The Scarlet Knitter

Monogamy, chapter 1

Hello, hello! Scarlet Knitter reporting for duty, here, broom in hand, ready to dust off every corner of the old blog, get rid of the spider webs that have taken over the place in the past few weeks, and bring a little sunshine in. I didn't mean to be missing in action for so long, especially since a fair amount of knitting has been taking place in the meantime.

I had been leery of resolutions in recent years; they just carry too heavy a potential for guilt, and knitting (or blogging about it) doesn't need that extra burden tacked to it. And so I embarked on this new year of knitting with no other resolution than my long-standing commitment to knit from stash first and foremost, if not exclusively.

When I paid a visit to the market at Stitches West last February, I had this one resolution in mind, so my few purchases were done carefully and judiciously. I made a bee-line for Miss Babs' booth which was packed with like-minded lovers of beautifully dyed yarns. Ordering online is all well and good, but nothing beats seeing and feeling those gorgeous skeins in the wool, and playing with various color combos. This is the one I had to bring home with me:

A very "me" combination -- mind you, the red is a deep lipstick red and not quite as bright as on this photograph. The yarn, Caroline, is a blend of merino, cashmere and nylon. Dare I say more?

After the market, I lingered at the hotel bar which was overtaken with knitters. Everyone, perched on every stool, lounging in every chair and sofa, was wielding needles or a crochet hook, and a good 85% of the patrons sported knitted shawls of every shape, color and stripe on their shoulders and around their necks. Those who didn't wear shawls had vests or socks that they didn't mind flashing at the slightest invitation. Honestly, the bar scene is a major draw of Stitches events for me -- and that's even before a full glass of something good is placed in front of me.

Chatting with strangers is another major draw in that situation. Standard pick-up line: "I love your ___  (cardi, kerchief, stole...). Where did you find the pattern?" From then it's an easy transition to the market, best booths, best finds, best classes, what's your name on Ravelry, and other intimate details of our lengthy crafty adventures. I love just about every minute of this wild party.

One of my encounters at the bar made a lasting impression. She was wearing a lovely sleeveless shell, made of entrelac fabric that she had knitted with a variegated yarn with long color repeats. The colors were summery, tweedy brights and the effect was very nice. We discussed favorite local shops and various projects, past and present. During our conversation, she mentioned that she was a monogamous knitter, and just like that, I started to feel nostalgic for the time when I, too, stuck to fewer projects at a time.

 

Back when I was a more disciplined blogger, I followed an easy system which I called the rule of 3: no more than three projects on the needles at any one time, usually an easy, automatic-pilot one, a more challenging item, and finally a swatch for a future project down the road. This system gave me just enough variety while ensuring that projects did get knitted instead of abandoned on the side of the road for an indefinite time-out. Progressively, especially with the advent of Ravelry, I started to accumulate UFO's, which has meant that bags of stuff have been allowed to congregate in what is supposed to be my neat and tidy knitting corner of the TV room. (Insert loud snort of your choice here). Bags holding not only yarn, but needles hostage, I should add.

On my drive home from Stitches, I thought again of that beautiful word, "Monogamous", and just like that, I decided to make it my 2016 resolution. I have a feeling it will still be the order of the day in 2017, but I am fine with that. In order to become monogamous, I need to refrain from casting on for (too many) new projects and to prioritize and focus on those bags of shame that have taken over my knitting space. That night, I counted two blankets, one pullover, one cardigan, one jacket, one sock, three shawls. I probably forgot another blanket or two, if I am to be absolutely honest. That's a lot of needles waiting to be liberated, a lot of belated baby gifts, a lot of bags waiting to be folded and put away.

Since that day six weeks ago, I finished a shawl:

And another shawl:

I am making good progress on a cardigan too. Lots of pictures to follow.

 

 

 

Do you feel, as I do, that knitted objects look even more impressive when they are piled up? The pink cowl is all done and ready to be wrapped up and given away. As I had hoped, the kitchenered seam is all but invisible, so it was well-worth the trouble. The photo below shows the sewn seam next to the grafted one: no comparison.

