Time Lord Wanted, TARDIS Mandatory

When I saw this diagram,

I finally knew what I needed — a Time Lord!! 

Let me restate that. I need to BE a Time Lord.

Why you might ask? Well, for any number of reasons.

First, I would go back in time to the beginning of 2014 and write that brilliant blog post I never got around to. Since I wouldn't be changing anyone's timeline, I suppose this would be ok. I truly can't image my blog posts affecting the course of the world or changing history.

But wait! From a knitter's perspective, that's not all...

The TARDIS — imagine what kind of yarn a knitter could hide in a TARDIS. While the space, where I currently house my stash, is finite and eventually the yarn will go pouring out the window, a TARDIS would solve that problem! Bigger on the inside? Yes please. And so deceptive! No one will ever know the extent of that stash. (Well, they wouldn't if I didn't compulsively list it on Ravelry to keep track of it.) I mean, really how much yarn can one police box hold?

I assume knitting is supported by the Gallifreyans since the fourth Doctor had a 16 foot scarf that many a knitter has duplicated. (Although frankly, that's a lot of garter stitch. Too much, if you ask me. When my son asked for a Dr. Who scarf, I taught him to knit and bought him the yarn.)

Then there's the Sonic Screwdriver that seems to be the all-purpose fix-it tool. Just think of the knitting errors (I mean, unintentional design elements) you could fix without the cursing, frustration, and gnashing of teeth. Perhaps it would even translate poorly written patterns into English (or German, or whatever language makes it understandable.)

Companions? I don't know that, as a Time Lord, I'd have just one companion. Knitting, while it can be a solitary endeavor, is best done with friends. Lots of them. If you're going to travel through time, you might as well have companions that make you laugh and understand your knitting obsession. Not to mention, the TARDIS would be able to hold everyone's stash!! And spinning wheels and looms and ... well, it boggles the mind.

And finally there's that two heart thing. While I can't come up with a specific reason why two hearts would be valuable in knitting, I do think the world would be a better place if we all had two hearts.

So to recap: Time Lord, TARDIS, companions, sonic screwdriver... 

All I can say is allons-y! 

A Knitter's Holiday Dilemma... (in rhyme, of course)

Twelve days before Christmas,

        and things were a mess.

There were projects unknitted,

        the knitter was vexed.

With only two hands ,

        plus a list, oh so, long,

            How can I get finished?

        where did I go wrong?

In choosing my gifting,

        was it overambitious,

            To think it’d be easy,

        to grant everyone’s wishes.

So how to get started?

                    how to prioritize?

            How to still look amazing,

        in everyone’s eyes.

So the list has been written

                   the yarn’s all been bought

            The time has been scheduled,

                   to ease my distraught.

Yet, here I sit...

       and think, "where will I fail?"

I’ll know after coffee

      and reading email…  

The Process of Knitting with Mom

"My mind isn't what it used to be, I forget things" is something my mother frequently tells me when she's frustrated that she can't remember an event, a person, what she had for breakfast that morning, or more recently, how to describe a fountain that she had just seen. I can't even imagine what it's like to know something is wrong, but not know what.

As I've mentioned before, the 'what' is Alzheimer's and because of our history of a loved one with this disease, I don't think we've ever used the word Alzheimer's with my mom, at least I know I haven't. What would be the point of telling my mom why she 'forgets' things? It's not going away. It's not going to get better.

And yet, in the midst of all this, I am amazed at what still resides in her memory ... like knitting. 

I don't remember my mom being an avid knitter when I was growing up.  I know she knit out of necessity - mittens, hats. At this point I have no way of asking her when she learned to knit, or who taught her. And I'm pretty sure she didn't teach me. Knitting was not something you saw my mom do often. If she was knitting, it was because something needed to be knit. 

It was product, not process, that drove the knitting.

Fast forward to the present. My mom knits. 

Constantly. 

Ask her why and she'll tell you it's because she has always enjoyed knitting. It makes her happy and keeps her busy. 

At this point, it's process that's important more than the product. 

Because the product is ... well ... um ... we're not entirely sure.

