the Village Knittiot

So, Mr. Knittiot’s enthusiasm snared me, and this weekend I took out the crochet hook and we spent a portion of our time curled up together on the couch surrounded by yarn. We are experimenting with some little toys. I made a mouse for our house (with a pattern that Mr. Knittiot found online) and Mr. Knittiot made a creature of his own devising. We are contemplating starting a joint fibery blog to talk about our together pursuits with crocheting.

On Saturday we also went to another local yarn store which was less than impressive. Whenever I hear a store advertised as the “oldest store in the area,” something in the back of my head thinks, “Hmm.” And then when I get there and realize that the store hasn’t changed much since it opened, I remember the wisdom of the “Hmm.” Still, every now and again, something surprises me, but sadly not this time.

The store — located in an old house — reminded me of my grandmother’s home. The place was immaculate — very clean and neat, each item in it’s place — but with a faintly musty smell that permeates everything. I felt like I shouldn’t talk, move or touch anything. They had a large number of patterns — most of them, it appeared, from the early to mid 80s (think Princess Di, big hair, Dallas on TV and shoulder pads — not CBGBs, the Ramones or John Hughes films). And lots of old yarn. It was also dead, dead, dead. There might have been one other person in there, but I wouldn’t have known, because we were all busy observing the unspoken no talking rule.

They did have a great selection of Noro and some beautiful silk/merino hand-dyed, handspun (to the tune of $40 a skein). They had some of the more current and popular books as well, but you could just tell they hadn’t changed their model of business since they opened and that the busy, “hip” knitting store not far down the street was going to slowly drain their business away — mostly because it was probably not really great to begin with and when people had other options nearby, they flocked in droves to the new store.

Even though I left there feeling pretty unimpressed and uninspired, looking back over my visit there are at least a few things that I really appreciate about their “old-school” approach. They had 4 volumes of the Barbara Walker treasuries — and I will tell you it took great restraint for me not to snatch them all up. They had a good selection of instructional crochet books. But in the end, they weren’t old-school enough for my tastes. There was too much structure and order to their process (yes, there is such a thing as too much). Also, as I was looking through Anna Zilboorg’s hat book to show Mr. Knittiot some of the things I really liked, the store clerk told me that I should check out Folk Hats which was very fun. Now, I have very much enjoyed all the books in the Folk Series from Interweave Press. I even considered knitting a vest — something I never could imagine myself wearing — because some of the patterns were so compelling. But Folk Hats, at least to me, was a big disappointment. I thought the patterns were kitschy and awful and had little redeeming value. I didn’t even think they were fun on a purely frivolous level. It just did not appeal to me. Clearly, this store and I are not on the same page.

On the work front, I’ve been really killing myself. Pushing 10 hour days without taking a lunch and really trying to get too much done. This has resulted in a very cranky knittiot. I think that I still am trying to get work “out of the way” instead of integrating it into my lifestyle. So, this week, my experiments with working from home will involve me cutting up my day into more manageable chunks. Taking a lunch, getting out of the house, etc.

Hope everyone is having a happy Monday. Only 12 more days to the Olympics… I hope I’m ready.

I leave you with a mouse in my house:

I have often lamented that I don’t know how to take the images and design ideas I see in my head and translate them into actual knitting. It feels like I have large holes and gaps at critical points in my basic information. I believe part of this comes from learning in isolation. Most of these skills — knitting, spinning, weaving, sewing, crocheting, etc. — are often passed on through hands-on mentoring. I have learned a bit here and a bit there from people, but the majority of my knowledge has been gained through books. I don’t always understand the books and sometimes I just make things up. But more often than not, I get stuck wondering what the “right way” to do something is.

With Mr. Knittiot becoming more and more involved in the crocheting (this morning he woke me up to tell me about this great idea he had that involved computers and yarn and other things, and right now he is sitting in his office crocheting and designing his own patterns), I am learning so much. Partially that is because there are teachable moments in which I need to be able to explain something to another human being that I normally just do without thinking. The fact that I am really looking more closely at some of the materials I have in the house is also helpful. But the most exciting and unexpected learning has been through my graphic designing, computer animating, illustrator and artist of a husband.

