in which I learn to count

I started a new sock last week. It is the Toe Me Up sock from Red Bird Knits. I've never tried a toe-up sock before, and having virtually no confidence in my own abilities, I approached the project with an innocent willingness to be gently guided to my doom should it come to that. And it just might.

It began with a figure-eight cast-on. The instructions did their earnest best to explain the technique but it could be said that they expected a little too much of me. My little shelf of reference books was no help, so I hit the Google trail. After a few rather cryptic hits, I did meet with some success, if you define success as approximately two hours of misshapen figure eights. But I got that sucker cast on with only one slightly weird-looking stitch. And then I went back to the pattern. Round three, it says. OK, I think, odd way to number the steps, it would never have occurred to me to begin at three, but then I'm no designer. Perhaps, if one wrapped ones brain around it, one could interpret the figure eight and initial stitches as rounds one and two. Spent another hour or two trying to figure out how an even knit row could result in the increase of six stitches that was required to make row four come out to 18. I swear to you, it took me the entire afternoon to figure out that rows one and two are missing from my copy.

I'm quite certain that your average kindergarten graduate could have figured this out faster than I, but for the record, you need to K1, inc1 all the way around at some point before you hit round three. You're very welcome.

for anyone who wondered why I called them the Garish Socks

the Garish Socks
Originally uploaded by shesitsandknits.

Subtle, aren't they? Funny thing about this yarn. I bought it from Elann. I have seen identical yarn under another name in the Mary Maxim catalogue, and yesterday I saw it bearing yet another label at my LYS. Your thick-headed reporter is starting to get some inkling of how the yarn industry functions.

And I returned triumphant from the LYS with more sock yarn: a ball of Opal Petticoat and the Jawoll wool/cotton blend. Jawoll, of course, comes with reinforcing thread, the use of which might turn out to be a whole new feat of manual dexterity for me to master.

Two FOs in one week! My head is spinning again.

still pondering Olympic knitting

Just skimmed through the signup list for the Knitting Olympics and noted that there are already six (6) Kathryns signed up. For your edification, not a single one of them is this Kathryn. Is six Kathryns sufficient? Have we already reached maximum capacity for Team Kathryn? Or should I continue to try to think of an Olympic project that can be knit mindlessly for no money during a couple of gymnastics meets and a trip to Florida?

how many years has it been since my last FO?

the $3 Clapotis
Originally uploaded by shesitsandknits.

Taylor is modelling the very latest from the Paris runways: the much-maligned bargain yarn Clapotis (made from nearly $3 worth of Unknown Fibre) over Strawberry Shortcake jammies. Though I'm still not sure whether I'm going to wear the Clapotis, I have to say it was a joy to knit. Really, really mindless, and yet with just enough variety to keep the brain from going numb. I do intend to do another one with Known Fibre.

And still on the needles, well, just about everything. I'm currently working on the heel flap of the second Garish Sock. I'm still on the ribbing of the yoke sweater (I seriously hate ribbing) and am stalled on the Shetland wool shawl. Let's not even discuss the other socks.

I'm still waffling about the Knitting Olympics. I'm enjoying all the variations that are popping up, and in that spirit I'm thinking I'll come up with my own variation on the KO. The rules will be as follows: I will knit something while I watch the Olympics. If I feel like it.

You've been dying to see it...

Clapotis in 100% Unknown Fibre
Originally uploaded by shesitsandknits.

First, I know every yarn addict has been eager to lay their eyes upon my find of a couple of weeks ago, the 100% Unknown Fibre baby-coloured factory mill ends I bought from Wal-Mart for six bucks or something. And here it is, in the form of a half-finished Clapotis. It's looking like it will end up costing under three dollars for the full-size scarf, though mine is not likely to reach full-size dimensions because the mystery yarn appears to be thinner than worsted. Still. It should be noted that I have grudgingly dropped the expetives from the project title as I've been forced to admit that I really do like it. (damn.)

And the big news in the knitting world this week is Yarn Harlot's Knitting Olympics. I really, really want to enter, but I have been compiling a list of reasons why it would be irresponsible:

1. I have UFOs and WIPs heaped in the corner of my bedroom and they're messing with my feng shui.
2. I cannot afford to buy yarn right now. I do have some in stash, but unlike a normal sane yarn stasher I tend to accumulate stuff that I don't want to use.
3. I cannot think of a suitable project. The rules stipulate that it should be something challenging, but because I am an avid Olympics viewer I do not want to attempt something that requires concentration.
4. It must be travel-friendly as I will be on vacation over the last few days of the Olympics and I have no idea how the knitting opportunities will be on the trip.

