Came back from a week in Denmark today. Minor case of culture shock.
A Realist Look At Knitting
Earlier today I posted the following on social media websites: I have just gone through my wardrobe. I really, really NEED a warm black or grey jumper/cardigan. I have NO spare knitting time. Would buying one make me less of a knitter? Will I be kicked out of the knitting fellowship?
The response was really interesting. It was an unanimous don't be silly from everybody who replied to me. Selected responses:
Bells said: "I buy at least one a winter. I am a realist." (I like the realism bit)
Katherine admitted to wearing a shop-bought cardigan to her knitting group: "They told me off for being embarrassed that I hadn't knit it when they complimented it"
Catrin was succinct: "NO!"
And Christina pointed out: "Would you want to be part of a fellowship who would kick you out for doing that?" (she is always to the point - it's a gift she has).
So, I won't be a bad knitter if I buy a shop-bought item. It is strange, though, how making things automatically makes me think I should be making everything. It is also strange how guilty I feel at the thought of buying a non-knitted cardigan or jumper.
In an ideal world I would be adding the following staples to my wardrobe. In reality I have no idea when I'd have the time to start just one of these:
How do you combine your knitterly ambitions with your wardrobe needs, time constraints, and your budget?
Recent Events & Works in Progress
And another thing happened. The day before my birthday - Friday - I called to see my doctor as I was concerned about something. As a rule I am not fond of doctors, so I had waited a couple of weeks before actually making the call. The young doctor gulped, prescribed strong antibiotics (which meant I was being arty in Edinburgh whilst combating awful nausea) and made another appointment for me Monday morning. And so by Monday afternoon I was admitted to hospital awaiting emergency surgery.
I am very thankful for the British National Health Service. They were quick and efficient: I had my operation and I was discharged again by 6.30pm. If you live in the UK or are a British citizen, please consider signing this petition urging the British Government to rethink its Health and Social Care bill.
Whilst waiting around, I managed to do a lot of work on my crochet shrug.
The pattern is Fifi from the new Rowan Holiday Crochet booklet. The stitch pattern looks quite complex, but is actually a relatively easy two-row repeat worked with double trebles (US: trebles) which makes progress very quick. Apart from still needing to check how to turn, I have memorised the pattern - and I am very pleased by how much I have managed to do on just a few days.
And the colour is gorgeous - I cannot seem to get away from mossy greens. I actually picked up some Liberty needle cord earlier this month which has an accent of mossy green - I wonder if I'll actually manage to whip up a skirt or if my nerves will betray me once I face cutting into Liberty needle cord.
Later this year I am going to a wedding celebrating my wonderful friends Elaine and Steve. I was going to make my own dress, but then I found a silk dress in John Lewis reduced from £150 down to £10. How could I resist!? However, I have not forgotten my pledge to wear handmade to the occasion. I am going to design and knit a delicate shrug - and I am going to make my own fascinator.
Fascinators are so utterly British. I think the rest of the world noticed them last year when tuning into the royal wedding. Not being British, I have never had the chance to wear these flippant hair pieces before, so I am actually rather excited about the prospect.
I bookmarked a few tutorials and pinned a couple of pictures to Pinterest before having my first go last night. I used this tutorial to make the piece in the photo.
It was fairly easy, actually. I used some silk flowers I had found ultra cheap on Ebay and added a few beads I had lying about.
The flowers are not the right colour for the dress (a radical departure from the usual Ms Bookish uniform of green and/or red!) and I'll be wanting to add different beads to the actual fascinator/hairpiece - but I am still satisfied with the outcome. I'll be trying to reverse-engineer this hairpiece next, though, as I am not sure I'm a Big Floral Thing On My Head person.
Which reminds me: do say hello on Pinterest.
Making, Mending, and Doing
February has been a good month so far. With several deadlines met, I now have a bit more time on my hands and this has resulted in a lot of crafting time which I have used well. Making: I have finished writing a brand-new shawl pattern which I hope you'll love as much as me! I have also finished knitting the sample shawl which has lived around my shoulders ever since. I'm yet to shoot the pattern photos as my model is currently overseas, but it won't be long until the pattern's released.
I have begun a lovely crocheted shrug in a new Rowan yarn, Creative Linen, in a gorgeous apple green. So far I am zipping through the shrug as the pattern's an easy two-row repeat. It'll be ace for wearing this summer. And I have a baby project lined up as my friend Katherine is expecting a boy very soon.
Mending: I finally took pity on my winter coat.
The coat is clearly on its last legs - in fact, it has been on its last legs the past three years - and I probably shouldn't even be seen wearing it in public. Unfortunately I have been unable to find its replacement (why is a classic pea-coat in warm navy or 
black wool that hard to find?) and so I keep dragging it out of retirement.
