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Mea Culpa

It's not that I haven't been writing (or knitting) but I'm having trouble balancing the demands of writing for a living and writing for three different blogs. The truth is I'm probably a natural one-blog-is-more-than-enough girl but somehow I've found myself committed to three of them. One is my non-knitting blog. One is the blog nine other authors and I launched a few weeks ago called Romancing The Yarn. And then there's this one.

I can't for the life of me decide what knitting chat should go here and what should go in RTY. I feel like I'm shortchanging this one when I ignore it. And I feel like I'm not holding up my part of the bargain if I shortchange RTY. I guess I'm going to have to start copying posts between the two in order to keep up.

Today's mail delivery was like a visit from Santa. Two of Lucy Neatby's brand new knitting DVDs arrived and I'm beside myself with anticipation. I've sworn I won't touch them until I finish the novella I'm writing but I'm not quite convinced my will power is up to the task. Dallas sent the Vogue Knitting on the Go Shawl book, the one with the gorgeous bright multi-color pinwheel delight on the cover. Be still my heart! She also tucked in two skeins of Regia Bamboo which boggles the mind much as Soy Silk does.

Oh, brave new world! Can you believe there was a time when the only yarn on my horizon was Red Heart?

Now I don't mean that as an insult. I remain a stalwart and devoted supporter of Red Heart. I've spent many happy hours working with their various yarns and think Baby Clouds is probably one of the most difficult washable yarns to crochet with on the planet. I've made a number of baby blankets with it and the comments, much after the fact, are always the same: "The baby cuddles with it all the time!" Isn't that the point? If the baby loves it, I am beyond delighted.

And have you felt the stuff? It is SOFT. Wonderfully soft. Washes and dries like a dream. And looks scrumptious all done up.

Yes, I love my Noro but my Heart will always be a little bit Red.

Barbara

REVIEW: Why You Need Wendy Knits (The Book)

There's good news and there's bad news.

The bad news? I'm not an impartial reviewer. I'll admit that right up front. I've been an avid reader of Wendy Knits (The Blog) for three years now and I had extremely high expectations for Wendy Knits (The Book.)

The good news? Wendy Knits (The Book) exceeds those expectations.
I thought writing this review would be a snap but to my surprise it's turned out to be a whole lot harder than I thought. What can you say about a book that works on every level? Not much, as it turns out, besides a loud and enthusiastic, "BUY THIS BOOK NOW!"

Wendy Johnson is an extraordinarily gifted knitter. Visit her blog and you'll see examples of lace work that are otherworldly in their beauty and perfection of form. She is also a gifted and talented designer. Flip through the pages of Wendy Knits (The Book) and you'll find patterns for everything from delightfully simple scarves to classic tank tops and pullovers to the wickedly intricate Grape Arbor Shawl.

But here's where Wendy separates herself from the other wonderful knitters out there: Wendy has the ability to explain the most complicated knitting maneuver in clear simple language that even a terrified beginner can understand. The patterns are well-thought out, beautifully written, error-free, and it that's not enough, she offers charts, too. What more can a girl ask for? I hope this is just the first in a long line of knitting books by Wendy Johnson. Wendy could easily do an entire book on the mysteries of knitting lace, another one on socks, maybe one on various Scandinavian techniques. The list is endless as is her talent. But I do have one complaint: if ever a book cried out for color photos and hardcover treatment, this is it.

Wendy Knits is truly one-stop shopping for beginning and experienced knitters alike. I was a Wendy fan before and I'm even more hopelessly devoted now. Spend a few minutes with this book, a pair of bamboo needles, and a skein of something luscious and you'll be hopelessly devoted too.

(And no, I'm not related to Wendy. I just know a great knitter when I see one.)

Barbara

My Self-Control Ends Today

I have a confession to make: it's been over one week since I picked up a pair of needles.

You see, I'm kind of an all-or-nothing kind of woman and that defect in my personality really comes to life when I'm knitting. When I start I can't stop. I'll knit until my arms fall off, my family starves, we run out of clean laundry, the bills go unpaid, my books don't get written, I run out of yarn. (Run out of yarn? Have you seen my stack? Can't happen.)

Anyway, I had revisions to finish on my March 2007 book and it was either find myself sucked into finishing the second Bulky Fixation sock or actually doing my work. Now I'm not particularly virtuous by nature but the Muse was on my shoulder for a change (I think she must've locked the Demon Internal Censor in the basement) and I knew what I had to do: hide the knitting and embrace the laptop.

