Etherknitter

Pinishment

The guilt of endless procrastination is at an end.  Marla is blocked.  She is drying on the dining room table blocking board.  The DH, when viewing the carnage, remarked that it looked like a familiar scene.  He spoke of early Christiandom, and wondered aloud if I loved my daughter so much that I had her crucified.  I don't think he had seen blocking pins before.  I thought it was more reminiscent of voodoo rituals.  You always hurt the one you love.

Damp merino/silk smells very odd.

This may work.  The chest measurement post-blocking was four inches wider. 

The Aurora Melange Husband Scarf is about 2/3 done.    That, plus spinning, has occupied my fiber time this weekend.

Yesterday, dinner,  indeed, was completed on the deck.  There were footprints outlined in slush from the porch to the grill.  He never complained.  The steak was done to perfection.

Cormo 90%/silk 10% is on the bobbin.  The long fiber length makes it a sumptuous spin.  I'm still playing with finer gauge singles.  The color transitions are beautiful and subtle.  Etherknitter, AKA the Spin Slut, ordered three more bobbins from Toni of Socks That Rock fame.  There are too many pretty roving faces tempting me from the Rhinebeck stash to pledge fidelity to one bag.  I'm about 2 ounces into a four ounce bag:

Today's weather was a stunning turnaround from yesterday's cold, snowy, damp purgatory.  The last of the perennials made it into the ground during the afternoon sunshine.  I must confess that the spring plantings go in with far more care and love than the ones in the late fall.   At this point of the season, the goal changes from nurturing little plants, to Just Get It Into The Ground, Damnit.   So I did.

Saturday nonsense

A picture of my deck ten minutes ago:

This is very funny.  In about two hours, we have plans to grill steak for five out here.  And it WILL happen.   

This link was titled "things are not always what they seem" in the email it came in.

<http://www.jerrypournelle.com/images/illusimage.gif>

"If your eyes follow the movement of the rotating pink dot, you will only see
one color, pink.

If you stare at the black + in the center, the moving dot turns to green.
Now, concentrate on the black + in the center of the picture. After a short
period of time, all the pink dots will slowly disappear, and you will only
see a green dot rotating if you're lucky!

It's amazing how our brain works. There really is no green dot, and the pink
ones really don't disappear.  This should be proof enough, we don't always see what we think we see."

Back to regular knitting and spinning content in the next post.

Step AWAY from the sweater, Ma'am

My husband is trying to save me from myself.  This isn't about the Robin wheel.  Nor does it have anything to do with the big influx of roving and yarn that is covering the family room floor.  I'm not referring to the possibility of fleece, about which he currently knows nothing.  (He does read the blog, so I guess I just blew that one.)

Several weeks ago, my aunt destashed some yarn during our visit.  The DH picked out three ancient skeins of Aurora 8 Melange, color #8 (Karabella).  I'm actually astonished to see that the color is still commercially available.   He agreed a scarf for him would be a good use of this gift.

When I got back from Rhinebeck, I told him that I was going to swatch his next sweater.  A stricken look crossed his face, quickly suppressed.  He asked me to work on the scarf for him instead.  We looked all over the house for the Aunt yarn.  (That was when I decided all stash items will be placed in clear plastic.)  He picked the Purse Stitch pattern (Knitting Stitch Calendar):

He confessed.  He didn't want me working on another sweater yet. 

The Marla sweater has been a very very bad girl.  I like that better than admitting I am a very very bad sweater designer.

I altered the pattern.  Cropped it.  Made it slightly smaller so that when the merino/silk stretched in blocking, it would not become enormous.   It is knit EXACTLY as I had planned.  And it looks dreadful. 

The DH wants to save me from more of that anguish.  Hence the scarf.

This is my first public confession of the Marla debacle.  Pictures are not yet forthcoming.  I have to finish blocking it first.  Perhaps I was a bit hasty in trying it on before blocking.  No, that's not accurate.  Trying it on told me what I need to do for blocking.  so it may be simply that I am jumping to premature conclusions about fit.   