 

 

Confession: The pink cowl is too long, by a good 2 or 3 inches. If doubled, it hangs a bit low for my taste, as I like to feel the warmth of the yarn close to my neck. The grey version measures 52" in length once blocked, and this one is around 56".  This is because before blocking, I was concerned about the final width. When blocking a wet piece of knitting, one can decide to stretch the piece mostly lengthwise or mostly in width, and I decided to focus on width, which then led me to add a few rows of length "for insurance", so to speak. It turns out that insurance wasn't needed.

 

Which leads me to mention the one major drawback of a kitchenered seam: it cannot be undone, not when it is many stitches long and executed in a yarn that contains mohair. On these photos, I cheated a bit and kept the extra length in the back of my neck to have just the right amount of cowl peeking out from my coat.

 

It turns out I didn't have to worry about this cowl being too narrow, either. The finished width of both cowls is 15 ", which I like. I wouldn't want it to be narrower but of course that is my utterly subjective preference. I was aiming for something that gives the feeling of a luxurious, sizeable scarf, without all the extra fabric, weight, length, etc.

I used 2 full skeins and a few yards of a third one for this cowl, thus proving to myself that 2 skeins are really all that's needed for this kind of project. I just found yet another skein of this pale pink in my stash, which means I should have just enough yarn to make a second one just like the first.

A quick note on blocking: I recently watched Ann Hansen's thorough online class on finishing handknits, available via Craftsy. Her section on blocking was fascinating to me; I have blocked my share of handknits and I have developed my own way of doing things over time, but watching someone else do it, especially an expert on lace and on the finer points of finishing, was highly instructive. She treats wet wool almost as clay that can be molded with a rather firm hand and a good amount of handling, and not like a fragile flower on the verge of breaking, which was my tendency in the past. For those of us who didn't have the opportunity to learn from another knitter directly, these classes are invaluable and well worth the investment ... especially if you wait for their fairly frequent sales.

 

Ring out the old

Happy New Year, dear knitting friends! May 2016 bring beautiful fibers and intriguing new projects your way, and may we all find comfort in the clicking of our needles when the new year brings on its inevitable challenges and crises.

On January 1st, I managed to finish either my last pair of socks of 2015 or my first one of 2016, depending on how you choose to look at it.

 

I have decided that 3/1 ribbing on the body of the sock is my favorite style. It gives the unworn sock that leaner look that is missing in plain stockinette, and yet, as I knit, falling into a Knit 3, Purl 1 rhythm comes very easily. In order to center the ribbing properly after turning the heel, I cast on an extra stitch before going on with the 3/1 pattern. That stitch will be purled so that the instep will be framed by these two columns of purl stitches. I just have to remember to decrease that extra stitch on its own once I reach the toe, in order to return to the same number of stitches on the top and on the sole of the foot. I have no idea if this is what one is supposed to do, and I couldn't find any useful information on the subject on Ravelry, but it just felt wrong for my ribbing to lack symmetry and adding one stitch solves the problem without making the sock too loose.

The finished pair was blocked and dried just in time to fit in my New York daughter's duffle bag when she flew back East on Sunday. Winter has finally arrived on the East Coast and so I hope that these socks will soon be pressed into service. I loved working with this yarn, Lang Jawoll; a spool of coordinating wool thread is hidden deep into every skein, and I used it to knit the toes, resulting in extra-cushiness. I'd love it if more sock yarns offered that option. I have a few lengths of solid sock thread in classic colors but they are not going to blend quite so invisibly with patterned sock yarn. Still, the extra comfort and solidity are a huge bonus, which I appreciate as I have been wearing my own handknit socks more than ever this winter.

 

 

In other news, I finished knitting my pink stockinette cowl. Normally I would have blocked the finished length of knitting first, before tackling the seam. But with a yarn as tricky as Kidsilk Haze, I decided to play it safe and to change my plan of action; I executed the kitchener seam yesterday, before soaking the finished cowl and setting it on the blocking board.

