In Praise of Socks

Regular readers will know that I've been home sick for a few months after surgery.  I'm almost ready to return to uni now, thanks in part to the healing power of socks.

Okay, maybe the socks didn't actually speed up the healing, but there's something inherently soothing about knitting a pair of socks.  At the moment I'm knitting a pair of stripey red socks in Zauberball from Schoppel Wolle for the lovely Sue.

Knitting socks for someone is a labour of love.  A fine pair of socks has as many stitches as a jumper (sweater), but there is no Boyfriend Sock Curse.  Socks are forgiving.  It's easier to hide ugly socks than an ugly jumper, and if you have a gauge disaster and end up with massive stockings, you can just rename them bedsocks.  Socks are also easy to adjust to perfectly fit a person's feet and there's nothing more comfortable than well-fitting homemade socks.  Yarn Harlot's Stephanie Pearl McPhee has a great personalised sock pattern in her book Knitting Rules, just choose any yarn, take your measurements, plug them into the pattern and you'll have perfectly fitting socks.

Shop bought socks are almost a disposable item, making some people think knitting socks is a waste of time.  A good pair of hand knit socks is an investment though, they are warmer and much longer lasting than machine knit ones.  To make sure your handmade socks don't wear out too soon, be sure to knit them on smaller needles than you usually would for your yarn.  Small, tight stitches reduce friction and lead to longer lasting socks.  Also make sure that your yarn has some nylon or other synthetic content.  Pure wool socks will start to felt the minute your feet get hot and sweaty.

I'll leave the last word on the joy of socks to an anonymous knitter from the American Civil War, who slipped this poem into a pair of socks bound for soldiers on the frontline:

Brave sentry, on you lonely heart

May these blue stockings warm your feet

And when from wars and camps you part

May some fair knitter warm your heart.

Jumper Tragedy

Cast on 378 stitches..... this should have been my first warning.  I mean, my bum may be big, but it's not that big.  But, I told myself, it's light yarn, and the jumper (sweater) is knit all in once piece, and it's loose and flarey at the bottom.

So I kept knitting.  I was suspicious though.... Those 378 stitches per row were eating though the yarn so fast I was only getting around 5 rows to the ball.  And my jumper quickly started getting heavy, too heavy.  But because it was knit all in one piece, scrunched up on the needles, it was hard to get an accurate idea of how big it was.  So I gave it the benefit of the doubt and kept on knitting...for over a year.

By the time I got to the shoulders (this jumper was knit from the bottom up) I was ready to cast off and try it on.  I knew it wasn't going to end well.  In desperation I tried some fierce blocking, but I kew it wasn't going to work.  I put the still sleeveless jumper on.... and discovered I could wrap it around myself twice.  I had a think, what to do, what to do?

The jumper was made out of bamboo fibre, so there was no chance of felting it down to size, and because it was knit all in one piece I couldn't just reknit one or two particularly ill-fitting sections, it was all or nothing. 

So I had two choices.  I could either befriend a small elephant with good dress sense, and give them the jumper, or I could frog it all and start again.  My partner watched the trying-on process with apprehension, sure that seeing a year's worth of knitting going down the drain would upset me, but I was unfazed.  No really.

You see, not only had I long suspected there were problems with my jumper (and yes, I should have taken it off the stitches to have a look much earlier), but I understand that knitting is a process. A process that doesn't always produce exactly what you expect.  The way I saw it I could either keep my ill-fitting jumper, or I could unravel it and turn it into a bag full of yarn.  Looked at this way there was really no choice.  I love yarn, and I love yarn much more than bad jumpers.  The yarn I had bought for the project is beautiful, and now I'll be lucky enough to knit it twice. I don't feel ready to turn it back into a jumper just yet, so my question to you, faithful readers, is this: What shall I knit with 14 balls of beautiful sky blue 8ply bamboo yarn?

Does Your Cat Knit?

Knitters are a passionate lot.  We love to spread the love of our craft.  But there is a whole new population out there just ripe for conversion, our pets.  Today I will explore that age old question: How can you tell if your cat is a knitter?

