The First Step

It's taken nearly 4 years...

It began simply enough.

Enter a foreign (or familiar) yarn store, pick out the colors you like best. Or the textures. Or the weight. Buy whatever you want. You're just starting out, you don't have anything.
Fill a basket.
Yarn stores online have sales. 30% off! 40% off! 75% off?!? Buy the yarn. It's on sale, how can you not? And I get 5% back? How. can. I. not?
Fill another basket.
Subscribe to magazines. Ooh, this project looks nice—but I don't have appropriate yarn for it... nope, I don't, not in these two baskets.
Buy the yarn.
Oh, but I'm already working on this project, and that other one is next. So I'll save all this for later...
Repeat. 20 times.
Buy more baskets. Buy shelving.

Buy a bird cage and shove yarn in it.

A yarn crawl, you say? Well, I have to support my LYSs. I'll just buy one skein from each.
An out-of-town trip, you say? Well, I have to find the LYS and support it—this is a small industry, after all. We have to help each other. I'll just buy a skein or two...
A yarn convention, you say? VKL? Well, these are yarns I've never seen. I might never see them again. I have to buy a few skeins from each...

Thus, the descent into madness.

Oh that doesn't look so bad...

There's much more below the yarn surface. 

That's a basket under that table. With more yarn peeking out.

People, I have a problem. I know from these pictures it just looks like my office is in squalor, but the sad fact is, I am buried in yarn. I'm drowning in it.

I have a problem. (First Step)

I'm posting this here, so I can't get away from it, and so my ghost readers can  hold me to task.

I cannot, for any reason whatsoever, buy more yarn.  

As much as it pains me to do it, I have to cut myself off.

My problem is so intense, so deeply ingrained, that I actually said to The Doo, "Well, if I don't buy anymore yarn and just start burning through this yarn, then if I go to a yarn store in the next few months and see a yarn I like, I can buy it for myself and hide it away, then give it to myself as a present once I've dutifully used up all the old yarn." Which makes absolutely no. sense. Plus, there's nowhere to hide more yarn.


Can we just go over that one more time? I tried to make a deal with myself that if I didn't buy more yarn, I could buy more yarn. Even if I still have too much. I could basically reward myself for... well, nothing. That's like putting a dress on a tree and saying it isn't a tree anymore. Or something to that effect. My brain isn't working up to speed anymore because it's crammed full of yarn.

So, the vow. I cannot, for any reason whatsoever, buy more yarn. I can't buy yarn on sale; I can't buy from foreign stores just because they are foreign; I can't buy a skein just 'cuz it's pretty.

I cannot, for any reason whatsoever, buy more yarn. 


Not until I've used up all this yarn. Or at least gotten it back to just being the yarn in the honeycomb shelves and birdcage. And one basket. I'll give myself that! Get down to shelves, cage, and one basket, and I'm golden. But this business of four baskets, two Lion Brand gallon-sized bags, a closet (not pictured), additional shopping and shipping bags full of yarn has to end.

It's over people. The Golden Age has ended. The Industrial Age has begun. Time to get crackin'.

All of this means that this blog will become a graveyard of skeins, reborn as projects. Get ready to see some projects. I'm going to take before and after pictures of every skein and the project it is reborn as. I have to see my progress to know I'm doing well. Like getting a one week, one month, one year chip. I also must impart to you, dear readers, just how much yarn I ridiculously have. Skein by skein, project by project, you will see my madness unraveling (har har).
Some projects will be from patterns written by other people; some projects will be patterns I have written. Either way, the rest of this year is going to be crazy and productive.

Mainly because I want more yarn for Christmas.


flossie

We only hurt ourselves

I'm not even going to have the subconsciously self-aggrandizing "I haven't been writing here in so long" bit, because it's not as if anyone is clamoring for my words and it's also not as if I've had anything very important to say as of late.

I know, I'm supposed to pretend I do, even if I don't. But I don't! I've just been super busy. That hat pattern for Knitty? It's basically done, but I had to set it aside for now because it's a time gobbler and I can't deal with having all my time gobbled at the moment. babyKNITS? I'm ashamed to say I had to set those aside for the month, although they are officially going out in the mail this week.