There are those who say this sweater can be saved.  This daughter of mine, which came out precisely as I planned (I should give myself some credit for that part, eh?), this child who has done nothing wrong, appears to have a painful future ahead.  It may involve ripping her arms off and redoing part of the sleeves.   I could truly resonate with Kim's post today about aspiring to perfection.

Doesn't this feel like watching a NASCAR race?  You just KNOW they are going to crash.  The only question is when.  And you can't help yourself.  You have to watch. 

In the meantime, the scarf is soothing.  A fast knit.   And I'm not aggravated.

The garden is a sodden mess.  We have had over 16 inches of rain in the month of October.  The temperatures dipped once last week to 33 degrees, just missing a killing frost.  I think that is why there have been very few reds in the fall colors this year.   One of the few sunny days drew my gaze to the office window.  Depth and layers, and yellow prompted a camera shot through the glass.

Rhinebeck III

There's no way around it.  This is going to have to be my final confession description of fiber acquisition.  I cannot BELIEVE how many people sent me emails pointing out that I had not been complete in describing my fiber excursions last weekend.  Were there people following me?  Was someone there with a notepad keeping a tally of my...uh...fiberlust?  Here I thought I was accompanied by enablers, only to find they are all demanding public demonstrations of my weakness.  Weaknesses.   The only thing that consoles me is that I've been reading their blogs, and finding evidence of similar abandon purchases. 

Alright.

It was astonishing to me that I found time to visit any vendors whatsoever.  The weekend (as has been reported throughout the knitblog world) was a confluence of old and new friends.  I raced to Grafton Fibers, having heard that they often sell out quickly.   I tried very hard not to buy blue.

The camera adds some pink intensity that the roving doesn't show.  The Diaks don't name their colorways.  It's Autumn Maple to me, which gives you a better idea of the hues.  The subtle transitions between complementary colors of vivid and saturated shades made me whip out my checkbook.

Right down the aisle, in Barn A, was Indigo Moon.  The picture shows 50% alpaca, 25% merino, 25% silk roving.  This is a little more persnickety to spin because of the shorter fiber lengths.  The redness of the roving is WAY overcolored by Mr. Nikon.  However, the cashmere/silk that I bought impulsively (pictured next to the redness) is a beautiful picture of something that is soft beyond silky.  The only thing to compare with it at Rhinebeck was Julia's vicuna purchase from The Fold.

I had trouble with Cate's recent post about being a Woolaholic.  It hit too closely to truth for me.  I'm very likely to make a scarf from cashmere/silk handspun.  But I'm also a realistic enough spinner (read that as uncertain) to know that I'm not sure I can spin it into knittable yarn at this point.   So I bought a little to play with.   I keep doing that.  Again and again.   I really DO understand that spinning is its own end.  But I'm still haunted by the possibility of all these useless little skeins piling up in my stash bins.  Okay.  Maybe I really don't completely understand.  But I think you know what I'm feeling.

"Onward!" cried the Etherknitter, demonstrating that insight sometimes lasts for only a nanosecond.  I discovered the Persimmon Tree Farm booth late on Sunday.  I fell madly in love with their colorways, for the same reason I love Grafton's fibers.  Persimmon did something diabolic.  They had small skeins of yarn samples tied to each bag of roving.  I no longer had to pretend that I could envision what this would become.  Can we say 12.1 ounces?  Yippee!  This looks like a Penny Straker vest to my optimistic eye.   I asked the Persimmon lady what colorways had sold out.  She brought out the skein samples.  Was I torturing myself gratuitously?  Mon Dieu, non!  I saw that I liked what was in my hand best, and I also took some mental notes for next year.
I tortured myself over this one.  Half a pound of black blue-faced alpaca from the Sheep Shed.  I was becoming weary of my quantity-related baby steps.   Julia beat some sense into my head, silencing my internal incessant debate over cost vs utility.  This alpaca is nuanced in multiples of different neutrals.  It is the most beautiful uncolor I have seen in this fiber. 

