. As someone who endured the '70s I can say that ponchos, while present, were no where near as popular as the ubiquity of today's retro patterns makes them appear. Capes were more popular. This book does contain a couple of capes, a belted cape/coat hybrid, and several kimono-style long coats. There are also lots of pullovers and a couple of cardigans. Quite a few are worked in larger gauges from doubled worsted yarn - 3 spi is typical. Sizing is limited by today's standards, with a large (in theory, size 16-18) measuring only 38 inches around. Most pieces though are one-size fits all. I'd say they probably fit a contemporary 8-12.

The various designers favor different styles. Some are fond of the riot of Intarsia and combos of texture and colorwork popular at that time (especially lacy stitches done in very large yarns). Others use more traditional pieces and techniques. A few of these traditional pieces are very wearable as written. They include several Icelandic-style stranded yoke sweaters, two entrelac pullovers, and a feather and fan pullover. There's an interesting and simple idea here for using short quantities several colors of yarns either doubled to knit at 3spi (or bulky weight singles) to make a tie-front jacket or vest - in mostly stockinette with scattered single-row purl welts. I can see that one looking quite nice done up? in a series of coordinating colors in someone's bulky?hand-spun.

Much of the rest of the book might provide inspiration, but would require some modification to make the shapes wearable today. For example, a couple of designers are heavily into the vanguard of the Giant Shoulder Movement. Others use sleeves that are very wide throughout their length, or blouse out above tight cuffs like the sleeves on a Seinfeldian Puffy Shirt.

I dithered over whether to show a page with the wearable stuff, or some of the more outrageous shots that show the dated pieces. The latter is more fun:



I think the model showing the belted mohair dress at the left has the most extreme "It itches" face I've ever seen in a professional photo spread.

In late breaking news, Elizabeth from Norway has provided us with a translation of the blurb under the knitted bicycle picture I mentioned yesterday. Here are her words:

Here is a translation of the blurb under the picture:

"I haven't finished anything I started last week. On the other hand, I have finished knitting a bicycle.

It ended up with balloon tires, and it is probably pretty heavy to pedal, especially since I took the pictures before putting on the chain (which by the way is not knit, but crocheted!)"

So the piece is even more spectacular than I thought. It's not just a bicycle cozy. It's an art-knitting interpretation of a functional bicycle!

Amazing.

More from my inbox:

What happened to the socks you were making last week?

Finished them on the plane to Tucson and gave them as a birthday present to a long time pal and co-worker I met at the other end of the flight. Sorry. No pix of the completed socks.

Aren't the Dark Sky socks going to be small for you?

Yes and no. They're not for me. The recipient I have in mind has feet a couple of sizes smaller than my own flippers. I could wear them in an emergency, but it's true that wrestling them on would be work, and that they'd be very tight. [Hi, Kathryn! :)]

The Dark Sky Socks Point pattern. I don't get it. Why are there numbers on every row of the chart?

[A late-breaking addition to today's post]. The pattern I doodled is worked in the round on the socks. Every round is a "right side" round, and is read beginning on the right and moving across to the left. I've used a very old-fashioned element for this stitch. Instead of alternating rows in which something interesting happens with plain knit (or purled) rows like in modern lacy knitting, I've graphed out something where there are YOs and decreases on EVERY row. This makes a very embossed pattern, but minimizes the size of what would be the eyelets, had plain knit rows been introduced. One large eyelet remains at the base of each point-bearing scale unit:



In a nifty coincidence that I wish I could take credit for, it looks like each scale unit is bisected at the point where the stripe colors change. As you can see from the zig-zags made by the single rows of pale blue, this would be an even more interesting texture pattern in a self-striper with a shorter repeat cycle. You'd get a jaunty effect with lots of up and down movement, different in look from but similar in effect to the See Saw Socks pattern I did for KnitNet.

When you use fancy stitch markers don't the dinglebobs get caught in your work?

Yes, if I'm not careful. But being careful is second nature at this point. I also often use my "third hand" to grab markers and transfer them. The hanging doodad makes a good tag for biting.

Why didn't you go to a yarn shop in Tucson?

This is going to shock some reading along here, but I do have a life outside of knitting. I didn't even look for a shop down there.