She casts on as many stitches as the needle will hold and then just knits, dropping stitches as she goes, randomly adding others. In the end what you have is a skein of yarn that has become rows and rows of garter stitch but not much else. Except that it has made her happy to work with pretty yarn, and she's content in the belief she's doing something useful. 

Often, when I visit, we sit and unwind what she's knit. She holds the knitted piece, I wind the ball. When I ask why we were doing it, she just smiled and says "Because we're having fun." To her, just being with me, sharing the time, is what is important now. It has become part of the process.

So while she forgets people, places, and events from her past, for now she remembers me and she remembers knitting. I visit, we sit, we knit. And sometimes we rip out and rewind what she's knit, but that's ok. 

It's part of the process ...

And we're having fun.

If the Sweater Fits...

I knit shawls. Lots of them. In different shapes and colors. The number of shawl patterns I have is obscene and I keep finding more I want to do. Really! It's a sickness ... 


I have yarn to do socks and I have a lot of yarn in sweater quantities for ... wait for it ... sweaters. Other knitters in my local store are more versatile in their projects - a sock here, a shawl there, a sweater now and again. 

But I seem to be stuck on shawls. And I finally think I've figured out why.




A shawl always fits. If it's too small, it's a shawlette. Too large? Maybe a throw. You kinda can't go wrong with a shawl.

I've made a pair of socks. I am still waiting for Big Foot to claim them

A sweater? In the past month I've watched no less than three knitters try on sweaters that were closer to completion than they were to beginning. As they got ready to put the sweater on, the rest of the us held our breath. We all knew what was coming. We all knew this was a moment of truth. And we all knew what it feels like when it becomes obvious that what you're doing isn't working. All that work, now what?

So we watched, holding our breath, crossing our fingers ...

Only one of those knitters was able to continue, the other two tried to figure out how to make what they'd done better. Seems there's really no way to make a sweater that's too small get bigger. Or stretch a too tight bind-off that makes the front of the cardigan shorter than the rest of the hem.  

Believe me, in the hopes that the fit was only an optical illusion, making it fit was tried. Yank here, pull there. Even the delusion 'that S#!T will block right out' wasn't convincing. The only thing that was going to work was ripping back and redoing. And potentially ripping back and redoing ... again.

My guess is that both of those sweaters are currently in time out until the knitters have the heart to face them again. As of last night, the third sweater was almost done.

I can't face knitting a sweater right now. 

The stress of moving my mom closer and keeping up with work and home has been, um, not good for my weight. Ice cream? Yes, please! Potato chips? You bet! Salad? Yeah, not so much.

So while I have a sweater's worth of yarn, I don't know that I have a sweater's worth of yarn for one that would fit me right now. And I really couldn't face spending all that time knitting only to find out I didn't have enough.

Life's too complicated at the moment. Knitting is my happy place.

For the time being? I'll knit shawls. They fit.

I Can Be Taught... (StitchesMidwest Part 2)

Well, kind of. 

If nothing else, I'm good at paying attention and knowing what was said. I may not be as good putting it into practice.

First, let me start by saying that the teachers at StitchesMidwest were AWESOME. They knew their topics and were good at communicating to their audience. As a recovering corporate trainer, I can tell you, this is difficult even with good trainer training. So please understand, as I sing their praises, I was a tough and discerning observer, not only of the subject, but also how it was being taught. Subject matter experts do not necessarily know how to teach (why do you think there are corporate trainers?) 

And these were Subject Matter Experts Extraordinaire.

My first class was a short market session on Continental knitting. For the non-knitters here: there are generally two techniques for knitting. English style is done by 'throwing' the yarn over the needle with the right hand. Continental is 'picking' the yarn being held in the left hand. Neither is wrong, just different, and allows for changing up how the hands are being utilized.

Kellie Nuss was very patient in working with each of us, watching how we held our yarn, managed our tension and made the movements for both the knit and purl stitches. (I got the knit stitch, no problem. Purl stitch? Problem.) Kellie demoed  by using large needles and bulky yarn that made watching her hand movements easier, and she circulated around the group so we got different views of those movements. So while I didn't master Continental knitting, I do feel confident enough to keep practicing. And for a market session, that's all I could ask.