So I did. The revisions are finished. Yes, I have another project in need of my full attention but right now, this afternoon, I need a knitting fix and I need it bad.

I make my living with words but I can't even come close to expressing the deep comfort, the thrill, the sheer encompassing delight I feel when I'm knitting. Is it the feel of the needles in my hands? The beauty of the yarns? The way a pattern engages mind and soul and body all at once?

I haven't a clue.

All I can say is I've missed it terribly this past week and am hereby cutting this post short: I have a sock to finish.


This is a big needle afghan I made for a close friend's new grandson last year -- Light & Lofty yarn on #17US; Light & Lofty crochet edging. Yes, it goes all the way around; I think I folded it in half to take the photo. Pattern from the book Big Needle Knit Afghans by Jeanne Stauffer.

VIP: Check for errata!




Barbara Bretton

Goldisox Rides Again: A Rant

I have nicknamed my beloved husband Goldisox. He isn't crazy about the nickname but even he has to admit it fits. This Search for the Perfect Fit is a bit like a dog chasing her tail except for the fact the dog has better odds of catching her tail than I have of ever ever making a sock that fits him perfectly.

Now I'm not saying anything I didn't say to him (and at extremely elevated decibel levels) but when a man with an 11" long foot says to begin the toe decreases at 11" so there will be lots and lots of "extra room" and you do exactly what the man says and measure out a 13" long foot (with a round toe because Goldisox says they're roomier than grafted toes) that even my limited math skills say provide 2" ease for wiggle room and shrinkage and he puts them on and says -- and I quote here verbatim -- "They fit but just barely," --- well, would you blame me if I strung him up by the Bulky Fixation and hung him outside to dry?

Here are some basic sock knitting truths:

1. You have to truly love someone to knit them plain black socks
2. You have to truly love someone to knit them plain black socks when they have big feet
3. You have to truly love someone to knit them plain black socks when they have big feet and a certifiably insane fear of having their toes restricted by said plain black socks that are infinitely more comfortable, roomier, and toe-friendly than any other skimpy, stretchy, nasty nylon sock he's ever owned.

I think I actually shrieked something like, "I'll never knit you another sock again as long as I live! Never! Never! Never!" but I can't swear to it.

The embarrassing thing? I cast on a new pair an hour later. I am going to knit the perfect fitting pair of socks if it kills me.

Or him.

Barbara

REVIEW: Cool Socks, Warm Feet - Lucy Neatby (book)

Cool Socks, Warm Feet by the brilliantly talented Lucy Neatby is the book that opened up the world of sock-knitting to me. As strange as this may sound, the layout and feel of the book broke down my defenses and calmed my raging sockophobia.

This book is spiralbound and that makes a surprising difference. When you're struggling with needles and yarn, you shouldn't have to struggle with the pages of your book as well. What a pleasure it is to flip to the page in question and have it lay flat. Sheer bliss. The book is beautifully laid out. The color photos are luscious. The directions are clear, direct, and easy to follow. The patterns are varied in style and experience level. The various design changes possible within a pattern are spread out before you like desserts at a buffet. Choose one! Choose all! Round toe? The directions are there. Kitchener? It's there. Wedge? Of course. And same goes for heels. There are cuff choices. Cast-on options. Cast-off methods I'd never heard of before.

And the Chimney Toe! You'll find great instructions for this innovative toe grafting method on Lucy's website.

Sock books used to intimidate me. The information might as well have been written in ancient Greek for all that I could understand what they were saying. Lucy makes the incomprehensible crystal clear. I began with her basic sock on page one and I instantly made the pattern my own. Now I'm not the kind of woman who writes in her books but I found myself scribbling notes in the margins, circling my size options, adding technical data for the changes I found myself making spontaneously and -- to my amazement -- with great success.

What can I say? Some books are simply perfect: the way they look, they way they smell, the way they sit in your hand, the way the photos leap out at you and practically dance on the table top. For me, this is one of those books. I don't know how she did it, but somehow Lucy Neatby reached out from those pages, squeezed my hand, and said, "You can do it! You can knit a pair of socks."

And she was right.

You can find Lucy at her Tradewind Knits website.

But beware. Once you start knitting socks, there's no turning back.

Barbara Bretton

(Originally post to Romancing The Yarn)

So What's Stopping Me?