Is the Spindicate convulsed in laughter over my ideas on "quantity-related baby steps"?  Be quiet, all of you.  I TOLD you that I was buying a fleece in Maryland next year, G-d willing.  (Something Rambouilletish.   But let's not get ahead of ourselves.)

Carolina Homespun did very bad things to my shaky self-control.  I had the picture in my mind of cartoon characters (ALL of us), kneeling by the shelves, heaving skeins over our shoulders onto the aisle floor in our frenzied efforts to reach the best at the bottom.  The cartoon probably had Sylvester, or Wil-E Coyote doing the searching.  Only this time, it was me.  And not many of the skeins hit the floor.  Most ended up in my avaricious little fists.  I'm a little embarrassed, but not so much that I don't want to continue the confession here.
From left to right:  Carolina Homespun Merino/Tussah silk, Chasing Rainbows Merino/Tencel in Hydrangea, Carolina Homespun Merino/Tussah silk in grays, Carolina Homespun Merino/Tencel, and an unlabelled Merino/Tussah silk Guardians of the Air also from Carolina Homespun.

I love the sheen.  I love the depth of hue.  I see sock yarn for the merino/tencel.  I envision smoke rings, or shawlets for the merino/silk.

There are a few smaller, unphotographed purchases.  Morehouse Merino's reversible scarf, with two skeins of rosey merino came home with me.  (I would have purchased just the pattern, but they would only sell it as a kit.)  I also bought the Celtic Braid sock pattern from Morehouse, as did my spin 'n dye-buddy Kellee.  Some shetland/mohair roving from Tassawassa Ridge Fiber Farm came home with me.  Judy dragged me to their booth on Saturday. 

My heart and soul were fed by the camaraderie and joie-de-vivre of my fellow bloggers.  My fellow commuters, Julia and Claudia, made the 3+ hour drive zoom by.  Carolyn and Leigh were entertaining dinner companions.  Despite a long, tortured drive from parts south, they arrived in high spirits.  I doubt I will ever be able to pronounce "dude" correctly.  It is currently composed of three syllables, and each in a different harmonic note, and Carolyn used it to expressive advantage.   I was in awe.  Kellee, Kim, Cassie, Juno and Debbie helped me justify just about anything.  Meeting Judy, Norma, Marcia, Valentina, Adelaide, Emily, Abi, Jessalu, Cindy, Vicki, Jenn, Nathania, Cara, and Deb made me smile endlessly.  Seeing bloggers from Cummington, and the summer's knit gatherings was a reaffirmation that it's not just love at first sight:  Melanie, Terry, Mamacate, Risa, and LauraJ.  (If I forgot anyone, send me a "yo-ho!" and I'll edit my brain, too.)

No, I'm not 'fessing up about Robin yet.  Leave us alone.  It's still too new a relationship to discuss in public.   You know how sometimes these things work out over time.

 

Rhinebeck II

Paralysis by analysis.  I join those who fear leaving out someone important.  It was a remarkable experience.  The sheer number of bloggers, of happiness, shared fiber-passion:  Juno's post says most of it, far better than I can.  Some shots that haven't been duplicated by others:

Clockwise:  Nathania, Julia, Norma, Cara, Cindy, Judy

Cara talks a good story about not knowing what she was saying to Norm about his wood.  There are some serious Freudian themes going on with this knitter, as you can see from how she carries the camera. 

Do you see all the smiles in these shots?  That's what the entire two days was about.  I could have trotted around the festival with one little bag of roving in my fist, and been completely happy.  But let me be honest.  That is not how it happened.

The photos you are about to see  have been left in their raw state.  No names have been changed, and all guilty parties are being held fully responsible.
The agreggate looked like this:
Once I got home, recorded vendor, fiber, amount, and cost, it looked more manageable.