Perhaps I should just assign myself the task of choosing a project before the flame goes out.

the elusive identical Chameleon

three chameleons
Originally uploaded by shesitsandknits.

In the comments, Betty asks how I managed to make my first pair of Chameleon socks identical as her colours were coming out in random order. The answer, unfortunately, is that it would appear that I got lucky. The first pair I knit (on the left in this picture, looking a little worse for a few wearings) is quite small and only took half the ball; perhaps I might encounter some randomness in the latter half of the ball? But the sock on the right, which I've been referring to as the Leftovers Sock, used about half of the remainder and so far the pattern remains consistent. It will be interesting to see if it changes as I knit up the mate.

The ironic part is that I don't usually bother to make socks identical. Maybe by not caring too much I've avoided some sort of jinx.

rated PG for mild language

You know, I have my reasons for calling it the damned Clapotis (as of today, officially shortened to The Damned Clap, though for reasons of clarity I will endeavour to use the less evocative damned Clapotis here). First and foremost there is the simple fact that I refused to knit it for ever-so-very-long, finally caved upon stumbling upon the motherlode of 100% Unknown Fibre, and then was quite resentful to discover that I was enjoying the process. My stubborn self is now seething with fury as I consider making another Clapotis with Known Fibre.

And tonight, The Mistake: I ended a knit row one stitch short. I assumed that I had missed a kfb at the end of the last knit row, but as I could see the increase I was forced to consider that quite unlikely. Couldn't figure out what the heck I had done wrong. I did not relish the idea of tinking around a dropped stitch. So I fudged, picking up a loop where I hoped it could do little damage. And two rows later, I was again light one stitch. No freakin' clue where it went this time. After banging my head against the wall a few times I realized that the original error was not a missed increase but a missing YO. Now I have an imperfect edge abutting a hole that isn't there. Once I get up to dropping that column of stitches -- that should be sometime in 2009 -- we will see if the entire thing shoots off into another dimension.

Damned Clapotis. I really want to hate it.

in which I share my bad luck with multitudes

There's something I haven't mentioned in this blog that perhaps I should have, though perhaps if you've been keeping careful track of my knitting expoits you might have figured it out by now. And it is as follows: I claim the title of The Unluckiest Person Who Ever Lived.

Now, I must clarify. I am very lucky in all the things that really matter. I have a healthy, happy, practically perfect family, an adequate home, decent health and all those Good Things. But when it comes to that stuff we are admonished not to sweat, things like walking across a room without incurring minor injury, winning a game of chance, pouring a cup of coffee without later having to wipe coffee grounds off the walls, getting to the grocery store before they run out of the good bagels, reaching the yarn shop without tripping over the bloody pig's foot in the parking lot, I am simply cursed.

Generally speaking, it is best for me not to leave the house and so, generally speaking, I do not. I drive my kids to school and to gymnastics, once in a blue moon I go to my fitness club, and a few times a year I hit the yarn shop. The rest of the time I hide in my bedroom wondering when the doomsday meteor is going to score a direct hit. So for weeks now I have been resisting my Narnia-obsessed family's pleas to go see The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe with them. It involves leaving the house and I'm really more of a Harry Potter person anyway.

Yesterday I weakened, figuring it was an excuse to sit in a comfortable chair for a couple of hours and eat junk food, and so off we went. The first half of the movie wasn't bad. Like the BBC version, which we have on DVD, it's very faithful to the book, but oh what a difference a budget makes. But just as our heroes were arriving in the army camp where they were to meet up with Aslan to conquer the White Witch, my luck struck. The screen went black, the lights came on, and off went the distinctly non-Narnialike bleeping of the fire alarm. After a few moments of murmured consultation most of the patrons gathered their belongings and shuffled out to the lobby. At some point someone started to give instructions over the PA system but was cut off in mid-word, which amused my husband to no end. And of course upon reaching the lobby, we were told that it was a false alarm and to return to our seats. Which we did, and proceeded to sit and stare at a blank screen for twenty minutes or so. Every now and then we were visited by various and sundry employees of the theatre who pleaded for our patience and assured us that the movie would resume shortly.

