Too Much Wool

the viking hordes retreat

Wednesday was the end of the family/in-law visit. A museum and botanic garden trip in the morning, goodbyes, and then they were off to the airport and headed back home before the end of the day. I thought I'd have plenty of time to write, but I kind of hit the wall.

Having in-laws visit and deal with me on my home court, in my home rather than theirs was a big revelation. Things were far more relaxed than I can ever remember. I'm such a homebody that being able to host was a relief rather than a burden. I've always socialized with them while out of my element, at someone else's house while far from my home, and I think the change of scenery was good for all of us.

There really wasn't any lack of understanding concerning me and my sewing/knitting/crafts space and paraphenalia. The fact that my interest in knitting dovetails nicely with family history certainly helped a bit. They were all definitely struck by my extensive sewing room and all my stash and supplies, not to mention book collection, but it wasn't a subject that anyone dwelled on or teased me about. Other than the usual suspects of course (meaning the ones I live with).

I managed to knit about 10 more rows on the nattrøje; no small feat considering the gauge and the number of stitches per row.  This picture actually shows something very close to the true yarn color, which has been difficult to capture. I'm not yet through one full pattern repeat; I've just completed row 47 of the main pattern. Although progress is slow I'm loving the fabric that's being created.

One thing I've discovered is that although the nattrøje pattern is a huge (58 row) repeat, after a while the rhythm of it kicks in and there's a musical flow that is very similar to lace knitting. The biggest difference is that the stitch and row gauge are so tight compared to lace that showing daily progress is almost impossible. Now that the body measures 5.5" long, its starting to feel like an actual work-in-progress rather than a big swatch. Since I basically suck at swatching, I've made some huge "swatches" that didn't work out in the end.

I did manage to fill the second bobbin of wheel-spun yarn while watching a movie. I didn't get to plying, which means that I have nothing concrete to show for my spinning 'practice' yet. Spinning continues to refresh and relax me. I'm sure it helps that I'm considering this practice and I'm not trying to spin for any project in particular.

I've decided to buy the wheel. Its been on loan for the past five months, with the understanding that I could buy it if I wanted to, but there was no pressure at all in regard to purchasing it in the long run. Now I'm spinning comfortably with it, and have actually developed something of a relationship with the wheel. I've decided to buy it and I'm actually relieved now that I've made the commitment to it.  One more step on the road to total fiber obsession.

more Norwegians

Ellis Island. Another day in NYC, tracing Norwegian family roots.

Knitting: 3 rows on the nattrøje.

Spinning: nada.

Blogging: hopefully more tomorrow.

paltry nattrøje progress and lots more non-news

Time-delayed report:

The weekend went well. The first night our company stayed, I showed my mother-in-law and sister-in-law a selection of Norwegian books. I have Håndplagg as well as Bunad og Folkedrakt - a Norwegian folk costume book, Poetry in Stitches, and Fanatrøyer - a book about Fana sweaters. We didn't even get to Everyday Knitting: Treasures from a Ragpile, or Setesdal Sweaters.

My husband's grandfather, his mother's father, was Norwegian and she remembers some words and things from when she was little. She really got a kick out of the books, especially those with 19th century photographs from Norway. My sister-in-law, who has always been a sewer, was impressed by all the costume photos.

This all worked out very well, as I was able to explain the nattrøje (ok, its Danish, but close enough, right?) and show pictures of old Scandinavian costumes. And somehow prove that an Italian daughter-in-law could contribute something of historical value to this very Norwegian family.

Sunday night we had 10 people over for dinner. Thankfully, there was a lot of help with cooking and it was lots of fun. Both sides of the family got along very well.

No knitting. Very little spinning (I don't think anyone really wants to see a second bobbin full of beige wool yarn).

That's all the news from here. Above you can see about 8 more rows on the nattrøje. Almost indistinguishable from the last photo of it, but that's what I've gotten done.

stealth blogging

I'm writing this in a stolen moment over the weekend, with a house full of company.

By Friday afternoon, the house was clean. Click it to enlarge.

My living room really never looks like this. The coffee table and the end table (you can just barely see it on the far left, with a black Ott-lite attached) are always covered with something I'm working on. The table is usually covered with books. [For the curious, the quilt is antique, the stained glass window was made by Jon, and the doorway to the right opens into my sewing room.]

So, having straightened up and having a little time to relax, what did I do? I got out the spinning wheel I borrowed in October. Those of you paying a lot of attention may remember that I haven't said anything about the wheel since, oh ....... October. And what I said in October wasn't very upbeat. 

To be truthful, I had kind of given up in a fit of perfectionism.

Moving the wheel to clean, I guess I made a connection with it. Maybe it liked being in a clean room. I really don't know. I sat down, adjusted the g*dd*mn tension a few times, and somehow something clicked. I don't know if I clicked or if it clicked or if the different wool clicked or if the universe clicked. To be honest, I don't really care. There I was, in a clean house, spinning on a spinning wheel. And the stuff looked like yarn. In my own defense (?), I can spin on a spindle. I just haven't done much of it for a while.