Yesterday as I was trying to explain to him what I wanted to do with my pattern for the Olympics, he said, “Well, based on what I know about crocheting you would just need to start increasing at this point and then start decreasing here.” He then went on to explain to me — using 3D modeling of images via computer as his point of reference — how general shapes are modified and transformed to create something new. It was such a simple concept in actual fact, but not one that I have any knowledge of, and just this brief little tutorial suddenly opened up new doors on design for me. Now that he knows how to crochet and understands how the yarn comes together and what decreases and increases are and the general vocabulary, he is teaching me!

Last night we went to a new knitting store that is a little closer to home and it was wonderful. Their selection was great and the staff was knowledgeable, friendly and very fun. It was a little bit crazy busy, but not claustrophobic feeling. Near their (very large) selection of Brown Sheep and Cascade, they had a display sample of the Fiber Trends Felted Clog sitting out and Mr. Knittiot and I started looking at it and discussing how it could be modified to include the pointy toe. We started chatting with the woman behind the counter and ran our thoughts by her and she confirmed exactly what my informative sweetie had said. Now that was exciting.

I’m still not entirely sure how to go about filling in all the holes. Looking at the list of classes typically offered at a knitting store, none of them really seem to be what I am looking for — they are usually too basic or too specific (focused on creating one item). I want a class on the history of knitting and fiber arts. I want design techniques and theory. I want color work for fiber artists. Creating texture. Adding shaping. Unique stitches. These are all things I am not likely to find in a yarn shop. I do know there are some local schools that specialize in textile arts and I know there is even a degree in knitting design. But that is a little too intensive for me.

So, I am back to books and self-directed study (which actually suits my learning styles pretty nicely). It’s nice to have a partner to bounce things off of who can understand what I am saying and provide useful feedback. I am also searching for a local group, which may take some time. I have a vision of this circle of people to knit and/or spin with that is pretty specific and who knows when I’ll either stumble upon or facilitate such a thing. Still, I’m always on the look out.

This is becoming a more and more common scene around the village:

As a matter of fact, my sweetie has become a little obsessed — a state of existence which I wholly encourage. When this guy wields a crochet hook his fingers just fly. Look, you can hardly even see them!

This afternoon as I was wrapping things up with work, Mr Knittiot. and I were discussing our plans for the day (which involve a trip to Whole Foods — the happiest place on earth) and I said, “Oh, do you want to go to the yarn store this afternoon?” He then got a ravenous look in his eye and said, “Yes. Yes, I do. I do want to go to the yarn store. Which yarn store do you want to go to?” Oh yes, the man is hooked — literally…

He has been diligently working through his first project and I must say, it’s making me want to drag my hook out. I love how the excitement of a new fiber maniac is so catching.

I leave you with an image that I just noticed was on the camera, which Corvus took of me through my spinning wheel one Saturday morning shortly after we moved in. If you look close, you can even see the boxes still stacked in the background.

Last Friday was Library day and I spent a good chunk of my time there sifting through the (meager) collection of knitting books. I didn’t have a lot of luck, though I did manage to find one of my favorite lace books (one that absolutely needs to make it into my permanent collection) called Knitting Lace: A Workshop with Patterns and Projects by Susanna E. Lewis. I also came across another book, which I have seen before and always dismissed, probably because of the cute smiling blonde child on the cover in an intarsia sweater. It may also be because of the name — America Knits — which sounds to me like a book full of patterns I wouldn’t want to knit. This just goes to show, you should never judge a book by its cover (maybe I have been watching too much Arrested Development, but somehow I feel there should be a one-armed man involved here trying to teach me a lesson — “That’s why you should never judge a book by its cover.”).

