Etherknitter

Single minded determination

I blasted through four ounces of South African Fine, which wasn't.  This was a difficult spin.  More than a year later, I rememeber the impossibility of getting clean drafting, then finding curlycues just short of corkscrews:  the hallmark of overspun singles.  While I was plying (again with the two-ply), I could feel the curly bits pass through my fingers, and knew the yarn would be an unhappy yarn. Getting it DONE was a reasonable goal, and it is now done.  Singles below.  (My typo, which I should not have corrected, said "singles blow".  Yeah.) But of course Typepad put them above.  

I moved on to what I think is Enchanted Knoll Polwarth/silk, 4 ounces on one bobbin.  I decided to break my own rule, make the yarn vomit center pull ball, and pray.  When I took it off the yarn winder, magic had appeared.  It was a perfect gradient.

The braid had not presented itself as a gradient.  I had not worked to spin it as one.  Now I own a dilemma.  I want to keep the colors together.  If I do an N-ply, I will have no useful yardage.  If I do a two ply, I will have confused ungradiented marl.  And I did not plan the twist for a single.  I actually, even at this late spinning date, do not even KNOW how to plan the twist for a single.  I am not in the habit of framing my yarn for continued admiration.  A decision must be made, and I did.  It will be somehow used as a single.  Mr. E suggested using it to weave something.  No. Not enough for warp, and using it as weft will not do it justice.  I am thinking of Reverse Psychology.  The pattern has a lot of ribbing in it, which initially served as a reason to not queue it.  But the pattern will do justice to a gradient, and the shape of the shawl may even forgive the potential biasing of the random singles yarn.  

The yarn is heavy lace to light fingering, so it may not work.  But it is probably worth a try.

And I get to move on to a fifth set of bobbins.  

 

A Day Late and a Bobbin Short

The Tour de Fleece started on July the One.  My Tour started on July the Second.  Imagine completely missing the first whatever it is (time trial?) because you made assumptions about when/where/what.  Your team would lynch you.

I didn't have to give much thought, way back in June, for what my Tour would be.  I have bobbin after bobbin sitting around gathering dust.  Literally, alas.  I set up the wheel with the biggest flyer for the best view of the yard and birds.  

It is embarrassing to have to tell you that I have no idea what I am plying.  It is red.  It has browns and beiges in it.  My guess was BFL.  Thank goodness I had notes to consult.  Wool Peddler, yes, BFL.  Colorway Berry Bark.  I remember buying this, and being extremely proud that it wasn't blue.  Eight ounces, and my notes say worsted short draw for a 2 ply.  I am amused by these notes.  I finished plying it (pictures at the end of the Tour, most likely), started on the next 2 ply and saw that the bobbin compacted much less in this second yarn.  So, indeed, evidence suggests that the red/brown is worsted spinning.  (Now I have to figure out how to get the eight ounces of the woolen spinning to fit on the bobbin so I don't have a 6 ounce skein and a 2 ounce skein.  But I am getting ahead of myself.)

I haven't counted the exact number of bobbins.  Too depressing.  I doubt I will get through the entire whack.  I ply every day, with clearly one day off at the beginning.  It took me three days to ply eight ounces, so that means 7 groups of three days  x 8 ounces = 56 ounces, or perhaps something like seven yarns.  It will be more than that, because I see some 3 and 4 ounce bobbin fills.  Those will need to be divided (more time consuming) but since there is less to ply, perhaps it will all even out in the schedule.  (Briefly considered making a center pull ball out of the singles, but it is not my favorite form for plying. Too much yarn vomit.)

The bobbin shot, on the Kate, with computer cord running underneath, because, after all, who single-tasks these days?  I am watching Man in the High Castle and not sure I am loving it all that much:

Meaning

Two wine friends have died in the past month.  One was old.  He was 79.  One was young.  He was 52.  Both were heart deaths.

I sat in the synagogue today for the younger man's memorial service.  My wine boys collected beside me, one or two at a time.  

The temple was beautiful.  Wood, soaring spaces, clean lines.  Most synagogues end up as an afterthought on some piece of otherwise undesirable land.  Jews, as they always have, make the most of what they have.  The building's back was immediately against the hill in the lot.  A tall, narrow window showed winter hillside ascending at a steep angle: trees that somehow managed to grasp hold, dead leaves, sky at the top.  If you had tried to climb it, you would not have been able to do it without equipment.

The inside of the temple soared.  Twenty feet?  Thirty?  That metaphor for G-d and heaven spans most religions. The metaphor holds true as one thinks about the human spirit that soars, both in life, and in death. 

(Why is heaven thought to be UP and hell is DOWN?) 

There was a time when I contemplated legacy. Beethoven, Shakespeare, Lincoln, Michelangelo are remembered for centuries.  There is nothing that ordinary mortals like me can do to match their achievements.  For a time, I was disconsolate that I would not be remembered as they have been.  So one gets used to the idea that one's influence is only local.  The rabbi says, of course, that no one takes anything with them when they die.  The powerful message: that what you do while you live is what you leave behind, and how you are remembered.  The tools for that are simple.  

Your days are your tools.  Treasure and cherish each day.  It sounds trite.  But it is all we have. 