Saturday AM. Jon leaves to pick up relatives at the airport. I've put the wheel into the sewing room, but don't fold it up or put it in the case. Relatives arrive. Kisses, hugs, compliments on the apartment which they've never seen, etc. When asked what they want to do, they say "Go to Chinatown!" Within 30 minutes of arrival, they're gone. Five minutes later, the wheel is in the living room and I'm spinning again.

About two hours later, I realize I might run out of fiber to spin. Have a fit, then remember a pound of Blue Faced Leicester roving I bought at Rhinebeck. Can't remember where it is. I ransacked the sewing room, and not only found the BFL, I found some Wensleydale (which is probably slippery to spin). And some dyed fiber also bought at Rhinebeck. Breathe a huge sigh of relief. Needless to say, there are other things I could have been doing.

Ten hours before your house fills with company is NOT the right time to get re-obsessed with spinning. Then again, the spinning  was successful, the act of spinning made me incredibly calm and content, and its something I can do while talking.

It's not perfect; overspun in some places, lumpy in others. I don't care. I finally got going on the wheel and I'm spinning again. Send wool.

In the sky...

In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create the distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.

- Buddha

and a partridge in a pear tree

I wasn't going to write anything today. I didn't get to it last night but woke up this morning feeling that the blog was empty and I had to have some coffee and get going. With something. With anything. Sat down at my desk. I looked around to see what needed to get straightened up for my company's imminent arrival (Saturday before noon). Everything has boiled down to this one issue. And by the way, everything was straightened up Tuesday.

On my desk: Three skeins of Icelandic laceweight in browns. If you have Three cornered and Long Shawls, I'm getting ready to start the Litla Hyrna Huldu (which mean's Hulda's little shawl). Thanks Sonja. She not only prompted me to start another shawl, she helped out with a translation.

One skein of Opal from Lisa's caption contest. Which was weeks ago at least, and I had forgotten there was yarn coming. It arrived yesterday. Is it self-patterning? I have no idea, the label is in German. One skein of Rowan Classic Cashsoft to fondle, the red from the picture a few days ago.

Three knitting books:
Folk Shawls, Knitting on the Road, and Þríhyrnur og Langsjöl (Three-cornered and Long Shawls).

Then there's the big cardboard box - I keep all of my yarn color cards in a wine carton because that's where they ended up along the way - that I pulled out yesterday evening from its nicely put away corner under the desk in the sewing room. I needed to look at colors for some laceweight I wanted to order, but got distracted by the Beaverslide colors and started dreaming of sweaters. I'm still haunted by a fantastic green sweater I saw at NYS&W/Rhinebeck last fall. But I digress.

And last night Jon said to me on the phone (Oh, didn't I mention? He's been out of town since Monday.), "Don't worry, once they get here you won't have to do anything."

What planet does he live on?

Thankfully, I've got my daughter home for the day. The neat freak. Too bad she doesn't drink coffee.

real

The only way I could think of to prove that its actually my own copy was the nattrøje in the background.

This should be an interesting thing to leave lying around for my MIL....

Congratulations, Stephanie!

'round and 'round

Wednesday started out pretty well. I got up early and got my laundry done; the impending arrival of the in-laws drove me to the laundromat. As I got home the drizzle started, and I was relieved to have gotten home with my clothes dry. Great start to the day.

When I went out to take my grandmother to the doctor around 11am, I realized that the wind had shifted - literally. It was suddenly much colder than it had been two hours before. The wind had picked up, the rain was steady, and before I had gotten to the bus stop, the precipitation was coming down as snow. [Note: this is the point at which the intelligent person would have taken 5 minutes to walk back and grab a scarf and hat.]

The doctor's visit was one of those experiences that make you question everything that categorizes your society as civilized. The car service was 30 minutes late going there and 30 minutes late on the return trip, the doctor's office was overcrowded, the examining room was unheated, the nurses were dismissive and rude, the whole experience basically sucked. My grandmother was crying because she was cold. But she needed to see the doctor so we couldn't scream at people and walk out.

One more thing: the next time someone gives me a book about rape, abuse, war, and trauma, I ask that they warn me ahead of time. There are three issues I don't deal rationally or normally with: 1. suicide 2. rape 3. traumatized/abused children. Anyone who knows me at all would know this. Guess what I brought along instead of knitting?

So, I got home and decided that in spite of a 45 minute wait for a bus [this is the point at which the rational person would admit that waiting 45 minutes for car service indoors would have been preferable to standing on a windy street corner waiting for a bus that never came] and freezing toes and fingertips, I was going to knit. Because if I didn't knit, there weren't nothing to blog about but nasty weather, insensitive health care, and how tired I was/am.

I ignored my mental blocks and excuses and picked up the nattroje. The project that has been esconced on a chair in the living room for 4 weeks, untouched and guiltily igored. The project that I thought was going to be tricky to find my place in again, because it had been so long since I touched it. The project that had prompted inquiries as to whether it was a work-in-progress or an art installation.