 

Kitchenering 80 or so stitches could drive a person slightly crazy. I made sure to find the right time of day and the right place to get started; this is not a task that one can complete in fits and starts, or all scrunched up on one side of the couch. I used the dining-room table with full day-light, the relative comfort of a firm chair and a couple of podcasts for company. I had to take a break and stretch my legs once or twice in the proceedings, which took a bit more than an hour. What appeared to work well was to pull on the thread tightly with every stitch or so, but then to pause every inch or two in order to (gently!) stretch the seam laterally and to make sure it had as much give as the knitted fabric. This was very easy. You can still see a faint diagonal line where the seam happens, but it is barely visible and much more attractive than an actual sewn seam. I am also hoping that it will fade even more once the cowl is off the blocking board.

 

 

 

Too-late-for-Christmas gifts

I love the days after the feast, where cooking is minimal and time is spent either visiting good friends or collapsing at home on the sofa. No trip to the mall for me or mine, no movie-theater excursion just yet. I have been watching my favorite classics on DVD and making progress on two projects intended for post-Christmas gifting.

 

 

The first is another of my cowls knitted on the bias, in heavenly warm and delicate Rowan Kidsilk Haze. I have had a couple of skeins in this particular colorway for years. In their stash drawer, next to other, more vibrant colors, I worried that this shade of pink was too pale and almost washed out, but on its own, it really is a thing of beauty. No one does colors like Rowan yarns and the color card for Kidsilk Haze is just exceptional.

I have been working hard at shrinking my stash over the past year, and now it really is down to a more manageable size and to lovely yarns that make me happy and that I have every intention of using up to the last inch. My hodgepodge of a stash is now a classy and pretty wonderful pile, and best of all, I am done feeling guilty about my years of wild acquisitions. There!

 

 

This time I did start with a provisional cast-on so that I can kitchener the edges once I have reached ideal cowl-length. I just grabbed a length of sock yarn that was handy, and it occurred to me that this style of provisional cast on in contrast yarn could make a cute embellishment on a scarf some day. Or perhaps not!

 

 

Finally, as my New York daughter noticed how comfy and pretty my own hand-knit socks looked when I had them on (which is to say, all the time, this winter), I offered to knit her a pair of her own, which she gladly accepted. I had a couple of skeins of sock yarn stashed away (no guilt: see above). She chose this one, Lang Yarns' Jawoll Color. It's my second or third time knitting with this sock yarn and I am very pleased with the quality;  a spool of coordinating polyester (I think) is included inside the skein and intended to reinforce strategic parts of the socks.  I forgot to use it on the heel but will definitely add it as I get to the toe. This colorway is especially pretty, I think. The New York daughter leaves by the end of the week so I have just a few days to whip out sock #2.

Noël

It has been a lovely holiday here: feast, family, and a glorious, sunny day that we were able to share together. I wish you all the best for this short, bright season, including a little bit of time to play with yarn and needles at your leisure, and good company to entertain you as you progress stitch by stitch, row by row. Joyeuses fêtes!

Extra-extra-small

Lopapeysas, the traditional Scandinavian pullovers, have been all the rage over the Internet this past couple of years. They are yoke sweaters, knitted from the bottom up in three cylinders: a large one for the body and two thinner ones for the sleeves. When the knitter reaches armhole level, the three tubes are reunited into one large cylinder, and this is where the fun really begins as this huge amount of stitches lends itself especially well to pretty designs executed by stranding contrasting colors round after round.

(Photo borrowed from the blog Iceland24).

In between designs, there are plain, non-patterned rounds in which the knitter radically decreases the circumference of the cylinder in order to shape the bust and shoulder line all the way to the base of the neck. I first read about this type of sweater in Elizabeth Zimmermann's "Knitting Without Tears" and I got to practice the technique on a couple of sweaters, although I skipped the pretty patterns and replaced them with simple stripes in contrast colors.