Anyway, I sat down to repair the holes in it - I crocheted some small, decorative (and practical!) patches which I sewed on. Inspired by Kate I then replaced the dull black buttons with some lovely red vintage buttons. The coat is still on its last legs, but at least I don't feel totally embarrassed to be seen wearing it in public.
I have more mending to do: David's jumper has been worn non-stop for two years and the bottom rib is now in tatters and will need to be reknitted. Any tips on reinforcing ribbing?
Doing: I turned thirty-mumble-mumble yesterday and we went to Edinburgh for the day. We caught the FCB Cadell exhibition at the National Gallery of Modern Art before heading down to the refurbished National Portrait Gallery.
Cadell was one of the Scottish Colourists - a loosely bound group of painters working in the 1920s and 1930s. I'm easily excited by anything early 20th century (particularly 1914 to 1925-ish), so Cadell and his cohorts should be right up my street. The Colourists are a touch too post-impressionist for my taste, though, and although Cadell edged close to a sort of Matisse-esque Art Deco by the mid-20s, his work proved too polite and too safe for me. I left the exhibition feeling a bit grumpy because I have always admired Cadell's paintings in Glasgow's Kelvingrove Art Gallery and suddenly faced with a whole exhibition he felt wanting and limited. Maybe the curating was at fault - the transitions and contrasts in Cadell's style were never really explained and the obvious queer aspect to his art was not even mentioned.
The national Portrait Gallery has recently reopened and as a result the place was heaving. 
We only had time to peruse a couple of the galleries - predictably enough I swooned over The Modern Scot (where I discovered William McCance - a painter and book designer clearly in artistic thrall to Wyndham Lewis) whilst David enthused over Romantic Scotland, a photography exhibition.
I could write an entire blog post on the political implications felt throughout the Portrait Gallery - but I'm possibly too influenced by the novel I am currently reading - the very excellent And the Land Lay Still by James Robertson.
And so it goes.
Blocking Shawls - Experiment no. 1
A cautionary tale ahead. Sometime ago I had a run-in with some Danish knitters. They were asking questions on how to block a shawl and I replied with my usual answer (I include a longer version with all my lace shawl patterns, by the way):
Weave in the ends of your shawl, but do not trim off the ends. Then soak your shawl in lukewarm water for 15 minutes rinsing it gently afterwards. Wrap your shawl in a spare towel to blot out as much water as possible. Do not wring your shawl. Pin it out and leave it to dry for a few days. Unpin, weave in ends, then wear with love and pride.
I was told in no uncertain terms by a series of people that I was wrong. Instead of soaking shawls in lukewarm water and then patting them dry, I should put them into the washing machine to spin them before pinning them out. I don't mind being told that I am wrong, but this advice ran so counter to logic that I decided to experiment a bit.
In the name of knitting science I grabbed my Mosswell, my version of Elizabeth Freeman's fabulous Aeolian Shawl from Knitty, and I put it in my washing machine. I chose the absolutely lowest setting possible on my machine and the absolutely gentlest spinning cycle - and then I hoped for the best.
This was Mosswell before my experiment:
This is Mosswell now:
No, the photo is not blurry. My shawl felted quite dramatically and is now roughly the size of a bib.
So, what went wrong? I shall stick to my guns and say: "the washing machine is what went wrong". Unless you have a really state-of-the art washing machine (perhaps?), I would stick to soaking your shawl in the sink/tub and patting it dry with a towel. You have much greater control over the process than if you were to just stick it in a washing machine and hope for the best.
Also, if you have spent 2 weeks to 6 months on knitting a shawl, why not spend another 20 minutes (of which 15 minutes is the shawl soaking and you drinking coffee) on preparing it for blocking?
Have you any experiences with blocking that you would like to share? Leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you!
In Her Soft Wind I Will Whisper
Lady on the left? My great-grandmother. She would have been ninety-six today.
The photo was taken in the early 1950s outside her cottage and she is with two of her sons, K and T.
I have several photos of her; my other favourite is from the 1930s when she was approached by a travelling salesman who wanted her to become a hair model. I presume she shot him one of her withering glances. The photo shows her with long, gorgeous hair. I was told it was chestnut-coloured. The photo is black/white.
I was lucky enough to grow up around her. She minded me when I was pre-kindergarten and I spent most of my school holidays in her cottage. Her cottage did not have running water until I was maybe seven or eight and never got central heating. I can still envision her sitting in her chair in front of the kerosene-fuelled stove. She'd knit long garter stitch strips from yarn scraps and sew them into blankets. I think she was the one who taught me to knit. She was certainly the one who taught me how to skip rope.
Happy birthday, momse. We may not always have seen eye to eye, but we loved and understood each other. And I still miss you.
Title comes from this beautiful farewell song (youtube link). Post reposted from 2009, 2010 and 2011 with Momse's age amended. I continue to miss her.