Alter-knit reality

"It is finished."

Not only powerful words from the Cross, but also to every knitter who has ever labored a hundred-plus hours on a sweater.

I just finished a shop sample from Rowan's mag #40: "Parker" in Tapestry. (see http://www.gotyarn.com/detail.cfm?ID=2763 )

Inevitably, knitting a sweater becomes a love-hate relationship. You LOVE the yarn!
"I MUST KNIT SOMETHING WITH IT!!" you squeal, plunking 9 balls of it onto the counter at your LYS. And so the saga begins...

Day One: You're practically casting on at stoplights all the way home just to get it started. Dinner goes by the wayside, your family sorting through leftovers like homeless people. You almost miss an episode of LOST being so caught up in the newness of this love! But that would be crazy. No one misses an episode of LOST just to knit. You pride yourself on staying connected with reality.

Day Two: Twelve straight hours of knitting and the back is almost done! You've shaped the armholes and you're on the downhill stretch... of the first of 6 pieces. Six? Hmm. Oh well, you still LOVE the yarn! You're thrilled to see how it's knitting up even more beautifully than you could have imagined. Your family has switched to auto-pilot, knowing better than to bother you when you're counting decreases.

Day Three: Reality sneaks up on you when you realize that after finishing the back, every other piece of this sweater will have a matching piece with reversed shapings. It's like giving birth to twins, or realizing that you'll have to knit a second sock. You don't just get the joy of making one... you get to make an identical one that is not... identical. You suck it up and cast on both front pieces on one needle with two balls of yarn. You feel a bit anxious about the probability of tangling these yarns, but you pour a mixed drink and press on.

Day Four: Rip out both fronts when you realize whatever you were drinking clouded your ability to knit. Explain to hungry family that you spent your food money on yarn... and that it could be worse-- you could be sitting in a bar somewhere throwing it all away. Shut up and let me knit!

Day Eight: You've been reduced to a sweat shop knitter. Days off are spent in your pajamas with copious amounts of coffee and whatever food you can find in the fridge. You wonder why there's no food in the fridge, and then push that thought away as you realize you haven't cooked in a week. The Sweater has become the Sweater From Hell. It sucks the life from you... it lurks in your knitting bag like an animal. You dream in yarn, and wake up in a cold sweat, certain that you've knit your neck edge decreases incorrectly. Your daughter asks if you have a recipe calling for tomato paste and dryer lint... she's willing to try anything if it means she can eat.

Day Ten: Your family has begun leaving notes for you... what family? who are these people? Your eyes are sunken, your fingers atrophied in the Knitter's Claw. You think your missing chihuahua might be trapped under the laundry pile, but you don't have time to pursue it. Must knit... MUST KNIT.

Day Thirteen: Sleeves... why does it always end with sleeves?! Not one, but TWO! Two identical sleeves... sleeves that start small and then increase! It's got to have been some misogynistic bastard who added the first sleeves to a knitted garment! It's madness!

Day Sixteen: The last of the knitting is in sight. You hate this yarn. HATE IT... as in NEVER WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN! But it's got you now. You must knit on. Burning the oil well into the wee hours, you cast off ...tomorrow is another day. Your husband startles as you collapse into bed... he checks the framed photo of the two of you on his bedside table against the shell of a woman pretending to be his wife. Too tired to argue with a stranger, he lets you sleep.

Day Seventeen: Blocking. Oh sure. Take an entire table, cover it with towels, pin the pieces of sweater down and mist them, steam them, cajole them, scream at them, beg them to lie flat. Vow that you never want to see this yarn again. EVER. Go find your chihuahua.

Day Eighteen: Seaming. Isn't it enough to have knit 10,001 tiny stitches? Now they have to be seamed together? There is no joy in Knit Town tonight. Weep softly, humming negro spirituals such as Roll Righ By 'Dem Purly Gates, and Pass Me Knit, O Gentle Savior.

Day Nineteen: "Behold, I saw a knitted garment in all its glory, and it was a fearful and awesome thing!" As you weave in the last of your ends and gather your needles and notes, you reflect on the miracle of knitting. Like all things worthwhile and glorious, it has taken you to the end of yourself and back. It's brought you to desperation but allowed you to return to glory! You marvel at the 10,001-plus stitches and think of all the things your mind and soul were contemplating while you ticked off the hours on your needles. You put the sweater on and it hugs you back.

Much like the birthing process, you have brought this sweater from conception to fruition and it has been painfully rewarding. And also like childbirth, the memory of the pain immediately begins to slip away...

Is that a yarn catalog in the mailbox? Wow! I LOVE that new yarn...

Shish-ka-dog?

This is rather an alarming picture, isn't it? I don't believe any dogs were harmed in the making of this cover, and I have never personally used double point needles to knit a dog sweater.

It's this sort of thing that gives knitters a bad name... now where's my chihuahua?

Knitty Bitty Sweaters

Here's a teeny-tiny sweater I made this weekend. It's a teeny-tiny shop sample of Rowan's Denim yarn. It fades just like real jeans. I can't wait to make my own not-so-teeny sweater with it.

I had so much fun knitting this up! It went together in an afternoon... I'm going to make more, because it's so fun to say, "Yeah, I made a sweater this weekend..." and have people be completely jealous. Tee Hee.

If you'd like the pattern, just email me!

Knitting on the beach? Absolutely.

Hey Grampa, What's for Supper?!

Here's my Waffle House Breakfast! YUMMM, YUM!

Southern Hospitality-- Waffle House Style!

Labor Day weekend and the livin' is queasy!

My man and I headed out for breakfast at the local Waffle House, the Starbucks of restaurants in the south. You get the same breakfast every time no matter which WH you visit. It's like a diner. The entertainment value alone is worth the $2.98 breakfast sets you back.

It's claim to fame is, of course, waffles. I'm not a waffle gal, so I ordered their second best menu item: Hashbrowns! They come scattered, smattered, chopped, whopped, cropped, beaten and bronzed just to name a few options ... I have no idea what most of those mean, but I ordered mine scattered, chopped, chunked & peppered. It was hashbrown heaven! After dumping a bowl of grits onto my scrambled eggs and eating that concoction on white bread (I forwent the grape jelly) I ploughed into my spuds. Now this is NOT the South Beach diet I so strictly adhere to. This is the Girl-You-In-The-South-Now-Honey diet. It's a part of All-Carb Sundays that six days of eating like a good girl gets you. We live for All-Carb Sundays. "On the Seventh Day, God ate potatoes."

From Republican to Independent...

If you've found me from threeleftsmakearight.blogspot.com, welcome!
Tami and I will keep up our blog... I think! Hopefully Tami's schedule will allow her to write more in the future. Right now she's masterminding a coup to take over Macy's. Can't get in the way of that!

I'd like to share some of my knitting and sewing projects with you, as well as babble on occasionally about the things that catch my interest. Hopefully you'll enjoy the time with me.

Thanks for visiting!