 

 

Typically lopapeysas are knitted with Icelandic wool which is at once very lightweight and substantial, and by and large unwearable here in California (outside of ski resorts, that is), which is why my yoke sweaters were all destined to Afghanistan, where I hope they went on to keep someone warm.

 A couple of weeks ago, I thought it would be a nice challenge to knit an actual lopapeysa, with patterning and all, only in doll size. So I did.

I followed a pattern designed by a fellow Sasha doll lover, up to the yoke where I ended up improvising some colorwork on the needles. The pattern actually calls for raglan-style decreases done every other round right before and after shoulder markers instead, but it was a fun, quick experiment, and one that I plan to repeat some day. It would be fun to strand bits of very special yarn like angora on the yoke and wrists. Next time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Log Cabin Light

There was an unexpected twist to my travels this summer, so that I found myself packing at the last minute and without much time to consider my options for travel projects. Fortunately, I knew that I would find a familiar yarn shop within walking distance once I arrived at my destination in Paris.

Once there, surprise! The yarn shop in question was about to shutter its doors. This would have been very sad, if not for the fact that a massive close-out sale was going on. This was summer in Paris so warm, heavy and chunky were all out of the question, but I promptly fell in love with the yarns above, both from Lang yarns. The pink colorway is Jawoll Magic and the grey is Jawoll Magic Dégradé, both of them sock yarns, made of a very soft 75% superwash wool and 25% nylon.

I bought a couple of skeins of each impulsively, without any precise plan. For a while I contemplated making a simple shawl out of the grey alone, but I liked the color combination too much to keep them apart, and I wanted to come up with a project that would showcase the light to dark variations in each yarn.  I settled on a very simple, lightweight version of the classic log cabin we all know and love -- and knit. Never mind that I have already knitted this pattern here , here , here, and again here, not to mention a few variations like this one or that last one . There are so many ways to make it entertaining:  a knitter could change the number of garter stitch ridges in each log, use many colors or, on the contrary, stick with a monochromatic palette, or even change stitch patterns for some of the logs.

 

 

For this blanket, my goal is to end up with a rectangle large enough to cover a twin bed, which means that the blanket needs to be much longer than it is large. I also want the center rectangle to be significantly off-center. In order to achieve both of these results, I have made the following modification to the original pattern from Mason-Dixon Knitting: instead of being all the same size, my logs are all multiple of threes (that's just a personal quirk but I think it yields a more eye-pleasing result), going in width from 3 to 12 ridges each. By now I have placed enough narrow logs on one side and much wider ones on the other, so that that very first dark pink block is already significantly off center. By the same token, I have started, and will continue, to place more 9 and 12-ridge logs at the top and bottom of the blanket, in order to achieve significant length. It is a bit tricky to keep the appearance of randomly-sized logs as opposed to one homogeneous size, but I like the challenge.  After all, what else would there be to obsess about while knitting this particular project if I was operating completely on automatic pilot?

The blanket got my full attention earlier in the Fall. These days the denim cabled cardi is feeling the love more frequently because, well, even I get tired of shapeless blocks of infinite garter stitch, but when I am knitting in company, it is the ideal project. I enjoy seeing how the ombré effects of each yarn show up, and the light weight of the yarn makes it quite pleasant even as the project slowly grows on my lap.

 

 

 

 

Twisted, in more ways than one

I still have a few recent FO's to share, but today I thought I'd wander off from accessories and into real, honest-to-goodness sweater-making. After knitting a whole lot of scarves and blankets lately, I felt nostalgic for fronts and backs and sleeves and button-bands. This coincided with the massive undertaking otherwise known as cleaning the garage, which doubles (rather poorly these days, but that's another story) as my knitting and sewing "studio", with huge quotation marks. The garage is where I store my stash as well as my sewing-machine and most of my patterns and books when I am not using them. We won't go into why they keep migrating into the house, especially by my bedside and on the coffee-table by the TV. They are not supposed to do that. They are supposed to live in the garage until the moment when they are pressed into duty, and not a minute earlier.