It did not. Eventually a poor young girl carrying a broom and dustpan tiptoed in and told us in quaking tones that they were unable to restart the projectors and we were welcome to join the hundreds in the lobby who were lined up for a refund.

Is this a common occurrence? I think not. I personally have never heard of an entire multiplex having to send everyone home on Saturday night because a fire alarm has shut down the projection system. And therefore I must assume that it is my fault for having the audacity to leave the safety of my home, and I hereby offer my apologies to the moviegoers of Peel region for inflicting my jinx on them.

pithy retraction

I like the damned Clapotis after all. Call me a lemming. I don't mind.

Not my fault.

If Wal-Mart does not stop selling factory mill ends for under six bucks a pound, I cannot be responsible for the size of my stash of 100% Unknown Fibre. While waiting for our passport pictures to be printed, the family and I wandered into the yarn section and I somehow ended up with four big balls of some species of baby yarn. My largely uneducated guess is sport weight acrylic. After a few minutes of noble cogitation on charity knitting, I decided to devote it to that damned Clapotis from Knitty. Don't know why, don't like it, won't ever wear it, but I can only hear the thing discussed so many times before curiosity gets the better of me. And yes, I know that the Clapotis discussion died down months ago but living on the Cutting Edge has never been one of my attributes.

a rare original thought

I am considering committing a heretical act.

As a person incapable of original and/or creative thought, I am a follower of patterns. I do as I am told. I have occasionally changed a minor detail to suit myself, but in so doing I suffer palpitations because that way lies anarchy. As long as someone who calls her/himself a designer continues to gently guide me the earth will continue to spin smoothly on its axis and if the worst happens I will have someone else to blame.

A few posts ago I gushed about the lovely November Sock Of The Month pattern from Red Bird Knits. I still admire the design, but having knit a single repeat -- and I feel a cold sweat coming on as I type this -- I have no desire to put this yarn on my feet. I am not yet a wool expert so I will ineptly describe it as sorta thin and fuzzyish, and it is a weird raspberry colour. In my wildest anarchist moments I find myself picturing it as a lacy scarf.

A scarf. Out of sock yarn. I need to lie down. I will stuff the ex-sock yarn in a plastic bin that does not contain any sock yarn and hope that it forgets its original purpose by the time I recover. And please, please, nobody tell Robyn Gallimore that I am messing with her good work.

In the meantime, plain stockinette socks being excellent chicken soup for the soul, I continue to plug away on the first (yes, you read correctly, still the first) of the Opal leftovers sock. It is turning out rather nicely and I am resigned to the distinct possibility that I may have to cannibalize the completed Opal pair to finish these ones. And in rounding up my leftovers I have discovered an affection for the plain yarn I'm using for heels and toes and have decided to seek out more of it. I hope I still have a label somewhere, though if previous experience is any indicator my admiration for it will have been reason enough to discontinue the product (and I apologize to all for having thusly murdered the McDonald's veggie melt sandwich).

p.s. I looked at some blogs tonight but I'm Not Letting It Get To Me.

on blogs and books

I have a confession: I rarely read other people's blogs. If someone posts a message to a mailing list saying, "I just finished the most fantabulous lace shawl the world has ever seen, it took me fourteen years just to knit the edging, and you absolutely must check it out on my blog!" then I will usually click on the link, admire the shawl, quickly observe that the blog is infinitely superior to this one, and never go back again because the experience made me feel like a single-celled life form.

Good knitting blogs offer the following:
- visual interest in the form of photos and adequate design
- technical advice
- some patterns
- entertaining stories, knit-related and otherwise, adeptly written

The blog you see before you offers the following:
- mindless blather with very few misspellings

I am fully aware that there are some excellent blogs out there and that that they could probably enhance my life were I not so preoccupied with my own inadequacy. My saving grace is that thus far I have not written a book and so I can still enjoy good writing that is printed on paper. And the point of the current barrage of mindless blather is to announce that I received for Christmas, upon my request from my darling husband, a couple of the Yarn Harlot's books and thusly did I become properly acquainted with her writings. It grieves me to say that I have enjoyed the books so much that I have toyed with visiting her blog. I've seen it before. It is brilliant. I bow before her Harlotness. I do not deserve to share the internet with her.

And there I go again.

If you should happen to notice that I am suddenly posting more pictures and becoming ever more desperate in my efforts to be diverting, you'll know that I have weakened and become a regular blog reader. God help me. There are not enough psychiatric drugs in the world to numb the neuroses that could unleash.