This is gray Skaska laceweight yak/silk on the top, hazelnut lamb laceweight on the left,
and Tongue River Farms icelandic white laceweight on the right.   Cassie had a complete, logical and knowledgeable argument on why I should not leave the white laceweight behind.  So I didn't. 
Sock yarn.  Obsidian colorway, Blue Moon Fiberarts from The Fold.  Toni's booth was swarmed with bees knitters all weekend, and this is all I could wrest from someone's grasp.   The sock yarn below that, in stereotypical Etherknitter colors, is from the Chasing Rainbows booth, Barn A.  I couldn't help myself. 
Unlike others,   I did not order a sweater's worth of beautiful wool/mohair.  I simply jotted down the name of color I lusted after, and will wait til I find the right pattern.  THEN I will order a sweater's worth of yarn.  So don't give me any points for delayed gratification on this one.

Chocolate alpaca/silk roving from Shadyside Farm.  I am in serious love with alpacas.  Mr. Etherknitter is getting worried that someday soon, a pair will appear in our backyard.  How about a pretty little suri?
I'll be at Willow Books this evening, inevitably ROTFL with the rest of the knitters while Stephanie has her way with us.  It will almost feel as if the weekend hasn't ended quite yet. 

More fiber posting tomorrow.  This pictorial tour clearly is not the whole story yet.

 

Rhinebeck I

Am I the only one suffering from fiberfest-blogger withdrawal this morning?  Rhinebeck surpassed my most optimistic expectations.  I had more than enough time to shop for fiber, but not enough time to spend with the previously-digital people who now inhabit my world.  Links later, a preview of what I'm cataloging so I can experience the wash of acquisitive pleasure all over again.  I'm only barely embarrassed.

Volume of fiber bowed to spinning.  Financial investment (what a fabulous euphemism!) leaned to yarn and knitting, and mostly because of this:
I have been googling qiviuk for over a year, knowing in my heart of hearts that it is a tactile purchase and not a visual one.  When I saw felt this at Galina's lace booth, I was a done puppy.  More than one blogger joined me in the post-purchase squeeze.

Norm Hall's woodworking is justly famous.  I had been looking for a larger, unique, shapely niddy-noddy.  I found it at his booth:  curly maple.  My search for a more slender orifice hook ended at Woodchuck Products.  It will replace the awkward one that came with my Schacht wheel.  I loved his noste, too; it is teak.  (I can't remember which blogger had me in hysterical tears between barns, when she confessed that she walked up to one of the woodworkers' stands, and asked, "Can I touch your wood?"  And THEN realized what she had asked.)

More later.  This is just a shout-me-out post to say hey to the amazing crew I had the luck to find. 

Rhinebeck WIPs

I'm packing.  I can't remember everything I have to take.  There is too much, covering too many different categories.  Clothes?  Easy.  Which wines?  Not as simple.  This is a case when knowing too much shoots one in the Foot.  The WIPs need to be triaged.  What is mindless enough to survive the onslaught of knitting with friends and knitbloggers?  A sock project has to be included.

I started the Conwy socks (Knitting on the Road) last week before I tried pushing to finish the Marla sweater.  This was an instance of the Etherknitter being too clever for herself.  The pattern calls for #1 needles, so, of course I started with #2s.  "I'm a tight knitter.   I always go up a needle size."  Yeah.
The knitting to the left is where I stalled for about a day and a half.   "It's not sock fabric",  the Etherknitter mumbled.  "It's fine, leave it alone", she scolded.  "You are being hypercritical.  Knit a few more rows and you'll see."  I didn't knit a few more rows.  I restarted the pattern on #1's.  Yes.  THAT'S sock fabric.  (One Etherknitter laughed at the other one, and said, "Toldja so. Ha ha.")  So, lesson in gauge (and lesson in maths):  The smaller the needle, the more the increment upwards counts.  A difference of 0.25mm matters more when you are starting out at 2.0mm (#1), than if you are starting out at a larger size.  The good news?  I didn't get half way down the leg before evaluating the fabric.