That's the Katia Razor Shell pattern from Tara Jon Manning's Mindful Knitting and I don't know why I'm so afraid to cast on properly and actually knit it.

I grabbed some Debbie Bliss I had lying around, cast on, and swatched a few inches of the pattern just to see what it looked like, how it felt. I loved it. Actually I loved everything about it.

So would you tell me why I haven't done anything with it? I have some gorgeous creamy white Alpaca that would work beautifully in this pattern and I don't know anything about it. For some reason I'm intimidated by this pattern and I can't seem to push past it.

Barbara

The Other Blue Sweater

See that blue sweater? The photograph is less than a year old. The sweater itself is 36.

I know. I can't believe it either. I was married a little over a year when I made it. The Air Force had sent my husband off to Southeast Asia for eighteen months and I was back home in my parents' apartment in Queens.

What else could I do but turn to needlework?

Actually needlework has always been my comfort and refuge. I don't know how people who don't embrace the needle arts get through life with their sanity intact.

The sweater was made during the summer of 1970 from a pattern I found in the late and deeply lamented McCall's Needlework Arts and Crafts, a huge oversized magazine (the way magazines were in thsoe days) filled with dreams. The pattern was for a man's crocheted tennis sweater in crisp white yarn with navy trim. The model was an impossibly preppy looking fellow who clearly didn't have a worry in his whole college-bound, draft-exempt world. I hated him on sight.

But I loved the sweater and decided it was just the thing for my sergeant husband to wear in 100 degree/100% humidity summer days on The Rock.

Clearly I was crazy at the time but I went to Ackerman's on Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, bought the only yarn I could afford, then sat down and crocheted myself a sweater to keep him safe.

I guess it worked. I still have the man and he still has the sweater. Can't ask for more than that.

Barbara

Everything But Time

Right now I have everything I need but time. I'm determined to finish the fourth "snuggles" blanket for Rebekah's drive before the day is over. The plan is to mail them out tomorrow with some Lorna's Laces to use as a prize. That way even if I don't manage to do the two more I'd originally planned, everything else will be on the way before the deadline.

It's not perfect but it's something.

I also have the KnitPicks Options needles sitting here staring up at me, begging to be used. And a HiyaHiya circ demanding attention. And the second Fixation Bulky sock which has been ignored for days. And the 873 balls of sock yarn looking to be transformed into something wearable. And the Lopi in the basement . . . and the Denim Silk upstairs in my office . . . and the Schachenmayer Only Stretch all over the place . . . and the Noro Implessions that nobody but me seems to have ever heard of . . . and that's just for starters.

Are you wondering about that Blue Blob up in the lefthand corner of this page? That's the Notorious Phentex Sweater which I believe might be New Jersey's oldest (and yes I've had it carbon-dated) UFO. I began it in North Babylon on Long Island in April 1986 and it is now July 2006 here in central New Jersey and it is still unfinished.

I mean, can you blame me? Do you see that monstrosity? What was I thinking? Okay, so I couldn't afford anything terrific when it came to yarn but did I really believe my husband would ever wear that color? And why, since I'm asking unanswerable questions, did I choose that color when sixteen years earlier he showed great reluctance about wearing another sweater (that one crocheted) in the same mind-blowing shade of blue. Really, there are times when I think I must have a Knitter's Death Wish.

Barbara

Withdrawal Symptoms

I exhibited amazing restraint yesterday and refrained from casting on a new pair of socks. I didn't even pick up the Bulky Fixation rope socks (I swear you could use it to tie down the Queen Mary.) The only thing needleworthy that I accomplished was a few inches on a pet blanket for Rebekah's very worthy shelter dog/cat endeavor.

The good thing is that I'm getting some writing done. The bad thing is it's cutting into my knitting time!



See that white sock? That was my second foray into the World of Fixation. #1US Addi Turbos, plain pattern, unbelievably durable. We've been tossing them into the washing machine and then the dryer (yes, the dryer) and except for some shrinkage, they've survived their first year. I've decided to eliminate the dryer from the equation and purchased some sock blockers from Elann (yes, Elann) and right now they're hanging in the doorway to the dining room like bizarre fiber wind chimes.

The Queen of Decorating, I'm not.

Elann: an occasion of sin

If I had any will power at all, I would eliminate all links to Elann from my computer and then have my own personal memory bank erased.