I was in town on a professional assignment. I did my work, managed a couple of hours of down time and chose to use it on something unique. Yarn shops, fun as they are, mostly have the same inventory (or subsets of the same inventory) everywhere you go. Outside of small, local producers, I'm probably not going to find a ton of stuff that's totally new to me.

I do anticipate future trips to that area. If/when they happen and if/when I have time, I might look for some hand-spun Churro wool - a specialty of Navajo traditional spinners and weavers. But barring that, there's no real reason to schlep elsewhere to stare at the same yarns and accessories I can see at the exceptionally well-stocked LYS 2.75 miles away.

And the hoodie, possibly the Rogue?

Still swatching, thinking and planning. Target Child is waffling. I don't want to start unless she really wants the thing. Otherwise we end up with a piece that will never be worn.

I really should hold off on posting until my thoughts have settled down. Yet again I put up the day's entry (twice edited, too); then go out web-walking and find An Amazing Thing.

This one came cortesy of the recent referrers log to the right. I clicked on one of the links and was taken to a bicycle cozy. I wish I read Swedish, because there MUST be a fascinating story to accompany these pictures.

Back from a business trip to Tucson, Arizona. No, I wasn't there for the incredibly huge Gem and Mineral Show, but wandered by one of the show's many pavilion complexes in the little bit of free time I had on Saturday.

In the knitting realm here's what I got:



These are little silver mini-earrings - the kind some people line up by the half dozen along the edge of their ears. The dinglebobs (a technical term) hanging down are small faceted semiprecious stones - mostly garnets and pale amethysts, in small silver settings. They were incredibly inexpensive. (I'm sure somewhere in India there's a whole village making these by the barrel full for next to nothing.)

While I was in Tucson, I happened to meet Dr. David Crawford, the Executive Director of the International Dark Sky Association. His group advocates for increased awareness of the problems caused by light pollution, and changes to local zoning/building regulations in favor of more efficient use of outdoor lighting. There are compelling reasons to improve outdoor lighting, including increased energy efficiency, reduced cost, and improved visibility where it is truly needed. There is also a growing body of research documenting how light affects people's health and well-being, and the negative impacts that indiscriminant lighting can have on organisms of all types. When all of the other benefits are taken into consideration, the aesthetic and scientific benefits from preserving the dark night sky almost become secondary concerns.

In any case, Dr. Crawford's impassioned (and sensible) ideas stuck with me on the over-long flight home. I turned out that the sock yarn I brought with me sort of fit the darkness and light theme, so I present Night and Day socks (still in process):



This particular yarn is Regia 4-Ply Ringel, Multi Effekt Color #5383. I've done a standard toe-up on US #00s, with 17 stitches on each needle (68 around). After the heel, I increased two stitches to a total count of 70. I did the increases where the corners of the short-rowed heel ends. Those two stitches help fill in the small hole that can form at that point. Normally I add a stitch on each side at that point anyway, then decrease it away on the next row. This time I just left them in.

The ankle pattern is a 10-stitch repeat I doodled up on the plane. I'm sure similar things exist in stitch dictionaries:


I hope that the the organization doesn't mind having something as silly as a pair of socks dedicated to it. I'll be writing up the pattern at greater length as I do Sock #2. If you decide to knit them, consider investigating (and making a donation to) Dark Skies.

Oh. The red jelly-bean looking things in the sock photo are lampwork glass ladybug beads, about to become a necklace for The Smallest Daughter. The other received earrings made from slices of a very small fossil ammonite, set in silver. My gift for myself was an unusual silver wire necklace thingy, meant to display large dinglebobs (see above). The ones I chose were rectangles of cobalt blue dichroic glass set in silver. (Dichroic glass is that iridescent stuff that looks like someone vitrified a peacock.) The Resident Male got an entire backpack full of various types of dried chili peppers - things that are hard to lay hands on here in this small corner of Massachusetts. He's much happier with something edible.

BoingBoing (my favorite souce of offbeat news) just posted this link to what they call a knitted 1950s era sitting room. Actually most of the decor examples shown in ABC Tasmania's article on this bit of unusual art are crocheted and not knit, but they're amusing none the less. ?

Posted in absentia. I'm off on a business trip, but left this behind.

A couple of people did write to say they would be interested in reading more about the symbols on the Lillehammer. Please bear in mind that this is just one person's interpretation. I may be reading more into the little bits than the designers intended. And I am not someone schooled in this stuff. This is just one Avid Reader's observations. Apologies if I've forgotten my Eddas and sagas, or have messed up the spellings.