The rain has obliterated what was left in the garden.  I really do need to augment my fall display.
This is the ritual fall blooming of the Colchicium.  It's part of the crocus family.  Foliage appears helter-skelter in the spring, dies back, and produces naked flowers in the fall.  The architecture of the flowers is very different from that of the spring and summer flowers.  It's more disorganized, as if the flowers realize there isn't much time left to get pollinated.  They had better not waste time in creating ordered blossoms.  So the blooms are just tossed out of the bulb willy-nilly, and here they lie.  And after all this rain, they are certainly supine.

Aster laevis is a New England native.  I love her delicate flowers, and the gentle color.  Most fall plants are SCREAMING orange, rust, burgundy or red.  She is an aristocrat in that crowd, and makes her statement with profusion, and height:
The spray of flowers arching upward gives a sense of the quick passing of fall.  There is movement out in the garden, and it goes too quickly towards sleep.

I am debating what to wear to Rhinebeck.  Marla is not quite done.  I may not be brave enough to wear the distinctive sweater knit by my mother 20-25 years ago.  I asked her for a rainbow, and this was her interpretation.  By 2005 standards, it is mildly heinous, but I think it serves the purpose.

Collective unconscious

I asked Toni Neil of The Fold to ship my treasures at the beginning of October.   It's not her fault that I was hopping up and down in anticipation of  seeing my new goodies.  Call it a preview of Rhinebeck fibery madness goodness and leave it at that.

When I was in Chicago visiting with family, a trip to Marengo was unavoidable.  I rented a car.   
Toni raises merino and CVM sheep.   They live on her property, within drooling distance of her store. 

The Etherknitter stood at the fence,  foot on the lowest rail, arms crossed on the top rail, chin resting on hand,  in imitation of a posture that is firmly in her psychic memory (the "collective unconscious" of Carl Jung).  Toni and I spoke of the business of health care, and of what happens when CVM and merino rams get loose among the ewes. 
Toni will be at Rhinebeck.  She knows how to lure both knitters and spinners.  I came home with baby alpaca roving in three colors, extrafine merino (15 micron) in white, dyed Polwarth, and a merino/silk blend that she assured me would not barberpole.   

As I'm ripping through the store, accumulating This and That and Some of This, she asked me if I worked with fleece.  "Nah, takes too much time, I haven't got the equipment, don't want to at this point in my spinning career."
The e-vil grin appears on her face.  "Let me show you this Cormo."

She breaks open a newly arrived box, rips through the plastic, and sheepy, crimpy fleece smelling of clean lanolin explodes outward.  (I can picture the C-girls laughing now:  Cassie, Claudia, Cate.)  She starts ripping handfuls out and GIVES them to me.  She starts reciting how to wash it, how to spin it without combs or cards.  E-vil.  I am guessing that you understood far before I did that I was not saying "no thanks".
Cormo to the left.  Baby alpaca to the right.  This is the presentation of evidence that I really do choose fiber in shades other than blue and green.

Toni provides fabulous customer service.  She seems to have an inner peace and joy that comes from both doing what she really enjoys, and having spent some of her time on the planet putting it all together.   Here are some shots from the store:
I think you can see all the labels.  The unlabelled taller cabinet is the dyed Polwarth selection. 

Nothing substitutes for being able to crush the roving in your palm, bring it to your cheek to see if the visual softness matches the feel. These pictures were as much for my future mailorder thoughts as they were for blog woolporn.  But I did want to share them, and let you know about Toni.

One of the joys of Rhinebeck will be seeing Toni again.   The wool world is as much about relationships as it is about fiber.   It just keeps getting better.

Delicate essen - an oxymoron

Week three of this virus.  I had a chance yesterday to post, and take the easy way out.  But I was too embarrassed to admit that I have only knit two pairs of socks.  That sentence certainly does defeat the whole point of not posting two pairs of socks yesterday, now, doesn't it?  Then Norma posted her one pair.  Beautiful socks.  Bless Norma and her chutzpah.  I clearly need lessons.

After Alinea, we had the opportunity to dine out in New York City.  We went to Cru.  I had my camera.  The food was good, the wine was better.  Nothing blogworthy poked its head up. 