Now spotting a knitting cat is harder than it looks because all cats love yarn, but a true knitting cat respects the yarn.  He won't chase, chew or otherwise abuse yarn (unless you roll up a special ball of leftovers specifically for him to play with).  A true knitting cat, like my friend's cat Hildegaard, will happily sit on their owner's lap during knitting, watching the clicking of the needles but leaving the yarn unmolested.

Our cat Gus started showing signs of knitting at an early age.  Here he is as a kitten enjoying the company of a sheepskin, showing an early love of wool (for those of you that know him, that's Sheepy III):

As he got older, Gus' knitting tendencies became more obvious.  He never wrestles random balls of yarn, but has developed a habit of lying, fast asleep, with his front paws in my knitting bag, enjoying the feel of the yarn.  He seems particularly fond of alpaca, possibly inspired by the two alpacas who live down the road.  He also enjoys sitting on clean jumpers (sweaters) which are being blocked and dried near the heater.  He tells me that he is adding a vital layer of tabby fur before the piece is finished, but I suspect that's just an excuse.

I'm glad that Gus has found a creative outlet in knitting, as his older brother Gummy is a well known sculptor.  You may be familiar with his installations, Scratching Post of Joy (below, pictured with the artist), Muddy Foot Prints in the Bath, Death to the Old Brown Couch and of course his famous performance art piece Solo Wrestlemania in the Sandpile.

So keep your eyes open and you may discover hidden talents in your pets.  You might have a dancing canary, a singing goldfish or a crocheting puppy in your lounge room right now.

The Fine Art of Horizontal Knitting

I haven't had a chance to post in a while.  It's not because I'm lazy, I've been recovering from surgery and I still have another operation to go.  The upside is that I've gotten a lot of knitting done.  I knitted in pre-op, I knitted in recovery  and I've pretty much been knitting constantly since.

Since I did virtually all of this knitting in my preferred position, horizontal, I thought this might be a good time to offer readers some handy hints about reclining knitting.  Whether you have a disability, an injury, or just need a good lie down, these tips may help you on your way.

Everyone's physical limitations are different, even able-bods, so you may have to modify some of my advice for your own personal needs.  All my limbs function at pretty much the same standard, I don't have a particular dodgy arm as such.  Instead I have fairly generalised pain, muscle weakness and spasms through-out my body.  Generally the closer to horizontal I am, and the less weight I have to carry, the happier I am.  So with this in mind, here are a few hints about getting started as a reclining knitter.

To begin with, the playing surface needs to be right.  Knitting while lying completely flat is more tiring than it looks.  Your hands are above you and taking all the weight of your project and at the same time your circulation has to work uphill to get the blood to your fingers.  Instead, boost yourself up on pillows so that you are halfway between sitting and lying down, but with the weight of your head and shoulders taken by the cushions.  In this position you may also be more comfortable with an extra pillow under your knees to stop your legs from being splayed out straight.

The correct reclining knitting position should allow you to knit with your forearms resting on the sides of your belly, with the needles just below eye height.  In this position you can also distribute the weight of your project over your torso, instead of just on just your hands, great for sore wrists.

When knitting in a seated position it's normal to have the completed section of your knitting hanging down below the needles, putting the entire weight of the project on your wrists and hands.  When I started lying down to knit my first instinct was to have my project below the needles, spreading down over my legs.  I quickly found that this was inconvenient because as I knitted there was no gravity to drag my garment with it, leaving it all bunched up on my tummy.  Instead I prefer to do an Isadora Duncan and throw my project over my shoulder, so that most of the project sits on my shoulders and behind me.  This weight distribution also allows me to tackle larger projects than I normally do.  Because my arms and hands aren't very strong (despite the drumming) I use to limit myself to small, light projects, but as you can see in the photo, if I'm reclining I can knit a whole jumper (sweater) in one piece without damaging myself.