My next class was a three hour session on the Ergonomics of Knitting. Now this sounds like a snoozer, right? But I needed to figure out how to lessen the fatigue in my hands and shoulders as I knit — so I went. And let me tell you, Carson Demers knows his stuff (and he should. He's a physical therapist and a Certified Ergonomics Assessment Specialist) and how to make it as entertaining as one can make learning about posture. He dispelled the myth that Continental knitting was faster than English, depending on who was doing the knitting (I would not be fast at Continental, at least not yet) but that it was a way to ease problems that arise from repetitive motion by switching up how the hands work the yarn and needles. And he explained why knitting 'injuries' are far more prevalent today than in years past (computers, anyone?) 

Who knew one of the worst things we, as knitters, could do was sit smooshed up in our favorite comfy arm chair, feet tucked under us, to knit? That it will only add to our pain in the long run? Turns out, we're not doing ourselves any favors by propping our arms on a table or chair arms either.

I learned the benefits of square knitting needles, using circulars, having multiple projects going at the same time on a variety of needle sizes and yarn weights as well as the reason I shouldn't sit knitting for hours at a time. And holding a warm cup of tea, before starting to knit, is a good thing.

After that three hour class, I still find myself assessing how I can ensure that my "happy place" (knitting) doesn't cause me pain ... and next time I'm taking Carson's Swatch-buckling class so I can learn to knit and walk at the same time.

Enough for today — next week I'll gush about my class with Franklin Habit who was every bit as lovely as I had hoped he'd be.

I Am a Sheep in Knitter's Clothing

Dear SpaceCadet®,

Your enthusiasm is catchy. You wrote in your blog about loving the addictive Zoom Loom. How you couldn't put it down. That it was so much fun. And it was a great way to use mini-skeins or leftover yarn.

Turns out, I am a sheep. (I'd have said lemming, but that didn't seem to fit in the fiber community.)

So ... Now I have one ...

... and not sure what to do with it?

Just so you know, I have local enablers. A gaggle of them that are MORE than willing to help me spend money. Do I really need someone enabling me from Pittsburgh?

Now, to be fair, I trust your opinion because, well ... how can I not trust someone who dyes some of the most beautiful yarn I've seen? The creator of my very first yarn club (yes I am a proud and loyal member of the InterStellar Yarn Alliance.)

When I bought the loom, at StitchesMidwest, the first thing my traveling enablers companions said was "I had one of those as a kid. To make potholders." 

So did I!

Maybe that's why it called to me from across the marketplace. Maybe it wasn't you. No, I distinctly remember saying "OMG, that's the thing the SpaceCadet® loved." Maybe I'm just rationalizing by pretending it's nostalgia.

When I got the loom home, my husband took one look at it and said "wow, my grandfather used to make potholders on something just like that."

Enough with the potholders already! 

So I've spent time researching what can be done with a Zoom Loom. I was a bit discouraged when the first thing I found were coasters. Aren't those just miniature potholders? Things picked up a bit when I started looking at what others were doing by joining the squares — like a blanket. Then I realized there were YouTube® videos, websites, Pinterest® boards, and Ravelry® groups. All around the topic of weaving on a small loom.

Who Knew? Turns out this thing is baaaad. (Good thing it's sheep and not lemmings. I have no idea what a lemming sounds like.)

So I suppose it's time to pull out some yarn (not yours, right now. Maybe after I've practiced - I'm not wasting the good stuff.) I'll keep you posted on how it goes. Or you'll know when I join the mini-skein club. But one thing at a time.

What's the worse that's can happen? I'll have a lot of potholders and coasters. It's all good.

Your's in Fiber,
Leslie

P.S. - We had Show and Tell last night at the yarn store.  Everyone wanted to know what I was going to do with the potholder maker. I am soooo going to show them!

What Does K-N-I-T spell? Community! (StitchesMidwest Part 1)

SQUEEEE - that's my experience at Stitches Midwest in one word. One made up word, but one word none-the-less.

What an experience and what a community!  I'm thrilled to be a part of both.