Spa 2017

The winterly gathering of fiber people happens at the end of February.  Freeport opens its chilly arms and hugs us for three days.  I have only stayed at the Hilton.  There can be no better welcome than their excellent customer service, unflagging good spirits, and customized welcome letter.  

The usual suspects gathered.  I knit.  I laughed.  I ate.  I admired hand knits.

Most of my s0-called damage happened at Ball and Skein, Judy's booth.  The purchases were, indeed, project driven.  (I am about to cast on a cowl.)  In the admiring of hand knits category, one woman caught our attention when she came to cruise Judy's exquisite yarn offerings.

Hollyk was wearing an amazing, fashionable sweater that would fit anywhere in any season.  Of course, we inquired.  What pattern?  Of course, she devised the pattern 20 years ago, and had never written it down.  She mused that might be a nice thing to do, since she was now designing and publishing patterns.  

As both a shout-out, and an encouragement to get that pattern up on Ravelry, because both Judy and I want to knit that sweater, I bring Hollyk to the blog!  She is holding this pattern.

 Spa always passes far too quickly.

We are hunkering down at home today.  There is a corned beef, pot roast to be made, wine to be chosen, and a generator on stand-by.  I have shovels, salt, and a snowblower.

One of my colleagues asked me last night if I was ready for the storm.  My list (above) also included that as long as a tree didn't fall on my house, we would be fine.  He thought the bar was set low enough that I had an excellent chance to be happy.  And I said, "Yes.  I like snow."

Maybe I am becoming less superstitious.

Irish Braid Hat

This is typical Etherknitter.

1.  Knit the bottom band for this lovely hat, the Irish Braid Hat.  Approximately four inches into this, wonder if I should have used a provisional cast-on.  Spend several days deciding if I wanted to rip it out to do so.  Finally said, naw, I can graft as instructed,  and figure this out when the time comes.
2.   Finish band, and realize several concurrent facts.  First, the instructions say, "graft".  (Gee, thanks.)  Second, the pattern is a knit-purl, obligatorily because of the cables.  Third, one of the ends is a cast-on row, and will never look the same as the knit-purl side.  So no way there would EVER be a seamless, invisible match unless my provisional cast on had mirrored the knit-purl stitch pattern.  This makes me happy that I did not rip out the work and do the provisional idea.
3.   Cruise the internet looking for good knit-purl grafting tips.  Collect several, and promptly lose them in my continuous, ever growing daily email stream.  Vow to collect them at some point.  (This has not happened yet.)
4.   Contemplate a three-needle bind-off.  Wonder about the resulting ridge, and if it would drive me nuts.  Consider another non-grafty, non three needley- technique that I cannot even recall for the blog.  
5.   Spend an entire year (four seasons) with the work sitting on the floor, collecting dust and stray hairs.  
6.   Realize that it took THAT LONG to decide that I could live with a hat that was supposed to be seamless, but would have a recognizable demarcation that I would have to always think about and put at the back of my head.
7.   Look at the two edges (a paltry 28 stitches each side), and decide that there were not enough purl stitches to be worth researching the knit-purlness of grafting. 
8.   Decide that a standard stockinette kitchener join would be just fine.
9.   Wonder why it took me a year to get here.  Then realize that the reason there will be closure is because I need a hat.
10.   Sit down, and pull up the grafting instructions on the computer.
11.   Wait until the weekend for presence of brain so that I can do the deed.
12.   Start the deed this morning, after tea, after coffee, after a good night's sleep.
13.   Get ten stitches into the work and realize, son a beech, I am grafting a mobius and not a band.
14.   Berate self for not paying enough attention.  Rip out the stitches.  Get back to the beginning.  Put it down.  Go do chores and shoulds.
15.   I will finish the band.  Really.  REALLY.

NaBloPoMo the Last 2016

There is more.  Today was the Stjerne warp. And plaited twill. Oh I love this plaited twill. Remembering which treadle comes next is a bear. The hivemind (Marcia) told me how it is done. She was right. I will spare you the details. 

I suppose blogging from my iPhone is like bamboo under fingernails, and then lit on fire. So the pictures will simply appear as the dead Steve Jobs wants them to appear. You will see a pillow. And some Stjerne (above)(black on orange). And the lovely plaited twill will have to follow another day  

If you cannot figure it out from here, there is little hope for you.   Because I cannot do any better with this technology and I am DONE  so there is little hope for me, too.

 

NaBloPoMo 28 2016

Today's weaving was easy compared to yesterday's triathlon. I woke up today feeling beaten over half my body. We in medicine call it the distracting injury:  you don't know how badly you hurt elsewhere because one part takes all your attention from the other hurts. (That elsewhere should never be ignored.)

Today was labeled cheerful fabric and it was.  I banged out a meter without much difficulty. 

The pillow I made from yesterday's fabric needs a form. I will wait to post it. 

 

NaBloPoMo #27

I awoke to rime-covered trees by a mirrored river.

And then there was frenetic weaving.

NaBloPoMo #26 2016

How does it know?  How can it tell?  My Thanksgiving cactus bloomed on Thanksgiving. 

And yes, wifi is weird you get a sideways iPhone picture no matter how I edit it and that is that. 

NaBloPoMo #24 2016

Early winter was heralded by the arrival of the juncos, kindred spirits who also  like it cold.  The landscape grows stark, sere.