Day Two: Inspirations & Aspirations

Fourth Edition is taking part in the Knitting & Crocheting Blog Week, and you can read more about that blog project here. As I wrote yesterday, my grandmother has been knitting me jumpers and cardigans all my life. My all-time favourite jumper was one she knitted me when I was eleven. I chose the colours myself - forest green and dark red - and I wore it until my gran decided she had better knit me another one. Unfortunately I did not get to choose the colours second time around as I was living in London, not rural Denmark, and I ended up with a beige/fawn combination which I loathed.

Last time I went to visit her, my grandmother had uncovered the pattern she had used for the two jumpers.  The apple does not fall far from the tree, because Gran had obviously modified the pattern. Instead of a cardigan knitted in pieces, she had knitted the jumper in the round with subsequent steeking and whatnot.

I want to knit that jumper. I want my forest-green/red jumper back and I have the pattern right here in front of me. It is a 24-stitches/37-rows repeat, and fortunately I have Gran's marginal notes so I can follow her math. I plan on knitting it in the round as well, but I am not sure about the sleeve construction. Should I steek for drop-shoulders? Should I attempt to re-chart the pattern for a round yoke? I know I will be wanting a high-turtleneck.

Gran used postal order wool (I still remember pouring over shadecards with her). The actual pattern calls for a yarn which is miraculously still available - Sandnes Garn Peer Gynt (and rav link). It is a standard double-knitting pure wool yarn which should be easy to substitute. The real concern is if I can get the colours I want. Jamieson & Smith seem an obvious choice, but I'm also wondering if I should go for a slightly different look to my original jumper by choosing Rowan Felted Tweed (Rage and Pine would look so very lovely together).

Why is this an inspirational pattern for me? I know I have the skills to knit this - but I am actually a bit afraid of undertaking this project due to its many layers of meaning. By undertaking this project I will be admitting that Gran is no longer able to knit me a jumper and that I am, in a sense, "taking over" from her. In fact, I am now knitting her things, not the other way around. By knitting this jumper I am also reaching out to my own younger self - that young girl who feared so many things and felt so horribly out of place. And I am attempting to replace something which meant a great deal to me and I am afraid that my recreation will not measure up.

Who knew that sticks and string could be so .. meaningful, eh?

Day One: Starting Out

Fourth Edition is taking part in the Knitting & Crocheting Blog Week, and you can read more about that blog project here. My great-great-grandmother, Ingeborg, died in the 1960s but lives on in the stories told by my grandmother and my mother. Ingeborg was nearly blind when she died, but she kept knitting socks until her final days. My grandmother tells me that Ingeborg would worry about her tension becoming wonky and about dropped stitches, but despite failing eyesight Ingeborg's socks were as immaculate as they were back in the early 20th century when she kept her sons and one daughter, my great-grandmother, in steady supply of socks.

Intriguingly, Ingeborg used the English method, unlike her daughter (and subsequent generations) who were/are Continental knitters. I was taught to knit by my great-grandmother who was an important influence upon my life. She would knit long strips of garterstitch and sew them together into huge throws (and as I am writing this, I am awaiting a parcel from Denmark containing one of her huge, colourful throws). She would normally use whatever she had to hand - my momse had raised eighteen children through the 1930s and 1940s, and had very little time for anyone complaining about fibres or colours: if it kept you warm, you better be happy (and keep quiet about blue not being your favourite colour).

My grandmother has influenced me more than anyone else. Whenever I am with her, we make things. Arthritis has sadly put a stop to most of her creative endeavours, but she is a wonderfully multi-facetted crafter: sewing, knitting, crocheting, hardanger-embroidery, cross-stitching, and .. I can think of at least five other crafts she has tried.

She started knitting me pullovers and cardigans when I was a baby and, well, she has only stopped now due to her arthritis.  My grandmother made me the pullover I am wearing in the picture below. I think I am about six years old in the photo. She favours cables and textures above all other things, although she is also extremely fond of fair-isle knitting, and as Gran has never done lace knitting, I made her a lace shawl for Christmas (it was very well-received).

The most important craft lesson she has taught me? You can make it yourself.

My mother is no less crafty, although she channels her creative energy into other things such as gardening and writing. Mum crochets more than she knits and she tends towards making things for her home: table cloths, napkins and doilies. I think I get my love of delicate projects from her, as she prefers extremely fine/small-gauge work to quick projects. Her attention to details is legendary.

I do not remember when I was taught to knit or crochet, but I know that all my life I have been Making Things (and now I live with someone who also Makes Things). As a child I would knit fair-isle pullovers for my dolls(!) and made quite good pocket-money selling dolls' clothes to the neighbourhood kids. As a teenager I was mostly caught up in crocheting (and calligraphy, but that is another story) and made myself some, ahem, interesting pullovers. I abandoned knitting and crocheting for almost a decade, but rediscovered my roots when I found myself with some unexpected downtime. Nowadays I cannot imagine myself not creating things with my hands. It calms me and strengthens me in often surprising ways.

And, most of all, I am a fifth-generation* crafter and I feel connected to my family history every time I pick up my needles.

*at least

The Shape of Things To Come

In time you'll recognise that love is larger than lifeAnd praise will come to those whose kindness leaves you without debt and bends the shape of things to come that haven't happened yet

One of the loveliest things ever sung.