It began with a five hour ride with two of my enablers friends from the local yarn store. I don't think the conversation stopped the entire time and made the five hours fly. Am I wrong?

Then there was the Market. Major Squeeee! We entered (one with a color coded map and attack plan, one with some ideas of vendors to visit, and one who basically said "whatever") and were bombarded with the sight (and dare I say smell?) of yarn. Gorgeous yarn. LOTS OF IT! And not your everyday, 'I can get this at the local store', yarn. These were independent dyers who loved to tell you what their inspiration was for a particular colorway or why they used the base they did. I've been to trade shows where employees hawk the corporate wares, but this was a room full of passion. From the yarn, to the hand-thrown yarn bowls, the hand-carved drop spindles, the felted stitch markers and the custom made project bags (to name just a few.)

A community of passionate people who loved what they did. How many of us can say that on a daily basis?

And their passion was (ummm...) contagious...  

(So contagious that one of us walked around the market, for three days, with a broken toe. Not once complaining, even when the other two of us winced at how painful it looked. Perhaps a study on using yarn as a non-narcotic pain medication is needed. What am I saying?! Yarn is addictive!)

Then there were the connections...

Many times the topic of using an acrylic yarn would come up and I'd mention it was the only yarn I gave my mother to knit with. Since this isn't a yarn most of us knit with (see descriptions of market above), there were questioning looks as to why I'd do that to my mom. Tell them it's due to the dementia, and the stories of others dealing, or having dealt, with the same come pouring out. Like the story of the mother, with Alzheimer's, who in her last days, had all of her daughters come and knit with and around her — one last time.

Connections that we all had a story. Connections that we all used knitting to get us through the hard times. Connections that showed us we're not alone.

No matter where you sat, if there were other knitters near, an easy conversation started. "Where are you from?" "What are you working on?" "I've been wanting to make that, would you be willing to help?" "Did you see glass stitch markers in the market?" and the ever popular "What did you buy?"

Connections that make a community.

A community that also includes its own set of rock stars. Yes, there are knitting celebrities. Yes, some of them have egos. No, I didn't meet any of them. Yes, I did try to act normal nonchalant around Franklin Habit and impress him with my creativity (I kind of failed on both accounts, except when I used my Hershey kisses to improvise as the square tiles we were using to create designs. I hated telling him it wasn't so much creativity as it was laziness to get up and get two more tiles. But he took a picture of it because he thought it was cute. This was not how I had intended to impress him.)

All in all, I had a blast. I came home with a few souvenirs (did you not see the picture?), new, as well, as deepened connections with other knitters, and new knowledge about my craft and myself - but more on that later. 

I have a yarn hangover. SQUEEEE!

We're Not Your Grandmother's Knitters

If the last two days brought to mind music, today the tempo is more upbeat and the theme is Billy Joel's song and the line "you may be right, I may be crazy." Only substitute WE for I.

For tomorrow I am off to STITCHES Midwest. I'd have said a knitting convention, but that just pisses off the crocheters and they have feelings too.

And I am pumped or in the vernacular of the fiber community SQUEEEE!

I asked my husband if he wanted to drive three of us to Chicago for the weekend. He couldn't imagine why I wanted him there until I suggested that if he drove, we could knit. Next came some comment about eye and sharp stick, but I told him that isn't something to be said around knitters who carry the tools of their trade.  He said he couldn't imagine spending five hours in the car with three of us, and then when he thought about a whole hotel and conference center full ... well ... needless to say, no chauffeur and one of us will be driving.

Mike's apprehension may have been based on the text conversation I was having with my 'peeps', at the time. It  was around the topic of willy warmers and penis cozies and a potential side business. (One of the knitters was at an Irish festival and thought the guys with kilts might need them. In case you're wondering, yes, there are patterns out there for them — click at your own risk if you don't believe me.)

We are NOT your grandmother's knitting group.