So, puttering around the stash corner recently, I found a box from long ago, with a shipping label from Elann.com. Inside the box were bags of Elann's own denim cotton, a very close cousin to Rowan's own famed denim yarn, which I had snapped during a rare sale. For years I had held on to this yarn while studying various patterns and failing to make up my mind.

This wasn't my maiden-voyage with denim cotton. I had made a pullover, Seahorse , from the first Rowan denim book about ten years ago. I still wear this pullover frequently because denim cotton is practically an all-season yarn when one lives in California, but the sizing is huge all over, by design, and feels a bit too retro for that reason. Also, the shade of cotton I had used, a medium blue, simply doesn't look very good when worn with blue jeans, which tend to be my uniform.

This stash yarn, on the other hand, was all the more precious because I had been able to secure the darkest blue denim cotton, which looks good with anything, and which was available only sporadically from Elann. I remember how I had pounced as soon as I had received an email notifying me that the yarn was in stock at long last. Even though I often see my stash as a problem to be solved, in this case at least, there was no buyer's remorse, ever, and these many years later, I am thrilled to find myself in possession of such a treasure.

 

As for a pattern, I wanted one with a more fitted style than those offered in the first Rowan Denim book. After hours spent on Ravelry and poring over my stash of patterns, I settled on "Haven", a cabled cardigan designed by Kim Hargreaves specifically for this yarn and published in "Rowan Denim People". By now the book is out of print but the pattern is now available as a PDF. I am going to skip the belt because that's just not the way I would wear a cardigan, but otherwise I am following the pattern straight through with no adjustments.

By and large, this is a classic design, with ribbed cables practically popping off the background and the seed stitch edging so typical of Kim Hargreaves's designs. I should note that the pattern was designed specifically with the shrinking rate of denim cotton in mind, so that each piece is extra long -- the underarm decreases only occur past 23", so knitting the back has been a long slug. It didn't help that there appears to be a mistake in the pattern instructions, on the row where the cables cross. Unfortunately, this is a rare Rowan pattern with no chart, only worded instructions, which meant that I had visual information to help me sort out  the confusing line-by-line instructions.  I did eventually find my own way (and I will spell it out clearly when I write project notes on Ravelry once this sweater is completed) but not before frogging and reknitting yards and yards of denim cotton.

One full month later, I feel I have finally hit my stride with this one, to the point where I am reluctant to pick up other projects still on the needles. But I still have sore feelings about our difficult beginning and I am wondering if "Twisted" wouldn't be a more appropriate name than "Haven", given the utter absence of serenity involved in the early stages of this project. The final project had better be worth the trouble -- she said, sarcastically.

 

Frosted cowl

Now that the weather in California has suddenly turned chilly enough to wear assorted woolens, I find myself reaching for a knitted scarf almost every morning and evening. In the hours in between, it can still feel almost balmy on some days, and then I am stuck with yards of robust, wooly ribbing, clumsily tucked in my purse or spilling out of a pocket. There has to be a better way. This one, for instance, which I improvised last winter.

 

 

I was off to Paris again, and needed a simple travel project that would occupy me for a couple of weeks yet not take over my luggage. This usually means either something in Rowan Kidsilk Haze, or laceweight, or sock yarn. I happened to have on hand two and a half skeins of Kidsilk Night, a glittery pale grey colorway left over from a long-ago shawl project. I figured it would look elegant in the simplest of stitch designs and cast on 82 stitches or so.

My inspiration was yet another gorgeous creation posted by the ever-inspiring Larisa on Ravelry, although I wanted my project to be more lightweight than hers, without the bulk of another strand added to the KSH. I also had my doubts about wearing a cowl, and thought I would aim for a scarf, assuming that the yardage I had would be sufficient. That turned out to be wrong, as I realized by the end of skein #1. If I had had any forethought, I would have used a provisional cast on in order to avoid an ugly seam later. Gentle readers, consider yourselves forewarned.