Here's my Lillehammer:



Starting with Lozenge C, just because I like to skip around, we see Odin chief and father of the gods, and god of battle and honorable death. He is riding on his ultra-speedy, eight-legged horse Slepnir (the extra legs are implied by the zig-zags). He carries his customary spear Gungnir (hard to see, but I think it's here because he's holding something long and thin in his hand) and has a raven following him. (More on Odin's ravens below). I think he's shown in profile because Odin has one eye (more on that below, too). The flower shapes might be an obscure reference to poetry (flowering words), as he was the source of bardic poetry and runic writing; and was the special protector of bards and poets.

Slepnir has a nifty parentage of his own, involving Loki masquerading as a mare to distract the dray stallion of a giant (the adversaries of the gods), to get him to default on a building deadline. The trick worked, the giant was unable to complete his project and received the penalty specified in the bargain, but Loki (a male god) was too tempting to the stallion, and ended up with foal.

Lozenge B carries Yggrdasil or Hoddmimir, the world tree. It's a giant ash tree, most often described as white and covered with flowers. It grows from three roots in springs of knowledge, while its top shades all nine worlds, including Asgard (home of the gods), Midgard (where people live), Jotunheim (where the giants live) and Niflheim (the underworld). One of the roots was in the spring of Mimir. Mimir was an all-knowing god, whose head (some say skull) was thrown in the spring after he was beheaded. His knowledge though wasn't lost, and some of it could be obtained by drinking from his spring. I see Mimir's head in the ovoid object at the tree's base.

On Yggdrasil are flowers that drip a honey-dew of inspiration, and are the ultimate source of all bees' honey (and the exaltation that comes from drinking mead - a fermented honey-wine). Odin's two ravens, Huginn and Munin perch on its branches. These two birds overfly the earth every day, observing everything and whispering that information back to Odin every night.

Odin is also closely associated with Yggdrasil because he sacrificed part of himself to obtain knowledge from the springs that feed the tree. In some tales he allows a raven sitting on the Yggdrasil to peck out one eye in exchange for a sip from Mimir's spring. In others he hangs for nine days on the tree, transfixed to it by his own spear. During this ordeal he learns nine songs of power and the basic runes.

Lozenge A holds Freya, wife of Odin, and foremost female deity of the pantheon. Freya is a fertility goddess and wards agriculture and birth. I'm kind of stumped by the creature she's riding because Freya's mount was Hildesvini - a former lover disguised as a fierce boar. Either that or she got pulled around in a cart drawn by cats. The thing she's riding on is way too long-legged to be a big pig. But the pattern calls out this motif set as being her, so I'll try to find more in it. Freya did have the ability to transform herself into a bird by use of a magic cloak of bird feathers. She does have a large flat thing in her lap (perhaps the cloak); and there are birds around her. Perhaps the strange shapes at her mount's feet are supposed to be cats as well. Her palace of Folkvang is supposed to be flower-strewn, so perhaps that's a big flower below the cats. The royal crown above her is not uncommon on Norwegian embroideries, and so might signify her queenship over the gods.

Lozenge D and the partials up along the neck/shoulder line and sleeve tops all carry the same sort of organic growing thing. To me they look like fruit. The most famous fruit in this cycle of tales would be the apples of Idun. Idun was the goddess of youth, married to the Bragi, whose special charge was poetry. She kept a tree and stock of golden apples, which the gods ate to stay eternally youthful. Idun was once captured by a giant, and without her apples the gods aged quite quickly. There's a whole cycle of stories about the quest mounted to get Idun and her apples back.

That's about all the figural elements I can pick out from the design. The rest is just generally decorative. I do however particularly like the use of the close color banding at the top and edges. It looks reminiscent of tablet weaving, in a geometric that wouldn't be inappropriate for before 1000AD. Likewise with the lozenge framing mechanism and brocade-like voided and filled dots. That's not to say that knitting of this type was done back then (it wasn't); but the style of the ornament on this sweater echoes weavings and textile decorative composition of a time when worship of these deities was widespread.

If you want to read more about Norse mythology, there's always the public library - that wonderful resource in your own back yard. On line there's also the Prose and Poetic Eddas, translations of which are both available on-line.