Each trip to NYC has an obligatory trip to a deli.   There are four famous ones in NYC:  Stage, Carnegie, Katz, and Barney Greengrass.  If these are familiar names to you, then you already have your favorite.  I had my camera.  Katz's was a brief walk from the hotel, and I had not been there before.

The service was dreadful.  The young guy came over after ten minutes to tell us the old guy would be over soon.  Ten minutes later, we get the menu.  He sets a bowl of pickles in front of us.  Dills?  No.  No dill flavor.  Half sours?  Maybe.  They cheaped out on the brine solution.  These things are supposed to suck your mucous membranes dry - clearly, not enough salt.  These are not worth ruining one's appetite.

The old guy returns.  I order.  He doesn't ask me how I want my pastrami.  That's what Katz's is famous for...that they will cut the pastrami YOUR way.  "I want my pastrami lean, mean and thin, the same way I like my men."  Did I REALLY say that?  Yes, I did.  I think my DH was stunned.  I got a smile from the crusty New Yorker.  (Should I add that I hadn't the courage to sit in the seat where Harry met Sally's fantasy life?)

First course:
Matzoh ball soup in chicken broth, with saltines  (matzoh balls are also called "knaydelach", which is Yiddish for "dumpling").
The matzoh ball was light and fluffy.  The seasoning was correct.  For some reason, in the delisphere, the fashion is to serve one huge, honking matzoh ball.  My grandmother used to make smaller ones.  Is this New York City hubris - that they can make their big ones as light as your grandma's small ones?  Note the Dr. Brown's Diet Black Cherry soda in the background.  De rigeur at most delis, in and out of NYC.

Second course :
Lean, mean, thin pastrami;  picture slightly blurry, but I think the idea comes across
The sandwich was not packed as high as at the uptown delis.  That, to me, is not a character flaw.  It was a tender, flavorful, sweet sandwich, that completely disappeared in minutes.  No room was left for dessert. 

No one else sat in the Harry met Sally seat either.

Stage Deli is still our favorite.   

Essen is Yiddish for "eating".   Dictionary.com has this to say about the  derivation of the word "delicatessen": 

German Delikatessen, from pl. of Delikatesse, delicacy, from French délicatesse, from Italian delicatezza, from delicato, delicate, dainty, from Latin dlictus, pleasing.
Go figure.

My niddy-noddy arrived.  I finished spinning the 70% merino/30% silk bougainvillea colorway from Kendig cottage.  I got 154.5 yards of double-plied fingering to DK weight yarn.  It awaits a soapy bath when the humidity lessens a bit.

All this, and it's not even Rhinebeck yet

So what is it about sock yarn?  The NYC yarn crawl is well described in Risa's and Cassie's posts.  There is such warm comfort in the assembly of knit-buds.   Drop the ego at the door, and one's world can only be opened further.  (Both knit longer, better.) 

Downtown Yarns, Seaport Yarns, Purl, School Products, and The Point had stuff (stuff!) that is hard to find in my usual Boston haunts.  While some talk about the pedestrian nature of "see what I bought!" posts, this feels like more than that to me.  My soul sang when I found and fondled these skeins.  I had a wash of what the pleasures would feel like, as I formed the WIPs these yarns would become.  I smiled.  My overworked sense of propriety prevented me from dancing next to the displays, but Cassie could see the footwork in my eyes. 
From left to right, Cherry Tree Hill luck of the dyepot skeins, in blues/purples, and earth colors.  The middle picture is Coyote Howl-o in full cry over my two Koigu finds.   The third picture is not sock yarn, but luscious mohair/wool from Ellyn Cooper in the Tuscan Hills colorway.  I have a conflicted relationship with the scratchiness of mohair.  But I cave when I see the way it takes color. 

The Irish Hiking scarf is now officially a completed FO.  The bizarre custom of self-portraiture is amply demonstrated in this shot.  I included a closeup of the cable work because I love it so.
The yarn is Classic Elite Wings, 50% alpaca, 50% silk, 4 skeins, #8 needles, pattern available on-line.