Encouraged by Larisa's enthusiastic pattern notes, I knitted this on the bias, making a stitch (2 stitches in) and knitting 2 together (2 stitches before the end of the row) on every other row.  Wonder of wonders, I discovered that stockinette knitted on the bias does not roll, but instead lies beautifully, amazingly, wondrously flat. It is a sight to behold. I still cannot get over it.

I stopped when I had just enough yarn left to seam my simple cowl. All in all, once blocked, it measures 15.5" by 52", which means that I can double it easily, without stretching it or messing my hair and yet without having too much fabric hanging down my neck like a knitted necklace -- a personal issue I have with cowls in general and the main reason why I hadn't fully jumped on that particular bandwagon until now.

 

After wearing this over and over last Spring, I am now a convert, and I plan to make more cowls like this one: plain stockinette, very warm, yet lightweight yarn, knitted on the bias for a smooth, elegant texture, but with a provisional cast-on so that I can execute some neat kitchener-stitch magic at the end. The final blocked length should be 50 to 52", so that it can be doubled easily, yet neatly folded in a coat pocket or purse during those rare balmy hours of the day, only to come out when necessary. For knitters allergic to kid mohair, I bet a lace wool or a silk-wool blend would work just as well, delivering enough warmth yet remaining drape-y and chic.

 

 

Playing catch-up

Nine years ago, on Thanksgiving Day, I turned on my computer, tiptoed onto Typepad, came up with a cutesy name for myself and my blog and started typing away. This was blogging's golden age; we all had so much to share and discuss and photograph, and discuss some more. Knitting and blogging were so perfectly suited to each other, with photos showing our progress, and words revealing our train of thought, especially the constant second-guessing that goes on through the long days of bringing a pullover or blanket, row after row, all the way to its very last stitch.

Between then and now, Ravelry, and to a lesser degree Instagram, have made it easier to share our knitting, and no doubt this is why so many blogs have gotten much quieter, if they are still here at all. Part of me misses that time. Ravelry gives me just the facts, ma'am, but I miss the ramblings of every knitter I ever met, the meditation on pocket placement, the debate on whether or not to knit the edge stitch, the agonizing over sleeve length. And for this the blog is best -- no subject too trivial, never too many comments --  long live the blog.

It has been months since I made the effort to put together a few photos of my knitting along with a few words to share my train of thought as I knitted a project from start to finish. In recent weeks, I have been itching to share the knitting that has taken place around here during that time, and since the blog's anniversary is upon us this week, now seems like the perfect time to sweep up the cobwebs, push the creaky door to the knitting internet and wave my hand. Hello, there! Remember me? I am still knitting, mostly reds but not only, and I'd love to have a little show and tell if you'll let me. I'll start today with a humble garter stitch scarf. I know, I know -- but this one is special.

 

Back in the Spring, surfing Ravelry as one does, I found this:  a simple scarf, all garter stitch, made of bright color blocks. I started playing right away, pulling together skeins of Koigu KPM, the solid version of Koigu yarn. For the body I used three skeins: dark red,  olive green and coral pink. For these three I only had partial skeins, between 1/2 and 1/3 of a skein each, which resulted in blocks of different lengths. I had more of the eggplant color so I saved it for the borders and the few rows that separate the blocks.

I knitted the edging by picking up stitches and knitting them one side at a time, log-cabin style.  It took one whole skein of Koigu, plus a few yards of a second one. I love this edging by the way; it pulls the blocks together and makes them look more urban and sophisticate, as opposed to a plain, stash-busting scarf.

 

 

This is my own version of the pattern; I recreated the scarf by myself, using the photo as inspiration. There are quite a few Carlisle scarves on Ravelry worth looking at. Mine is on the more conservative side, if you can call this mix of colors conservative. Pay no attention to my serious face as I attempt to model the finished scarf: I am thrilled with it.  Koigu is a dream to knit with and to wear.