A box of goodies arrived a few minutes ago and I'm practically dizzy with delight. They had Fortissima Colori on sale last week and I did major damage to my bank account. What is it with sock yarn anyway? Why is it so irresistible? I ordered Step (the lanolin-infused sock yarn) from the Patternworks catalogue and would basically like to roll around on it for a few years before I get around to knitting with it. It is pure sensory delight. I can only imagine how wonderful the socks will be. (Again, no credit due to yours truly. Once again the sock yarn provides its own magic.)

Spiral socks are probably among the most basic of socks out there, but I found doing the After Bertha spiral sock from Socks Socks Socks to be absolutely fascinating. The fact that I lucked into exactly the right yarn for it didn't hurt matters either: Regia 4 Fadig in Cacao, a beautiful blend of medium cocoa and that pure slightly earthy blue that works so surprisingly well with cocoas and pure browns.

Stats: 66 stitches; Addi Turbos #1US; worked 3K3P pattern that takes a step over every fourth row. Couldn't be simpler. I did a round toe (embarrassingly simple but very pleasing aesthetically), wove in the ends, and I was done. They were a birthday present for Sandra and once again I'm reminded of how deep the connection is whenever I make something for someone I love. I'm probably the least Zen-like woman you'll ever meet but there is a mindfulness to the process when you're knitting something for someone you love, a focus of concentration that eludes me far too often in real (read: non-knitting) life.

Barbara
wickedsplitty@earthlink.net

Five and You're Out

Five blog posts and I vanished. That must be a new record for Bad Blogging. I'll spare you my work woes, computer fiascoes, and the generally chaotic nature of my life these last twelve months and focus on the one thing that's kept me sane: fishing.

Sorry. I couldn't resist.

Knitting. Of course, I meant knitting.

Currently on the needles: Fixation Bulky socks (black; how dull) for my husband Goldisox, he of the "they're too tight" refrain. I have templates of his feet. I have measurements. (I'm tempted to take a plaster cast of his feet a la 1970s era rock groupies and other appendages.) I follow his instructions to the letter, even when my needles threaten to stage a mutiny. He wants 'em an inch longer than they should be, I give 'em to him. They're still not long enough. Let me tell you there is nothing worse than knitting plain black socks and then finding out (post-grafting) that despite fittings and measurings and revamping they're still TOO TIGHT.

I may be forced to knit him something daring (like black and grey Regia) and put him in his place.

Last year Sandra sent me a truly world-class birthday gift: Fortissima Colori sock yarn. I was still in my Fear of Socking phase and circled that gorgeous yarn for months, afraid I would be able to do it justice.

Well, practice really does make improved (if not perfect) and in the upper lefthand corner (for your viewing pleasure) you'll find my gorgeous socks. I claim no credit for their gorgeousness. The yarn did all the work. I just went along for the ride.

Quick stats: Magic Loop. 40" Addi Turbos US #1. 56 stitches. K2P2 ribbing.

Rotten Week

Words fail me and that's probably a good thing when it comes to this week. I'll spare you the miserable details and simply say that today was the first time since Sunday that I managed to sit down and pick up the needles. I only managed an inch on Sock #2 but it felt like more. Actually it felt like very necessary therapy. I need something mindless right now (and what's better than the long march toward the toe on a man's sock) to take the mind I'm trying to lose away from the problems gathering here like storm clouds.

(Do the words "eminent domain" mean anything to you?)

I managed to make a hash of picking up the gusset stitches. Well, not exactly a hash because all I had to do was slip the stitches off the needle then back on again but I know there must be a way to do it correctly the first time but I, in my spatially dyslexic haze, can't seem to retain the knowledge. I'm working with one 40" Addi Turbo circ and ended up with the working needle in front instead of in back. Imagine lots of slipping and rearranging and you'll have an idea of how I solved the problem but I'll admit here it still doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. Some of the books I consulted recommend breaking out the double points to get the gussets going but I rebel at the thought of needing a "crutch" like dpns. (Then again I'm the idiot who thought using stitch markers was a sign that I was an inferior knitter. I honestly thought that a "real" knitter kept all bits and pieces of stitch/row/pattern information in her brain and never ever relied on stitch markers, stitch counters, row counters, pen and paper, to keep track.)

Talk about stupid.