On Friday night we had our monthly 'Sit and Knit' (it used to be Ladies Night, but some guy complained so it got changed. I have yet to see him come — wimp.) The ages ranged from 16 to 70+. There were sweaters, socks, shawls and one unidentifiable project being made with acrylic Red Heart. Topics ranged from matchmaking (my son and the daughter of another knitter. Hey, it's the only way I hear how it's going. You think my son tells me?), progress of our projects, exploding toilets, vacation wine math (if you leave on vacation with four bottles, drink two bottles, how many bottles do you come home with? The answer is eleven), new yarn and patterns we've seen, books we're reading and in general how everyone is doing.  You know, your typical Friday night conversations. At one point I was laughing so hard I feared for bladder control and another knitter thought I was never going to breath again.

Where was I? Oh yes, the convention and why Mike won't be our chauffeur. I still don't get it. We're mostly harmless.

So tomorrow we'll pack a vehicle we finally agree on and hit the highway (Said vehicle must fit multiple suitcases, knitting paraphernalia, a spinning wheel and cooler on the way up and then all of that, on the way home along with stash enhancements acquired at said convention. My car won't work. It would get us there, but not home. Crap, I forgot about the knitters! Semi?) I anticipate five hours of knitting and laughter. What's that joke? Three knitters walk into a store, one teacher, one real estate appraiser and one college administrator...

Expect posts and pictures from Chicago where I'll be walking through a trade show, sitting in classes learning new techniques, networking with other knitters, and likely acting like a groupie in Franklin Habit's class on Saturday. Did I mention the pajama party on Friday night?

All I can say is "you may be right, we may be crazy. But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for." Oh, and SQUEEEE!

Now You See It, Now You Don't

Do you see that? Where I messed up my stitches? It's so obvious.

At least to me.

I once had a knitter tell me that if you couldn't see the mistake, while galloping past on a horse, it wasn't worth fixing.  That sounds great, except I will always know it's there.  And when I look at the finished product, my eyes will go straight to the mistake — no matter what the rest of the knitting looks like. Everyone else may see miles and miles of beautiful stitches and yet all I'll focus on are the four rows where I didn't carry my yarn up the side properly.  Probably because I wasn't paying attention, kept knitting, and it wasn't until yesterday that I hit that "Oh crap" moment. (When you're working with pretty yarn, it's hard not to be mesmerized and fall into a fiber induced trance. And I'm using yarn from SpaceCadet Creations, which is VERY trance inducing.)

In knitting there is this awesome concept called 'tink'ing.  It's a knitting do-over.  T-I-N-King — it's knitting in reverse (get it?) It's a way to go back and fix the mistake. Ask another knitter "should I tink back?" and the answer will inevitably be "is it going to bother you?" Some knitters are fine with it, figuring it adds to the uniqueness and makes it their own. Me? I'm not one of those knitters and I WILL focus on the mistake. I try to convince myself that it doesn't matter, that no one will notice, that you wouldn't be able to see it riding past on a horse. But I don't usually wear my knitting near a stable.

And so I tink. Back to correct the mistake, knowing that I will be more aware of how I made it and watch to make sure I don't do it again.

Wouldn't it be nice if there was a way to tink back in life? So that instead of focusing on all the mistakes I've made over the past half century, I could correct, learn, and not do them again?

Now, truth be told, there are times in knitting, when tinking is no longer a viable option — you can only rip back the same yarn so many times before it starts showing the stress, and the best thing to do is start over again, at a different point in the skein.

Not too different in life I guess. Sometimes you have to let it go and say "well, that just made things more interesting" and at other times all you can do is know the mistake is there, learn from it and move on. I have yet, though, to figure out how to go back and start again, at a different point in life, when I keep making the same mistake over and over.

So for now, I'll have to be content with the do-over opportunity knitting gives me, knowing in the end I'll be happy with the results ... whether or not I wear it to the Kentucky Derby. 

Much better...

Knitting is the New Yoga

I am learning...

If I don't pay attention to what I'm doing...

That while the results may be potentially entertaining (depending on the vantage point)...

They will not be what I intended.

Let me give you a couple of illustrations that are personal favorites of mine.  