I just got a new, paying job that has been in the works for the last two months, and it's certainly a time gobbler but that is a very good thing. That's all I can or will say about it for the moment. Suffice it to say, I'm super excited and can't wait for it to officially start rolling.

At the same time, I'm designing a pair of fingerless mitts for a post-apocalyptic knitting collection, which is right up my alley. I'm submitting them tomorrow and hopefully they will be accepted, but I only found out about the challenge last weekend so I have been furiously knitting and frogging all week trying to get it done.

So why am I writing here, if I have no time?

Well, because I'm pissed. And when I'm pissed, I suddenly have all the time in the world.

This little industry is just that: little. It is certainly growing, against all odds (all odds being a bad economy for 'hobbies', the notion that this is a little ol' lady hobby, and the sad fact that many yarn shops can't stay open in this economic climate). Thank the gods for ravelry with its 2 million plus membership and absurdly fantastic interface (it might seriously be the best website of all time in its depth and usability); thank the gods for all the fantastic magazines, both online and print, for knitters and crocheters; and thank the gods for designers and yarn dyers and producers for keeping the industry fresh and vibrant. You are all doing an amazing job and if you haven't been told that before, I'm telling you now: keep up the good work, you are all awesome.

So the last thing we need is a naysayer, ammaright? I'm totally right.

A few months back I posted about Olek, a Polish crocheter who guerilla-crochets her way around neighborhoods and over fixtures, all for the sake of 'art' and 'expression'.

© Olek

First of all, let me say that I think what she does is astonishing and obviously requires a lot of hard work and commitment. And it's unparalleled in terms of graffiti knit-crocheting—no one else is yarn bombing like this, and for that she should be applauded.

However, and this is my big, fat however which you should read as somewhat laced with venom, surprise, and disgust, however, I'm officially embarrassed and appalled by the things she says, and after my recent coverage of her, I feel the need to separate myself from all things Olek.

Listen, I always thought she was a little weird. She is a little weird. Or a lot weird, depending on how polite you want to be. But I never thought she was rude.

You don't go on the Huffington Post and say "knitting is for pussies" after you've been called "the Tracey Emin of knitting". I get it; the interviewer made a faux pas and mistook crocheting for knitting, but is it really necessary to piss off well over half of the fiber community with a statement like that? You are one stick away from being a knitter, just as I am one hook away from being a crocheter.

I really wanted to completely go off here about how this type of divisiveness is not all too different from the way women tear each other down despite the fact that the world does that for us already, but I don't want to bore everyone with stuff they know. This is like when we call each other fat or ugly. We shouldn't be making it easier to tear us apart. It's as if we live in this neighborhood of buildings that someone desperately wants to blow up, and we go in and weaken all the reinforcements just to make it easier for them to destroy our homes.

I hate to break it to Olek, but one of the giant, neon-lit reasons why she is gaining such a following is because knitting and crocheting have become so mainstream popular. People are yarnbombing everywhere. And knitters are doing it too. I hate to then crush into irreparable bits what I've just broken to her, but there are people who are yarnbombing simply to beautify their surroundings and because they find it fun and relaxing—no deeper message here, beyond joy. But it's still art. And they are knitting and crocheting at home, for themselves, for the same reason. And it's still art. And there are some that are designing and knitting and crocheting to pay their bills, and while Olek might not think that equates to higher art, I can pretty confidently say that any knitter or crocheter meditating on their work can claim a connection to the godhead. That's how transformative it is to make anything with your hands. So try not to crap on for-profit work, other artists, and knitting in general, because it's really harshing our mellow. 

I challenge anyone to say that this isn't as gorgeous a work of art as covering a room in crochet:

© Kate Davies

It might even be more artful, and certainly more beautiful, in my opinion. It looks like a Mandelbrot, fer chrissakes!

Ok, I've kicked the soapbox away. Let us end on a happy note. 

For more beautifully intricate knitting, check out Kate Davies' website. She also produces a fantastic e-zine called Textisles, which explores the history of knitting and comes with a free pattern with purchase. She's an artist I admire.