Needle choice can also effect your ability to knit lying down.  I've found if the needles are too long, they get tangled in my armpits and the ball of yarn which usually sits at my side.  Too short and they get stuck in my sleeves as I knit.  While it is possible to use straight needles, I usually prefer using circulars as they don't get in the way and they distribute the weight of the knitting evenly between your hands.

With these handy tips in mind, I hope you'll get plenty of knitting done next time you're laid up in bed.

Did I Really Knit That? When Knitting Gets Rude.

Warning: This blog post contains words describing parts of the body normally hidden from view.  If you think this will offend you don't read on.

You may not think of knitting as a raunchy art form, but I've made a few projects lately that may make you question that assumption. I'm not talking about deliberately suggestive projects.  I have one friend who makes penis shaped lip balm holders and another who knitted a placenta for her pre-natal class, but the projects I'm going to talk about today all had innocent beginnings.

I guess in hindsight I should have known that the first project was going to look weird.  It started when my partner (who is diabetic) was having circulation problems.  She wanted something to keep her extremities warm.  The extremity in question was her left nipple. She wanted something to keep her nipple warm while wandering bra-less around the house.

Fortunately for this project, Sue's breasts are not small.  In fact she describes them (quite accurately) as "long".  This meant that I could create a garment for them free from straps, relying only on gravity (and a pretty piece of ribbon) to hold it on.  If you can't figure out how this works, your breasts aren't long enough for it to work.

We named the piece her "tit snood", here it is (Sue declined to model it for the photo):

If I were making it again, I wouldn't have chosen such a contrasting colour for the nipple-warming section.  The purple makes it look like a giant, fluffy, gangrenous growth.  In my defence, I was thinking of function over form when I created it, and the purple fluffy yarn was the softest and warmest in my stash.  Fortunately Sue never had any plans for wearing her tit snood outside the house.

My second rude knitting project started entirely innocently, and indeed finished entirely innocently.  There was just a brief moment when things got a bit obscene.  The project in question is Patsie the Possum who I knitted for my newborn nephew Felix.  As a good little knitter, I followed the instructions for Patsie to the letter.  As I sewed up her side seems, I realised that the pattern left only one small hole for stuffing.  Here's Patsie (upside down) revealing her stuffing secrets:

Clearly this is not a moment to be knitting in public.  No one wants to be seen defiling an innocent possum while sitting on the train or in the doctor's office.

The third obscene project started out innocently, but unlike Patsie, I didn't discover its graphic nature until after it was finished.  All I wanted to do was knit a pencil case, so that I could put all my stuff for university in the one place without my pens, pencils, sticky notes and tape measure (for cataloging stuff in the music archive, not knitting) escaping all through my backpack.  The results seemed innocent enough:

But Sue has an eye for the obscene.  She immediately noticed that it was lined with red material.  She held it open in front of her crotch, looking for all the world like Celtic fertility goddess Sheila Na Gig and immediately christened the pencil case "my vagina":

So I've learnt the hard way not to line things with red material, but on the upside the pencil case has been focus of many household jokes.  It's now the virtual repository of anything that goes missing:
"Have you seen my yellow highlighter?"
"I think I left it in my vagina."
"Do you have a pencil sharpener?"
"There's one in my vagina."
"Have you got a tape measure?"
"Have you looked in your vagina?"

Now I'm trying to put my knitting obscenities behind me and have started knitting a perfectly innocent beanie.  Surely that can't go wrong can it?

The Reverse Boyfriend Knitting Curse

There is a lot of folklore that revolves around knitting.  Regular knitters will be familiar with the boyfriend jumper curse (or the boyfriend sweater curse for American readers).  For those of you who are unfamiliar with it, it goes something like this: never knit your lover a jumper, or you'll be doomed to break up shortly after the gift is handed over.

photo credit: Lululemon Athletica

There are a number of reasons for this mysterious phenomenon. Firstly it takes a long time to knit a jumper.  I've been knitting one for almost a year and I haven't even started the sleeves.  This gives many relationships time to go from starry eyed to bitter and twisted. Another theory is that the recipient of the gift takes one look at the wonky, homemade garment, pictures a lifetime of being forced to wear fashion tragedies and runs like the wind.  Along the same line is the theory that the hard working knitter slaves away on the jumper, then seeing that their partner refuse to wear her brilliant work, dumps the ungrateful bum.