• When I was doing yoga (more to the point, when I COULD do yoga, but that's another post on exercise and diet, and well, I'm supposed to be concentrating on this post, right?) I could flow through movements as long as I paid attention to my body and what I wanted it to do.  But if I was in, let's say, downward dog too long, my mind would start a dialogue that sounded something like this: "man this was a crappy day. I didn't get what I wanted done. Wonder what's for dinner? Do I need to stop for gas? I hope I remembered..."  You get the picture.  The picture the rest of the yoga class got was me falling over.  Yup — mind went down the rabbit hole, body followed.
• In 2008, I bought a Harley. I had to have it delivered. I didn't know how to ride it. I took lessons. First thing you learn in class: the bike goes where your eyes go.  Repeat after me: Where you look is where you'll go. Simple, right? I learned to ride, and on one memorable occasion, early on, I had taken my bike to the dealer for maintenance.  My son drove me to pick it up and then was to follow me home.  As we left the parking lot, with me in the lead, I looked across the street and said (to myself, no one's going to hear you over that engine!) "don't go up that curb over there, don't go up that curb over there." I'm sure by now you know exactly where I went — up the curb, lost my balance and as slowly and gently as possible, laid the bike down. (see previously referenced lesson) 
• We won't even go into how I set fire to a pan while boiling pasta.

So knitting has become my new yoga.

When the running dialogue in my head sounds like "knit two together, yarn over, knit two together, yarn over, slip slip knit..."  (or K2tog YO K2tog YO SSK in the lingo) - things look great because I've paid attention ... to the pattern, the yarn, my tension.

What's not not pretty is when the mental conversation is more along the lines of  "knit two together, what the hell was I thinking, yarn over, that was a stupid move, I should have thought that through better...  why doesn't this look like the picture on the pattern? (or in the lingo, K2tog, damn, YO, crap, grrrr... ugh!)

Now, don't get me wrong, there are times when I knit, that I'm not paying attention because of the laughter and bantering with my knitting partners in crime friends.  I will never complain about that scenario, it's a fellowship I enjoy. By now most of us have learned not to try complicated or intricate patterns while in that group's presence. Just like yoga has levels of effort, so does knitting; sometimes you need Savasana, sometimes you need a garter stitch.

I'm still trying to tame my inner dialogue and pay attention, and the results are showing.

Now all I have to do is learn to tune out the dialogue in the yarn store, which tends to result in yarn purchases, pattern overload, and ... oh wait, are those new project bags with cute sheep on them?

What a Tangled Mess...

Sometimes all you can do is pick up the tangled mess and try to decide what you should do about it.  Is it worth salvaging?  Would it be better to just toss it and start fresh?  Is the effort time well spent?  In the end, did you come out with something useful, or is it merely an untangled mess?

Lately I'm not sure if this is about yarn or life ... my life  

I have spent a great deal of time, recently, trying to make sense of a number of things.  Often it's the massive knot that somehow my mother's yarn has become.  She claims it's gremlins in the middle of the night.  If that's the case, they need a new hobby, or at least someone else to pick on for awhile.  But it's surprising how determined (nay, some might say stubborn) I get to prove that I AM smarter than the yarn, and I WILL NOT be defeated by the yarn.  If it became tangled, it can become untangled!  I SHALL BE victorious!

Score so far?  Yarn 2, Leslie 3  You know, people stare when you hold aloft a neatly wound ball of yarn and do a happy dance.  I guess not everyone takes untangling yarn as seriously as I do.  Most don't understand why I take it so seriously — it's just yarn, right?

And as I work with the tangles and knots, my mom looks at me and says "you want it, take it."

Here's the thing, I don't want it.

I just want to feel that I have some semblance of control — over something — even if it's only a ball of gremlin knotted yarn.

And now we're back to life ... my life  

An adult child moves out, a child-like adult moves closer.  When you finally think your parenting days are over, you find yourself playing that role with your parent.  A parent that doesn't understand the shift because parts of her brain have become as tangled as the yarn, and it's out of my control.

So my tangled mess is no longer made of yarn but the threads of everyday life.  And those original questions don't apply.  That the only option is to make sure it's time well spent as I try to loosen the knots, figure out what goes where, and wonder how it got like this.

I'm pretty sure it's not gremlins.