Anyway, the sock is rolling along and I'd love to be done with it by the end of the weekend so I can move on to something else. There are some new babies on the horizon and I'd be thrilled to get a head start. I've been dying to use some red speckled Wildflower DK for baby socks; now I have an excuse.

D sent me a box of fabulous knitted goods for me to inspect. We do that sometimes. It's like a long distance Stitch 'n' Bitch. (We live on opposite coasts.) She's a gift needlewoman and this gives me a chance to sit and carefully inspect the construction and admire the workmanship. She sent a Pi shawl, a fabulous single sock with contrasting toe and heel, Branching Out, another lacy shawl whose official name escapes me, and a multidirectional scarf in Noro Silk Garden that's to die for. I fully intend to take photos and post them. (I just wish I could claim that I knitted them.)



Those socks over there? Seabury, knitted with Noro Kureyon almost two years ago. My very first socks . . . and almost my last. They wore through the sole in one week. Yes, one week. I wore them on our ceramic-tiled kitchen floor and I think the rough grout chewed right through the soft and tender wool. Lesson learned. Felted they might have survived but unfelted they didn't have a chance. But, oh, they were lovely while they lasted.

Magic

One of the things I loved most about painting (both in watercolor and in oil) was the magic process of blending colors. Oh, I know there really isn't any magic involved. It's actually a very logical process. Red + Blue = Purple. Blue + Yellow = Green. Sure, there are a thousand variations within the formula but the principle remains the same.

When I started knitting again in August 2003 I greatly missed the fun of setting out daubs of paint on a palette and seeing what I could make with them. It never occurred to me that the same kind of magic could be found with yarn. I mean, yarn is . . . well, it's yarn. It isn't liquid. It can't lose itself in another liquid and become transformed.

Or can it? I picked some beautiful pink mohair and some equally beautiful orchid mohair from my stash. I knitted a small swatch of pink just to see how it handled. (A knitterly test drive, as it were.) I knitted a small swatch of orchid. To be honest, I wasn't particularly overwhelmed by either one. But when I took a strand of each and knitted both of them together -- Wow! They blended together into something brand new and gorgeous. The fuzzy bits of each color collided together and locked like Velcro and I was enchanted.

I know it sounds simple. Ridiculous, even. But it's part of the knitting journey I seem to be on this time. I would never have tried that years ago. I saw yarns as separate entities destined for separate fates. I didn't use dpns or circs. I never ripped back. And I lived in terror of dropped stitches.

And yet I sailed off into Fair Isle land when I was 17 without a care in the world and had no trouble at all. Go figure. Nobody told me it could be problematic and it wasn't. I can still see the front of that ski sweater in my mind's eye: Red Heart when it was 100% wool. (The year was 1967.) Midnight Blue, Yale Blue, White, and another blue whose name escapes me. An intricate band of snowflakes across the chest that seemed to spring from the tips of my needles effortlessly.

Oh to be that young and fearless again!

Barbara

Hammerhead Sock #2 - progress report

I'm maybe two inches beyond where I was when I took this photo last night. I'm rationing my knitting time in an attempt to keep the addiction under control. (That and the fact that I don't have a two-scarf contract with my publisher.) Tomorrow should be heel flap and heel itself. Monday gussets and launching myself down the foot.

Unless my will power fails me utterly and I make it to the foot tomorrow.

The body of the sock is #2 Addi Turbos; Cascade Fixation yarn. It's actually in a charcoal grey/lighter grey mix. For some reason it looks almost teal on my screen.

Believe me, R wouldn't wear variegated teal socks, hammerhead toe or no hammerhead toe.

Barbara

The Argyle Sock

There are many reasons why I wish I could talk to my mother one more time. Every day I find myself wishing I could pick up the phone and share some silly piece of gossip or get her take on what's happening in this fractured world of ours. Lately, however, I've been wishing I could sit down with her and talk about The Argyle Sock.

I found the sock in her tiny sewing basket a few months after she died. The sock is perfect. I remember sitting on the edge of the bedand peering at the stitches through my tears. The construction of it was beyond me. All of those tiny stitches. Those toothpick-tiny double points. Little bobbins of thread-thin yarn. And the instruction booklet circa 1952! What treasures. The sock represented magic to me. A home kind of magic which is really the only kind that's important. Why hadn't I ever asked her to teach me how to use double points? Why did she drop sock-knitting? My father was just a few weeks away from his own end at that point and all he could remember was that he loved the homemade socks and wore out pair after pair of argyles. He seemed to remember commenting that the spots where she darned the heels gave him blisters and she tossed a ball of yarn in his general direction and quit sock-knitting then and there.