51 days, and eight increasingly irate telephone calls later I finally am typing this on my base station machine using my replacement monitor from Samsung. UPS brought it yesterday morning.

Then they came back at 4:30 and brought another. Apparently one was shipped last week, but Samsung neglected to send it second-day air as agreed; and forgot to note that one had been shipped out at all. So when I called on Monday they sent another because they had no record of anything being sent since mid January, when they shipped two monitors sequentially to different wrong addresses. I refused Box #2.

The saga isn't over yet. There is supposed to be special return paperwork and labels included in the replacement's box. I need those to ship back the broken unit. Without those tracking numbers, I run the risk of my return not being logged in and my credit card being dunned for the full cost of the replacement unit. Call #9 looms....

On the knitting front, the socks progress. I may have to defer start on the hoodie for at least a week because of a very welcome business trip. Welcome because it's always nice to earn income, and because it is to a much warmer part of the country. Somehow I don't feel so bad leaving family home to freeze in Massachusetts if I bring back a paycheck from the sunny Southwest.

Favorite Patterns

Still, this starting off on another project and considering Rogue is making me think of my all-time favorite (boughten) patterns. I'm trying to distill what made them so much fun, as they range all over the spectrum, from stranded colorwork to fine lace. Some were easy, some were more challenging. Not every one was flawless, either in write-up or in my final excecution. And I can't even say that I'd knit any of them again (been there, done that...).

I've mentioned the lace patterns before -? most notably Hazel Carter's Spider Queen, and Fania Letoutchaia's Forest Path Stole. I've also done the Tudor Rose pattern from Kinzel II, although it's sitting on the needles in my Chest of Knitting Horrors^tm, waiting for me to find enough of the right weight cotton to do a final round of leaves and an edging. All were scads of fun. Each inch was an accomplishment, and I loved seeing the complexity build.

Watching the complexity accumulate was also key to my enjoyment of Dale's Lilliehammer pullover. (Here's a link to Wendy's fantastic implementation of that pattern. I'll dig mine out for photos another day). I also had lots of fun with the mythology behind the figures on it. Not everyone can say they've knit a sweater with an eight-legged horse, a giant's skull, and the apples of immortality on it. (If anyone's interested, I'll do a myth dissection of this piece on another day).

I've also written here about the Ridged Raglan from Knitters #54 (Spring, 1999). I've done three of them to date - one of the few patterns I've knit more than once. It wasn't complexity this time that drew me in, but the clever construction method held my interest. I never used the color combos, yarns, gauge, or number of colors shown in the mag, so perhaps a bit of "let's see how this turns out" was in my enjoyment mix.

Other sources of particularly noteworthy patterns in clude Penny Straker: Inverness and this Blackberry Jacket. I show this picture because I can't find it anywhere else on the Web. It may well be discontinued. While I don't have the sweater anymore, I do have lots of fond memories of it. Blackberry was my first knit project, and I did it in raspberry-color Germantown wool worsted (very much like Cascade 220), and finished it out with black leather knot style buttons. I picked this pattern because I thought that the bumpy texture of the trinity stitch would disguise any irregularity of my own knitting. It did.




That first project took about three months to complete. I was knitting solo, with occasional over the shoulder help from a friend. I figured out stuff like "make left side to match, reversing shaping", seaming the textured pieces, making/seaming the spread collar, and buttonhole formation/placement on my own, and the sense of accomplishment at having done so was so intense I can still feel it today. Alas, this particular piece is long gone. I think I might have lent it to a sister, years ago. Too bad.

My Blackberry Jacket's biggest legacy is my belief that so long as you don't tell? new knitters that something is difficult they will buzz away happily confident that it is within their ability. Yes, there are things that might take longer to work through than others, and materials that drive even experienced knitters stark raving mad,? but I think that a keen desire to make something specific trumps most challenges, especially for people as stubborn as I am.

I've wandered a bit away from the original premise of this entry - what makes a pattern fun, but not very far as I think about it.

What makes a pattern fun is the sense of accomplishment, of surmounting challenges, and watching something build under my fingers. The commercial patterns I've enjoyed the most have all been challenging, either through internal complexity or complexity imposed by making changes or taking side explorations in an unconventional piece. This has remained true throughout my knitting life, starting with the very first piece.