sockalicious!

Okay, it might seem like I've been idle, as it has been forever since my last posting, but it's only because I've been knitting gifts galore and can't post the images online. But here is a photo of my first, self-designed project: a sock for my husband--



Actually, the cable pattern is taken from Maria Parry-Jones' Knitting Stitch Bible--the Oxo Ripple Cable. Here's a close-up:



--but I designed the sock myself. The yarn is Zitron's Trekking XXL color #182, which I love. It changes color as the day does, and is a very soft yarn.

I love knitting socks, making a three-dimensional object out of a string. But I wish it would go faster! Lovely Husband has a cold, and outside is all bluster and winter show. He needs those socks now!

Finally: The Lorelei!

After much ado, my Lorelei is now complete, and I'm pretty happy with it. This is my second "sweater", or at least full article of clothing, to knit, and while I had a little trouble with it (see previous post), the directions were remarkably clear. Thanks, Shobhana!

I substituted yarn for this project. At Christmas my mother gave me a ball of Feza Alp, color #019, and I wanted to find a project in which to use it, so I chose Lorelei. And then, because the Alp is a "novelty yarn", I wanted to pair it with another novelty, so I chose Kollage's Cornucopia in wine (5 skeins). Cornucopia is a funny yarn to knit with. When I washed it, the colors didn't run, and there was no fading, but when I was knitting, the yarn turned my needle tips and stitch counter pink, and when I was crocheting with it, my fingernail turned pink. Weird. But I do like the yarn. It's stretchy, but not too stretchy, and quite light and airy to wear, perfect for hot weather. Also, I like the stitch definition. I don't think the Cornucopia looks quite as elegant as the silk, of course, but I think a tank top is a good project for such a yarn.

Some thoughts on the dreaded dropped stitch

Last night, I was in the process of finishing my Lorelei tank from Lisa Shobhana Mason’s Yarnplay, had only the front to finish, when what should happen but I should notice a bit in the armpit has unravelled. Stitches I had thought were bound off had suddenly come undone, and all those loops were now open and loose, gaping like the mouth in Munch’s Scream. Every attempt I made to finish it simply unravelled it more, until I realised (gulp!) that the only solution was to unravel it all back to a point where I could regather the stitches and begin again.

You can imagine the carnage: yards of kinked yarn all over the living room floor, the cats eyeing it with interest, my husband eyeing me to see when I’m going to explode, and all I’m thinking is: look at all those hours gone to waste. Every kink in that yarn is a breath, a gesture of my hands working in unison, the kinks formed in part by the oil passing from my hands into the fibers so that they will hold the shape I give them.

I just finished my first sweater in March of this year, and I can hardly stop wearing it. Not only did I make that sweater, but it is me: it is a record not just of my existence, of something I made, but of every breath I took during its construction. And that amazes me.