So, since I was there and the library didn’t have much to speak of (and Mr. Knittiot was off researching agile software programming and would probably be awhile), I gave some of the books a more thorough glancing through than I otherwise would have, and oh, my goodness, am I ever glad I did.

America Knits features profiles (and an accompanying pattern) of some of the leading and/or innovative and/or popular knitting designers, artists, artisans and fiber farmers in the country. I am working on a lengthier review of the book, because it really is that impressive. Some of the profiles are kind of meh, but there are many which just get my brain spinning with possibilities. My mornings this last week have started with a cup of coffee and this book, and every time I walk away from it I am just bubbling with ideas and inspiration.

This morning I got to the profile on Barbara Walker — the woman who brought us the ever useful A Treasury of Knitting Patterns and the 2nd volume of the same, among others. I first encountered Barbara Walker quite accidentally about a year and a half ago. Mr. Knittiot had long been recommending a Tarot book to me that took a more scholarly approach. I find the Tarot to be rather fascinating, mostly because I feel that symbols are a very useful tool, but most available books on the subject are a little too flaky for my tastes and I needed something a little more grounded. My sweetie assured me that if I was looking for a good introduction, this book was it. Using the tools of comparative religion, it discusses the origins and evolution of each card and its connection to religious iconography throughout the world. Better yet, it seeks to explore and uncover the connection to female deities and goddess imagery that has been buried by western tradition. So, it is a fascinating read with a historical and academic approach that doesn’t dismiss the spiritual aspects either. The author? Someone named Barbara Walker who has published quite a few books on feminism, women’s studies and spirituality. As I was searching for this book, I kept coming across all these knitting books. As a relatively new knitter, this delighted me, but it was clearly not the same person.

Well, this morning I discovered that it is exactly the same person! Apparently she doesn’t knit much anymore (at least not professionally) and has instead become increasingly involved and interested in women’s studies and feminism and publishes about one book a year on the topic. I find the connection and cross-pollination with feminism and traditional domestic arts incredibly interesting. As I become more and more immersed in them, myself, I am pleased and surprised by the connection I have to aspects of my own sense of self and my own feminism.

The other small thing (pun intended — you’ll see in a minute) I learned also came from Barbara Walker and America Knits. In discussing her approach to new projects, she talked about how knitting on a smaller scale helped her feel less overwhelmed by the task and she said she often started projects for a doll rather than work on a large scale, just to see what would work. Ding! (That was the lightbulb going off in my head.) Last night I cast on for an ankle sock because I wanted to practice a short row heel — since I really want to use that technique to create my felted slipper. I worked and worked and worked and when I was ready for bed, felt like I had little to show for it. This morning when I read that in the book, I suddenly realized that all I need to do is make a baby-sized trial pair and move up from there. Duh. So, tonight, baby slippers.

This morning when I got up at my usual time (which is ungodly early anyway), I noticed it was just a little bit lighter than it normally is. The days are starting to be noticably longer and my brain is appreciative of this fact.

Preparations for the upcoming Olympics are underway here at the Village. Last night I finished plying the last of my rovings. I had originally intended to use this roving to make a shawl with my handspun and so have been spinning lace weight (though in truth, it is a little closer to fingering once plied). However, I realized recently that there is probably only about 800 yards at most there and I know I need a good 1,000 or so to get a shawl of the size I’m thinking. So, I have decided to use it for my Olympics project instead. If I hold two strands together as I knit, I should have just the thickness I need.

I decided, also, on a project. Since my feet from January until about April are usually like blocks of ice attached to my legs, I am going to make a pair of felted slippers to help keep them warm. I have said for the last two winters that I should felt myself a pair of those toasty slippers and still haven’t managed to do so. Now is my chance. I have in mind a small pair of pointy toed, striped slippers — very elven.