It wasn't until I ventured back into knitting in August 2003 that I began to look at The Argyle Sock with a critical--and more knowledgeable--eye. The cuff was done flat! Who knew? The red diagonal line was duplicate stitch! Wow! How did I miss that first time around? The rest is clearly circular knitting. What even stitches she created. I couldn't find a slip or mistake anywhere.

I always was awed by my mother's knitting, both her approach to it and the finished results. She wasn't a slave to patterns. If an improvement or design change occurred to her she gave it a shot. If it didn't work she ripped back and started all over again. No angst. No fears. (Meaning, not at all like her hyper daughter who lived in fear of public knitting humiliation.) I remember most clearly the gorgeous aran fisherman's cardigan she made for me when I was maybe nine or ten. It took her all summer and was ready to wear on the first day of school. I loved it so much I wore it despite the 80 degree weather that day! A big gorgeous ivory colored sweater with front patch pockets and bone buttons. I loved it more than any other article of clothing before or since and even incorporated it into some of my books along the way. (I guess that was my way of holding onto it even though it's long gone.)

The funny thing is I'm not sure I ever told her, really told her, how much I loved that sweater she made for me. She read the books with the references in them. She knew that I held every single item she ever knitted or crocheted or embroidered or hooked for me in the highest esteem. But did I ever tell her how I felt about that sweater? Did I ever tell her that I can still see it in front of me, feel the stitches beneath my fingers, all these years later?

I hope so.

A Change of Pace

I finished the ribbing on Hammerhead Sock #2. I incorporated the same design error I made on Sock #1 (why not be consistently wrong, right?) but shifted to #1 Addi Turbos for the balance of the ribbing and it did make a difference. I prefer the tighter, springier fabric that #1s and Fixation create.

One of the things that's puzzling me is how to handle the gussets in the Magic Loop technique. I managed on Sock #1 but not without a bit of trial and error. The worsted sock in the Magic Loop booklet uses an interesting technique after the heel is turned--slip 8 or 9 stitches onto a needle until you reach the start of the working yarn (which was one of the problems I faced with the Hammerhead; I solved it by incorporating a double point for a round) then continuing. It worked beautifully but I would have to make sense of the proportions used on 48 stitches and adapt them to 56 or 64. Right now grafting a toe is about as much as this brain can handle.



That's the first Broad Ripple Sock in its early stages. I was thrilled beyond all description with it. A Pulitzer Prize couldn't have made me happier than watching that sock evolve and grow.

I never thought the Sock Bug would bite me but it did.

This was my very first attempt at Magic Loop socks: the toe-up baby socks from the booklet.



Toe-up is fantastic. Just hold your breath and concentrate during the cast-on and first row; once you do that, the rest is clear sailing.

Spoken like I actually know what I'm doing!

Barbara

The Hammerhead Sock

I had no idea that knitting a sock could lead to discussions worthy of the SALT Talks but it has. The truth is, until I started knitting I never paid all that much attention to my socks or anybody else's socks for that matter. A sock is a sock is a sock . . . until it's a sock that you're knitting and suddenly you're faced with more serious top level decisions than you've ever faced in your life.

Actually I should amend that statement. I made myself a pair of Broad Ripple Socks last month and followed Rob's directions in Knitty to the letter. The socks are a delight and I'm thrilled with them. Did I angst about the toe? No, I didn't. Did I worry about the elasticity of the cuff? No, I didn't. But that all changed when R expressed an interest in a pair of handknit socks. You sit down to make a pair of socks for the man you love and suddenly--after more than thirty years of marriage--you find yourself learning things about him you not only didn't know about him, but things you wouldn't have believed he actually had formed an opinion on. (Yes, I'm ending with a preposition.) Case in point: He doesn't like pointy-toed socks. A 16-stitch Kitchenered sock is his idea of toe prison. Who knew? We settled on a 36-stitch wide toe. The thought of Kitchenering 36 stitches (18 pairs) sent a chill down my spine but I locked myself in another room, lit a candle, and got down to it.

The Kitchenering went fine. The sock fits. He loves it. But that toe! Good grief, that toe looks like a hammerhead shark. I am deeply ashamed of that toe and am not looking forward to grafting another one just like it for Sock #2.