Today is a tired, quiet day at Casa Bookish. I have booked train tickets for a trip to West Yorkshire next month. I am spending nearly five hours each way travelling through Berwick-Upon-Tweed, Durham and York until I reach my destination. It sounds heavenly: me, my iPod, my knitting and beautiful vistas. True to style I have already begun plotting my knitting project and have settled upon Peace with a Kidsilk Haze self-designed scarf as back-up plan. Meanwhile, my Millbrook cardigan is flying off the needles. I separated for the sleeves today.

And around the web:

The secret to Farmville's popularity is neither gameplay nor aesthetics. Farmville is popular because in entangles users in a web of social obligations. When users log into Facebook, they are reminded that their neighbors have sent them gifts, posted bonuses on their walls, and helped with each others' farms. In turn, they are obligated to return the courtesies. As the French sociologist Marcel Mauss tells us, gifts are never free: they bind the giver and receiver in a loop of reciprocity.

A very interesting look at the curious popularity of Farmville.

Those who wonder whether the social media will "affect the outcome" of the [British general] election are asking the wrong question. It is affecting the outcome of everything, from having an idea, buying a pair of jeans or going on a date. It is not the dweeby tweets of campaigners, or the sad slanging matches between beer-fuelled political hacks that matter. What matters is that a new conversation is out there, and the first politician to look vaguely like they knew this got a (what may be short term) boost from this.

Paul Mason looks at how technology may be shifting electoral behaviour. I am not eligible to vote in the UK general election, but I still follow the election with a mix of bemusement, incredulity and curiosity. Earlier this week I checked the main candidates running in my local area - let's just say, it was interesting.

Finally, can you believe that these people get to make calls on how we all look? No, me neither..

Knitting In Public: True Stories

The couple approached me as I sat knitting. The woman told me that she had recently begun knitting again and that it was so nice to see a young woman knitting in public (I'm now the age when I appreciate being called a young woman). She then moved away to look at some flowers; her husband sat down on the bench next to me. "So, do you have a special man in your life?" he wondered. I do have a very special man in my life, yes.

"Do you ever KNIT FOR HIM?" His voice grew a bit louder. I admitted that I do occasionally make something for my man.

"Do you KNIT HIM JUMPERS?" Yes, I knit my special one jumpers.

"I bet he LOVES your HANDKNITTED JUMPERS!" The man shot his wife a significant glance. "What a LUCKY MAN!"

Pause. Then his voice grew even louder.

"What about socks? Do you knit socks? Do you ever KNIT SOCKS FOR YOUR MAN?! Ach, NOTHING SAYS LOVE LIKE HANDKNITTED SOCKS!"

And that was when the woman decided she needed to go look at flowers far away from me and my knitting needles.

Millbrook

Last year I began knitting Pine, a cardigan I had long coveted from afar and was excited to knit. The excitement turned a bit sour as I am a process knitter at heart and I did not enjoy the process one bit. So, Pine has been languishing in my knitting bag since early autumn just needing one sleeve, a yoke and a button-band. Deep down I knew I was not going to finish it. This week I decided to cast on a cardigan as an inter-rim project until summer knitting kicks in. I had eyed an unlikely cardigan pattern some time ago. Granted, the original version leaves a lot to be desired - an unappealing contrast trim, no shaping and strange styling - but look closer and the appeal becomes evident. The cardigan has a simple, vintage feel to it with a discreet lace pattern and interesting garter-stitch edgings. It is feminine without hitting you over the head with frou-frou.

I first cast on using a beautiful mustard yellow wool/silk mix, but it felt wrong. The yarn seemed to call for cables and texture - not lace. Then just before midnight I realised I had the perfect yarn waiting for me in the old knitting bag. Pine is no more and has been replaced by Millbrook, my classy vintage-y cardigan. I love how it is knitting up so far: the fabric is lightweight and yet substantial; the colour is sublime (i.e. a lovely heathered olive green).

Millbrook? Since seeing Rufus Wainwright in concert last week, I have been revisiting his first three albums. He played "Millbrook" off his first album at the concert and it has stayed my head ever since. It is also a better name for a cardigan than "Between My Legs", "Vibrate" or "I Don't Know What It Is".

Off-topic: I'll be appearing as a Eurovision pundit(!) on Ewan Spence's podcast later this spring. I am not sure if this marks the last blow to any credibility I may have possessed at some point or if it is my first step towards media super-stardom. I will let you be the judge of that.

The Skies, Now Undisturbed

The wise elders would explain that inside the aircraft, passengers, who had only paid the price of a few books for the privilege, would impatiently and ungratefully shut their window blinds to the views, would sit in silence next to strangers while watching films about love and friendship - and would complain that the food in miniature plastic beakers before them was not quite as tasty as the sort they could prepare in their own kitchens. The elders would add that the skies, now undisturbed except by the meandering progress of bees and sparrows, had once thundered to the sound of airborne leviathans, that entire swathes of Britain's cities had been disturbed by their progress

Alain de Botton - A World Without Planes (from the BBC)

Alain de Botton wrote his piece in reaction to the last few days' "travel chaos" (i.e. man is not greater than nature). I am reminded of Ben Marcus' The Age of Wire & String, a strange little book which I struggled to understand. I think it is the ritualised language both de Botton and Marcus use.

Completely unrelated: Death Metal Lyric OR William Blake Quote? Go on ..

Meanwhile I am still torn on whether to use a particular yarn for a particular cardigan pattern. When I look at the yarn I think "texture! cables! I have 1700 yrds!" but the cardigan is rather plain and takes 1050 yrds. Woe.