So I have been doodling and dreaming and looking at other people’s projects. Next up I need to knit a swatch, measure it, felt that swatch and measure it again to see how much I am going to lose. This is where knitting becomes about math and, as someone who has math anxiety, this is not my favorit part. Then, I need to figure out how to create the slipper itself. It’s a challenge alright, but it wouldn’t be fun if it wasn’t.

Yesterday, as I was reading and responding to JoVE’s comments on my post about Lists and Structure, something she said really impacted me. After her very insightful thoughts on non-linear strategy (which is a whole other post), she concluded with,

“The trick is to just trust your gut and start.”

Such a simple thing.

Trusting one’s self comes to us pretty naturally. It is an instinct we are born with. Unfortunately, we don’t receive a lot of training or encouragement in trusting our gut or leaning on our own intuition. As a matter of fact, from what I observe on a daily basis, a lot of us have pretty much had it drilled into our head from the beginning that the most important (and socially acceptable) thing you can do with instinct is suppress it. While this may work just great for fitting in and towing the line, it creates an internal discordance. And, depending on where you draw your creative energy from, it can wreak serious havoc on your process.

I have always considered myself a writer. From the time I was a very young child, this was the only thing I wanted to be. I wanted to write stories like the ones that populated my entire life and helped inform my internal landscape. When I finally got to the point where I was ready to be serious about it, I suddenly found myself floundering, struggling and gasping for air. Sitting down to write resulted in severe anxiety, surrounded by a cycle of fear and self-criticism. Finally, I just couldn’t write. Crippling panic would set in every time I sat down to do some work. Sometimes I could power through it, but more often I walked away feeling as if I had been beaten with a large stick.

It was as if the voice had been taken out of me. It wasn’t a sudden thing, by any means. I could feel her getting weaker and weaker until suddenly she was just silent. Occassionally I could force a little bit of something out of her, but mostly she was like a ghost in the background, barely visible.

While the temptation was to feel that this was something that had happened to me (why is the victim mentality so appealing?), I ultimately had to accept responsibility for my role in all of it, and accept that I was the one who silenced her. I was the one who never gave her room to speak. And then I wondered why I couldn’t write? Hmm…

Just a small step of initial trust has resulted in so much. And everytime I give her room to say what she needs to say, I can hear her louder and clearer and stronger. Every day she grows and grows and grows and someday, I won’t be able to contain her. What an exciting prospect.

Structure, I can see, plays an important part in making room for my voice. I sometimes use goals — daily, weekly, monthly, yearly — to help me create some of that structure. I start every day with a pen and an index card on which I write (hopefully) realistic goals about what I will accomplish. I have a notebook where I keep other larger goals and some of the smaller steps I need to accomplish those. There is a fluidity to these goals, because life changes and it is important to allow the journey to impose a little of its own structure, but there are larger goals that I don’t want to compromise on or lose sight of.

One of my larger goals for this year is to give my voice more room to speak. And really, this process of creating a room of my own, is a lesson in learning to trust myself. The end result, I can now see, will be more of an ability to “Just start.”

Starting is always the hardest part for me. It doesn’t matter what it is — work, cleaning, writing or knitting — I waste most of my time trying to begin.

When I was in high school, I had trouble engaging with the whole school process. It might be more accurate to say that I actively resisted the school process. This was equally the fault of myself, an uninvolved parent and a system designed only to handle and/or produce one type of person. Like most angst-ridden adolescents, I never really imagined my future in real or practical terms. I knew I didn’t want to exist in the type of society I saw, but I didn’t really have anything to replace it with. I was futureless. I knew people who planned to go to college, but they mostly seemed like the same people who would just go on to participate in the world in a way I couldn’t imagine doing. There were, of course, exceptions to this, but college was the last thing on my mind or in my sights.

Then there was this teacher. And while I still believe that the system of public education is inherently flawed, I also believe in the power of the people who teach and work within that system to accomplish something valuable. Ms. Lumpkins (along with a couple of other really amazing people) taught me that formal education wasn’t all bad and even went so far as to suggest that maybe I ought to consider going to college. Hmmm. No one had ever really told me that this was a possibility for me. And my lackadaisical approach to school and the subsequent inconsistent and spotty report card was never gonna get me there. So, I decided to “apply myself” and, you know, actually study and do my homework. This was a beginning.