Guess what? I picked it up, read my scribbled note on the Post-it, and immediately commenced knitting. No confusion, no mistakes, no slavish devotion to reading the chart. Just round and round on weensy little needles, creating a cool pattern. Knitting at its best. "Round and round" was really only about 5 rows. I'm not sure that anyone but me and my Post-it note can tell the difference from the last time I wrote about it (precisely a month ago) but I'm glad to have had the blog/guilt force me to knit.

Because damn it, I needed it.

Spin. Spring. Spun.

Not much actual handwork has been happening here lately. I'm still enmeshed in a fit of organizational frenzy. Dare I call it spring cleaning? I have friends who refer to this as 'spring fever', which I always associate with birds in heat in the spring (think twitterpated from Bambi), but which actually means having an urge to clean.

An urge to clean. Imagine that.

Actually, I had an urge on Tuesday to take some time out for myself, and that's what I did. I managed to luck out on a half price copy of the new (softcover) edition of Color in Spinning by Deb Menz.

Finding this book actually has me convinced that there's some kind of universal plot to get me back to spinning. I'd been thinking about it a lot already. Then Laura posted almost nonchalantly about ordering a new wheel the other day; she's also been trying to enable me in various fibrey ways but so far I'm resisting. Of course digging about in the sewing room and finding bags of roving also rekindled an interest in spinning. And finding the box of Earthhues dyes didn't hurt at all either.

As much as I've whined, the sewing room cleanup has been all for the good. Its reminded me of what I have. Made me unearth things I had forgotten about. And forced me to look seriously at the piles of things I haven't touched in ages, which gives me some perspective on what still interests me and what no longer strikes a chord. All for the good.

In the foreground of the above picture, you can see the Rowan Classic Yarn Cashsoft 4 ply that I picked up the other day. This was a difficult purchase for me. The yarn is 57% merino, 33% microfiber, and 10% cashmere. The microfiber was the sticking point for me. The yarn feels heavenly, but I have trouble with manmade fibers. The purist part of me does, at any rate. The ultimate selling point was the color. I was there, the shelves were filling with cottons and other summery yarns as I watched, and this was the one yarn that whispered, "Buy me now, before the Great Wool Drought."

Of Sisyphus and cleaning

I spent all day Saturday cleaning my sewing room. In some fit of self-preservation, I neglected to photograph the room at its worst. It would have been nice to show you Before and After pictures, but thankfully, no Before pictures exist.

Granted, none of this would have been necessary if I didn't use it as a catch-all for everything. Knitting magazines, patterns, yarn odds and ends, even actual fabric and quilt related things. Not to mention about 30 pairs of scissors. Just about anything of mine besides clothing.

This might not look like much, but if you had seen a before picture,  you'd understand that it represents a huge cleaning job. It's a rather  pathetic attempt to make believe that nothing goes on in this room. The table top never has any empty space on it at all. Expensive Bernina sewing machine? On the floor, lower right. Directly behind it? Pile of boxes of yarn, covered by Antique Welsh Quilt. To the left, oddball basket of leftover knitting yarns, and ballwinder ridiculously unattached to the shelf it lives on 24/7. As though there was a chance that my ballwinder ever gets put away. The swift is attached to the table, but obscured by a giant fabric-filled cabinet.

This was necessitated by The In-Law Visit, of course. Did I mention that my MIL has no known hobbies, besides reading and possibly crossword puzzles? She doesn't paint, knit, quilt, cross-stitch, or anything else that requires aquiring Supplies. I'll stop capitalizing Things after someone gets me some Valium, I promise.

I don't know what's worse. My MIL arriving and not knowing how much money the sewing room's contents represent, and being of a rather frugal bent .... or my SIL, who is also arriving on Saturday, who does have a clue, having sewn for her girls and mine for years. Folks, I'm sorry. I didn't grow up on a farm with parents who had to migrate during the dustbowl years or during WWII. This is probably a serious Character Flaw, but there ain't nothing I can do about it. I grew up with parents who sent me to baskets full of art supplies, that were always in the house, if I so much as breathed the word "bored" under my breath. I think that these opportunities for creativity should be nearby at all times. My mother also has an entire room dedicated to various forms of creativity. It's genetic, I think.

I had to sew (gasp!) in my sewing room yesterday, in preparation for a class I taught last night. Get the sewing machine back out on the table, get out an iron, rotary cutter, and pull piles of fabric out of the cabinets and scatter them all over the room. It was trashed 15 minutes after I walked in there.

However, in my cleaning frenzy on Saturday, and then again in a half-hearted attempt on Thursday to Organize (aka as Fondling the Fabric), I rediscovered a huge pile of absolutely luscious Japanese fabrics. This was just the pile I had bought at quilt shows in the past year. This isn't the Long Term Japanese Fabric Aquisition Pile, which has two giant plastic bins of its own. This is what actually made me want to quilt again:

My plan for this fabric revolves around an antique quilt I saw once. A lot of the fabrics in the antique were thick and textural, like the Japanese fabrics pictured.  My version will be more subdued, colorwise.

I don't know how many people out there have any idea what this pile of fabric represents. If you do, please don't spill the beans in the comments.