Happy knitting and crocheting!

flossieKNITS

I am not doing a good job here...

...and I know it! My whole schedule is thrown off. I haven't touched my knitting since Saturday—any of it, and there's a lot of it.
But it's not for nothing. I'm spending the next 6 days dog sitting while my parents are out of town, and there's not much I enjoy more...I think I enjoy knitting equally as much.

Besides, look at that face.

Meet Mr. Chips. Mr. Chips is a cocker spaniel my parents rescued about a year after our previous rescue cocker spaniel, The Maxx, died. 

We really enjoy rescuing cocker spaniels. 

I used to think The Maxx was the sweetest dog in the world, even though he did bite my sister in the face. She wouldn't leave him alone! She was little, he was recently rescued, and there was probably some harassment going on for her part. He ran into his crate to get away from her, and she tried to follow him in, and he snapped at her face. And possibly caught it. But she was fine and there was no blood or breaking of skin, so I still thought The Maxx was a contender for sweetest dog in the world. 

Plus, they were totally best friends after that initial misunderstanding.

matching faces

But while The Maxx was incredibly sweet, he was also moody. If Maxx didn't want you to touch him, he'd just walk away from you and not look back. If he was mad at you, he'd ignore you, or possibly do his business in the house. He was obsessive with his toys and water, to the point of vomiting if he had too much of either. And when he eventually went blind and hard of hearing, all bets were off. The only person he could tolerate for any extended period of time was my mother, with whom he was obsessed. 

Mr. Chips is very different. Like my sister and I, Mr. Chips has terrible seasonal allergies. Which makes staying with him an interesting experience, because as much as my parent's house, with such close proximity to a blooming park, is killing me, I can't feel sorry for myself for too long when I see him sneezing and rubbing his eyes along with me. He's also part brown and part white—just like us. Mr. Chips never barks, because someone clearly beat the bark out of him, so instead he does what I call the "silent scream"—a high-pitched, almost soundless throat whistle that sounds like the wind moving through tightly packed trees. He talks as well, when he's hungry or tied up, making little guttural moans, whining, and generally just chopping up his voice into little bits, so it's never barking. The only times I've heard him bark were when he first met my older brother (who possibly reminded him of someone dangerous), when there were wolves howling on the tv, and when he's having a nightmare. Last time I stayed with him, he would have a nightmare about every other night. He wouldn't even wake up—he'd just shoot into a sitting position and start baying like an alarm, until I woke him up by petting and talking to him. I often wonder what happened to him before he found us.

Chips, unlike Maxx, craves affection and a sense of being included. Unlike Maxx, he loves riding in the car no matter where you're going—he even loves being left to sleep in the car. Maxx fell off the car seat once, and that was it—he hated it, and would shake uncontrollably any time he had to go in the car. And unlike Maxx, you could stick your face into Chips' face and harass him all the live long day, and he's never going to get exasperated and snap at you. He might walk away, but that's about it. I'm convinced he would be a great baby dog, because he has the patience and tolerance of a saint.

Seriously, he might be the sweetest dog in the world.

I mean, look at that face.

The point of this post, I guess (besides having nothing knitting-related to post about) is that I've been wanting to rescue a cocker of my own for quite some time. 

At any rate, there's a 3-year-old cocker spaniel waiting for me back in Astoria—to make a long story short, I tried to adopt him once, someone else got him, and now he's back. So as soon as I'm done watching Mr. Chips, I'm going home to meet him. I hear he can be a little hyper, which I'm hoping is just a symptom of being caged most of the day, with no one to call his own.

There is nothing better, nothing, than a quiet, relaxed cocker spaniel sitting at your feet. I imagine my next post will tell you whether or not I got him.

In the meantime, enjoy this Harry Nilsson song, which I constantly find myself singing.

Happy puppies!

Flossie

International Women's Day

I could write a 1,000 word post on the subject of women, but I think I would end up exhausted, angry, and depressed by the time I finished it, so I won't do that. I will, instead, direct you to the Yarn Harlot, who wrote a more-than-adequate post on the subject of women in the world.

I will also leave you with these pictures put out by the Red Cross during World War I, encouraging women to do their part through knitting.