I know, I know. You're hearing the shark theme from Jaws right about now, aren't you?

So who wins when the comfort of the recipient is at odds with the asthetic sensibilities of the knitter?

The recipient every time.

I mean that's the point, isn't it? These socks are supposed to make him happy.

But somehow I don't think Hammerhead Shark Socks are going to catch on any time soon.

Barbara

The Cowardly Knitter

Maybe it was writing it down and seeing the words "I can't do it" glaring out at me from the screen. Whatever it was, something came over me around two o'clock this afternoon and I gathered up the Fixation sock, a crochet hook, some tiny #1 Crystal Palace dpns, and sat down on the sofa in the living room, in the bright natural light, and set about dismantling The Sock.

Have you ever tried unraveling Kitchenered stitches? Yikes. It's a trip and a half. Dark stitches are a major pain to begin with but dark grafted stitches will have you pulling out your hair in short order. But I stuck with it and then began ripping back to just before I started the toe decreases.

And that's when the fun started. Stitches from #2 needles are tiny. Very tiny. And disobedient. They shifted, turned, practically somersaulted under the rows beneath them in order to escape me. I didn't worry about stitch orientation. That's easy enough to correct when you're knitting. (Bless Annie Modesitt for giving a name--Combination Knitting--to what I do.) The idea was to get the damned things on the needles and worry about the niceties later.

So first I gathered them up haphazardly on the dpns then whipped out the camera to capture this glorious moment in my knitting history.



Then it was time to get serious. I pulled out my Addi Turbo #2/40" and started slipping the stitches purlwise onto the needle. That, to my relief, was problem-free.

One hour and ten minutes after I began picking apart my lovingly grafted toe, I was back in business. I knitted a round, readjusting stitch orientation as I went, picking up the two dropped stitches I discovered along the way, and found myself back miraculously where I had left off last night when I began decreasing for the toe two inches sooner than I should have!

The photo on the right is after that first re-establishing row:

I think I'm now at the point where I should begin decreasing for the toe but I'm not going to do one single SSK or K2Tog until R tries The Sock on again.

So today I made my knitterly bones. I did something I believed was far beyond my capabilities and it actually worked. (Did I mention that in my past life as a knitter ripping back was against my religion?) Looking back I think I was your basic Knitting Coward. I lived in fear of dropped stitches or counting errors because either could mean the waste of weeks of hard work and effort. One dropped stitch and an entire sweater was ruined forever because I didn't have either the guts or the skills to step back, re-evaluate, and repair.

Yarn is forgiving. Knitting is forgiving. (Okay, maybe lace knitting isn't forgiving but that's something else again.) Why shouldn't the knitter be forgiving too? To paraphrase The Beatles, "There's nothing you can do that can't be undone." And redone better.

Now onto the toe decreases, Part Deux.

Barbara

The Prototype

I measured. I calculated. I made a template. I checked. I double-checked. I made him try it on at six separate intervals during the construction.

It doesn't fit.

Can you believe it? After all of that, all of my uncharacteristically careful planning, the stupid foot is too short by about an inch. And the toe is too pointy. And the leg is too short . . . the same leg that was exactly the right length before I finished and closed the toe.

I'm trying to stay sanguine about this but the truth is I'm this close to a major crying jag. Ridiculous, isn't it, to invest so much emotional energy into a Fixation sock but there you have it. I have been completely obsessed with that sock for the past seven days. The closer I got to shaping the toe, the more excited I became -- almost like a kid on Christmas Eve listening for the sound of reindeer hooves on the roof. Clearly I screwed up some place along the way but I'm not sure how or where.

So I'm going to suck it up, resume my game face, and cast on for sock #1A and hope for better results. The good news, if there is any, is that I took careful notes during the process. I kept track of stitch counts, row counts, everything. If I had the guts (not to mention the dexterity) I would de-Kitchener the toe and unravel back to the beginning of the toe decreases and add a little length but I just don't. I can't bear the thought of seeing those teeny tiny stitches leaping off the needle or, God forbid a million times, slithering their way up the sock and out of reach.

Tech Details: 1 ball of Cascade Fixation. Addi Turbos #3 and #2. (It's a long story.) 64 stitches. I probably should have used #1 for the cuff and, to be honest, I'm not that crazy about 1/1 ribbing. 2/2 looks a lot better.

Onward.

Barbara