A Knitting Confession

Hand on heart: I am so tired of knitting my grey jumper. My problem is two-fold. Firstly, I need a colour injection in this dreich weather. Secondly, I made half a cardigan using the same wool before realising I wasn't happy with the outcome and that I'd rather do something else. It now feels like I've been knitting my jumper for months. And, full disclosure here, I have knitted bust-shaping short rows for the first time and while one side looks fine, the other side looks slightly wonky. I have one-and-a-half sleeves and the neckline to go. Oh, botheration.

I still have my colourful triangular shawl that I can work on, but I'm doing the edging in Kidsilk Haze.

What to do when both your projects are driving you slightly batty and you also prefer to finish something before starting something else?

No Sense of Direction

Having recently looked through one of those "book you must read" lists, I have chartered my own reading throughout the years. I am particularly well-versed in contemporary British fiction, can find my way around the contemporary American literary landscape but generally opt out (bar one or two novelists whom I admire) and I know my early twentieth century poetry/fiction very well.  I know my nineteenth-century British novelists and poets, can muddle my way through Enlightenment literature but really do prefer sixteenth- and seventeenth-century English poetry. Some would say that I'm well-read, whilst others would point out that, for a Dane, I'm unusually Anglophone in my reading preferences.

Kimfobo of Reading Matters ponders her reading choices for the year ahead. Looking at my bookshelves, I can see Books I Really Ought to Read (Djuna Barnes, William Faulkner and James Joyce) because they fit so well into what I have already read and would fill up curious gaps on my literary map. I can see Books Waiting to Be Read (Alasdair Gray (signed first edition!), Jonathan Coe and Margaret Atwood). Curious books, whimsical books, flirty books and serious books. Hardbacks, paperbacks, graphic novels and proof copies. Books in Danish, Swedish, German, English and even one in Russian.

How do I choose? Sadly I'm not very good at keeping to To-Read lists. I would quite like to read more pre-1950 novels this year. I have a vague notion about reading some Ivy Compton-Burnett but it is hardly a radical idea. I fear I'm a literary flaneur, really. So I will continue to read without any real sense of direction. Perhaps I will detect a pattern when I look back some eleven months from now.

A vaguely topical link: Can you name the 100 most common words in English? A rudimentary grasp of syntax might come in useful here, actually. I got 61/100 and I'm sure you can do much better.

"We encounter each other in words.."

Unsurprisingly the poetry reading was one of my favourite parts of the Obama inauguration ceremony (another being Aretha Franklin's awesome hat). You can read the entire poem by Elizabeth Alexander on the New York Times website right here.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

Hope in my Hands

Image by Shepard Fairey.

It seems to me that today contains multitudes (to misquote the great American poet, Walt Whitman).

Today marks History in different ways.

To some, it is about George W. Bush leaving office after what I would politely describe as a shambolic, histrionic and incompetent presidency.

To some, it is about the first African-American man becoming president.

To some, it is about the advent of the Anti-Christ, and if you think I am joking, try googling "obama + antichrist" (I'm not going to honour any of the nutjobs with a link). It is a mixture of bittersweet emotions, joy and bemusement.

To me, personally, today is all about Hope. I once said that the worst feeling in the world is hopelessness. I don't know what the future will bring but today I am holding hope in my hands. It feels damn good.

When In Doubt, Knit.

It snowed this afternoon and we are said to get heavy snowfall tomorrow. I have been curled up inside finishing my first project in 2009 and also doing a stash-busting exercise with plenty of colours. Colours warm my soul - especially with snow outside. The first finished project in 2009 is this little cardigan which I've dubbed Presto Chango Monsta (literally "Quick Change Monster"). I have a nephew due in March and I thought he might like to snuggle up in a soft little top.

The Presto Chango pattern was an utter delight whilst my chosen yarn, Washed Haze, was splitty and showed up every tiny flaw (plus I'll never be a fan of cotton or cotton-blends). I chose to embroider a little monster rather than knit a lacy front.

The end result is rather nice even if my freehand embroidery is wonky.

I suspect that Presto Chango will become my go-to pattern for baby gifts. It's very easy to customise and is a joy to knit. I just need to find a less irritating yarn (still washable and still soft).

My stash-busting project is this shawl. I began it whilst watching In Bruges and it has grown enormously since then. It's a bog-standard triangular shawl (I have posted brief pattern notes on the Ravelry project page) knitted in Wendy Fusion with an edging done in Rowan Kidsilk Haze. It makes me smile, it's easy TV knitting and it uses up all those stray balls of wool I have lying about.

A non-knitting observation, finally.

I do not have many kind words to say about Facebook and privacy settings. However, I just found out that you can actually block specific people from finding you on Facebook (let alone try to friend you or view photos posted of you). I have now blocked my old stalker* from viewing anything related to me which gives me a nice, fuzzy feeling. Thank you, Facebook. It's a nice feature.

(* stalker in the "oh god, now the police is involved, I have to hand over evidence and I cannot sleep in my own home" sense, alas.)

PS. Our Christmas tree has been recycled and its removal from our home now means I have free access to my yarn stash again, oh happy days.

A Reply Among Many

Rhiannon replied to my question why she reads. I really like her reply and she was very gracious in allowing me to reproduce it here:

I read because I can. (And let's be honest, it's one of the only things I'm good at. I'm a really good reader. I read at least 600 words per minute, and have impressive retention skills for what I have read. It seldom takes me more than a day to finish a novel.)

I read because I enjoy it. (I do. I like books. I like holding them, touching them, ogling their covers, learning about the characters, solving the mysteries, falling in love when the characters do, being devastated when they are, laughing at the good bits, crying at the sad bits. I like what reading tells me about myself and about other arounds me. I like that I can read serious academic works and the most trivial mysteries and comic books and enjoy all of them.)

I read because it's compulsive. (It really is. I'll read the ingredients on a cereal box if nothing else is around. I have to be careful when I read comics because it's very easy for me to forget about the pictures and focus just on the text.)

I read because I get paid to. (I love my job I love my job I love my job.)

I read because I makes me happy. (When I was a child, one of the most effective punishments was for my parents to take away my books.)

I read because I get lost in what I'm doing. (There are numerous stories about me getting lost on the way home from school because I was too busy reading to watch where I was going. I never actually got lost--we lived too close--but I did tend to dawdle.)

Thank you to all who took the opportunity to answer my question (particularly as I was in a curmudgeonly mood).