Because women have always done "their bit," without question, often without being asked, and mostly without anything in return.

Everyone should call their mother today. Just saying.

flossie

Because the point is NOT to crush one's skull...

The Doo and I have been living together for quite some time now, and for all that time I have had a manila envelope full of antique pictures that I've wanted to frame and hang around our house. Despite the high cost of living in NYC, The Doo and I are living quite comfortably in a large house in Astoria, which is pretty astonishing if you live in NYC. We each have an office, we have a dining room separate from our kitchen, and our living room has a library... not to mention our front porch and backyard. I have The Doo to thank for all of this, because he's been living here for over a decade and our landlords are quite old and sweet and haven't raised the rent much at all. If I told you how much we were paying, you would be appalled.
At any rate, we have a lot of wall to cover, and I have a lot of pictures to cover it with.
I desperately, desperately wanted to put these two images above our bed, but we realized after hanging them that they were incredibly heavy, full of glass, and might crush our skulls when the Metronorth train rattles by—I've always loved the sound of the train, but I might not if it precedes a thoroughly fatal skull-crushing. 

But aren't they absolutely gorgeous??

Most of my pictures were torn out of books (not by me, mind you). I purchased the pages off of etsy for very little—it's amazing what you can get. I also got all the lithographs from A.A. Milne's A Gallery of Children, which are stunningly beautiful. They each have a color scheme that matches a room in our house, and there is one for every room—don't ask me how that happened, but it did. 


I also got these pages, which were torn out of a sci fi book, and I think they are stark and beautiful. Each one has a word printed underneath, like "ice" and "the desert."

We've already decided that they will look best climbing the wall next to the stairs.


The only problem we found is that we really want something above our bed, but everything is glass and we're neurotically afraid of having our heads sliced open. So The Doo suggested a textile of some kind.


Brilliant.


How is it he thought of it before me? I really should be ashamed, as a crafter. The recent pieces I posted by Turkish artist Merve Şendil would be perfect for just this situation.


Of course, a day after he mentions it, this pops up on a blog I follow: 

©Sonya Yong James

That, or something like that, would be gorgeous above a bed. The piece is by Sonya Yong James, a sculptor and fiber artist living in Atlanta. I probably wouldn't make exactly the piece above, but I'm thinking that (over a ridiculously long period of time) I could make my felted lavender hearts in different sizes (and without the initials, obviously) and have them hanging over our bed—not just an homage to our love, but, being filled with lavender, a genius way to surround ourselves in the soothing scent of lavender as we fall asleep.


Yes? No? To The Doo I go!...
... to find out if it's really that good of an idea.


I kind of wish I could just buy one of her pieces; even though I know I could make it, it's gonna be a major butt-hurt in terms of time and energy spent, and I'd rather just support another fiber artist and have it hanging over my bed already.

And, her stuff is just really, really beautiful.

©Sonya Yong James

Happy crafting!


flossie

babyKNITS! the second, part two

The second hat is finished. Clearly meant for a very hip, rocker baby. 

I had to shove a grapefruit in it to get it the proper shape for photos. 

Note to self: a mid-sized grapefruit is about the size of a newborn's head.

©flossieKNITS

One thing I will say about knitting for newborns—I don't have a baby, nor am I around babies, so I really have to put the brain to the math when it comes to figuring out how to size everything. Hats are no big deal; I can do that fairly easily. But up next is a diaper cover and I'm a little wary. I could use someone else's pattern, but the whole point of this project was to come up with my own patterns so that I could fairly and legally sell the finished KNITS! once I was done. I can pretty much look up the size of a baby's waist, but from waist down to legs, and around legs... well, we'll see I guess. 

flossie

A ball, a skein, a hank, a cake

These are all different terms for yarn and the way it is wound. I realize I toss these terms around a lot and that non-knitters probably have no idea that they all mean something different. So, here goes...

A ball...

A skein...

A hank...

A cake...

All except the hank can be immediately knit—the hank must be wound first... into a cake or a ball.

So there you have it. A ball, a skein, a hank, a cake. 

It's starting to sound like Dr. Seuss in here. 

flossie