Recently I've discovered a related but opposite knitters' curse, I call it the Boyfriend Gift-Yarn curse, or if you will, the Reverse Boyfriend Knitting Curse.  Let me explain.  I was recently cataloguing my yarn stash (yes, I'm that nerdy) and I noticed how many unused balls of yarn I had that had been gifts from ex-lovers.  In a way it was nice, a reminder of good times (and a few bad ones).

photo credit: EraPhernalia Vintage

Now, it's not that I have been deliberately avoiding using this yarn, and it's good quality stuff, my lovers have excellent taste (they chose me after all), so why is this yarn outlasting my relationships? (Insert joke about my number of exes here.)  Of course there are a number of reasons, gift yarn is usually given in one or two ball lots, meaning your choice of project is limited, and it's not usually given with a specific purpose in mind.  I'm also a notoriously slow knitter, and yes, I've gone through a few lovers in the last few years.

So now that I've discovered this new curse, the question is, what should I do about it?  I mean, I don't want to doom my relationships, but on the other hand, I like receiving gifts of yarn.  So I've decided I'm not superstitious.... and I don't believe in knitting curses.  In the meantime, I want to ensure I keep getting given yarn by making sure news of the curse doesn't spread. So be sure not to read this post.  Thanks.

A Tropical Baby

Our family is celebrating this week.  Our clan has a new member.  Little Felix Ali has been welcomed to the world, first child of Emma and Chris and nephew to yours truly.

I've been ohhing and ahhing over photos of our gorgeous brown-eyed boy, but I am still waiting to meet him.  While I'm rugged up in my mountain home outside of Melbourne; Emma's job means that she, Chris and now Felix call Bangkok home.  Now the tyranny of distance has all sorts of implications on family life, but our extended family has always been tight knit despite being spread across the globe, so today I'm going to focus on just one important aspect: Its affect on my knitting.

Now, as you are all no doubt aware, knitting is an important part of welcoming any new baby, and here in chilly Melbourne there are plenty of things to choose from.  Like this blanket I knitted for baby Jordi-Lee:

But a baby in Bangkok isn't going to need woolly blankets, beanies, bootees or jumpers.  You see my dilemma.  Never fear though, brave reader, I found a knit-worthy solution: soft toys.

Now that I've started looking, there are some seriously cool knit toys around.  I'm very keen to knit a Henry Rollins doll from the pattern in Stitch and Bitch Nation, but I had to admit that that is more a gift Felix's dad Chris than for the bub himself.  I've also found patterns for knitted mobiles, vehicles, puppets, even stackable blocks... so much to choose from.

Just as I was sitting, confused and overwhelmed amid a huge pile of toy patterns, Nanna Olive came to the rescue by giving me a Patsie the Possum kit from Panda yarns.  Patsie is not only perfect for a new born (cuddly and easy to wash) but she's an Australian native, and will hopefully become a reminder that little Felix is an Aussie deep down. (Well a Thai-born Maldivian-Dutch-Aussie, but what's more Australian than that?)

So I embarked on knitting my first toy, hopefully the first of many.  It took a while to get my needles around the slippery, fluffy, synthetic yarn that would make Patsie so soft.  Everytime I had to do any shaping (and there is a lot of it) the needles would split the wool wildly.  Once I came to terms with that though, knitting Patsie was pretty easy.  The curly tail was particularly fun to make.  One warning though: it's not the best project to work on while knitting in public.  I spent much of the time looking like I had a squashed squirrel coming off my needles:

But after a long wait, little Felix has been born and Patsie is finished and ready for posting.  Here's a final look at her before she's shipped off to Thailand.  I must remember to poke a few breathing holes in the box.