I was not stupid, and it didn’t take me long to achieve a pretty incredible turn around. I even managed to get into college (though I didn’t end up attending for another 3.5 years after graduating high school). Now, nearly 13 years on the other side of that period of my life, it’s easy to sum it all up in a few short sentences, but that just doesn’t do the hardwork and effort of it all justice. While the school work itself was a breeze, the skills and the discipline it took to stick with it and simply complete the work was gruelling. I felt like I was in basic training. It was here that I first realized how difficult it is for me to start things.

The problem seems to start with my brain, which races off in about a hundred different directions at the slightest provocation. When faced with a project or task, I can see everything that needs to be done and each element appears as a flash in my mind like pieces of a puzzle dumped out on a card table. These pieces are contrasted against a much larger image of the big picture/end resut all neatly assembled together. The challenge, I guess, is walking the path that connects all of those pieces and results in the final product. And, as they say, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I seem to spend a lot of time fretting about that one, single step.

About the same time that I decided to apply myself to school, my mother decided to apply herself to being a more active parent. This was a very interesting time for both of us. She didn’t always know how to do things and neither did I, but we learned how to laugh a lot and that turned out to be very important. One Sunday as I was writing a paper on Reagan for my AP English class, I had a complete and total meltdown (one of many) about how I was not going to be able to finish it and there was just no way. She sat with me through the whole ordeal and when I was all done, she hugged me, handed me a tissue and helped me create a plan.

“It all starts with a list,” she said. “You can only do one thing at a time, so just start with one thing. What do you need to do next?”

I told her.

“Okay, do that thing and when you are done, come back to me.”

So, I did that thing. Then I went back to her. She asked me what came next. I told her. She sent me away to do that one thing and so on and so forth until I had a 14 page paper completely written with a bibliography and everything. (Consequently, I got an A+ on the paper and a comment from the teacher who said that my paper was excellent but had one simple flaw — I failed to explain Reagan’s popularity in light of my very negative portrayal of his presidency…)

This process of helping me find some structure was something my mother did at a number of points along the way. Eventually we got to the point where we created a list together and then I crossed off each step on my own. And ultimately to the point where I could do the whole thing — list creation and completion — by myself. This process is something I still use to this day. The gift of a list was one of the most valuable things I ever received from my mother.

Lists help me create a much needed structure and they help me understand that, like putting together those thousand-piece puzzles — in which you first sort out all the pieces, turn them right side up, place similar ones together, gather the edge pieces, build the frame and then work piece by piece and area by area to assemble the big picture — you can create a systematic approach for any task. If it were not for lists, I would accomplish precious little in a given day.

How happy does this make me?

So this morning I am sitting at my desk, working along in my new home office, which I happen to share with Mr. Knittiot, and I look over and see this:

Yes, that is my husband.
Yes, that is a size “H” crochet hook and some Cascade 220 in his hands.
Yes, he picked it up all on his own.

Want to see it again?

Having discovered long ago that knitting and Corvus do not mix, I was surprised when he seemed to be increasingly entranced with crocheting (which he says feels like “sketching with yarn”). At his request, we bought him some materials (some nice burnished orange lace weight from Rosie’s and some basic white Cascade 220 (for practice) from a shop in Minneapolis) and just haven’t gotten around to having a lesson for a couple of months now. But last night, we sat down with season 1 and 2 of Arrested Development and had our first lesson. Looks like its going to stick…

A few final words (for now) on the economics of knitting and yarn acquistion. This topic really raised some interesting and thought-provoking discussion in the comments. I have found myself over the last couple of weeks paying a lot of attention to people’s discussions of their stash, their knitting-related purchases and how they feel about them. Then, yesterday, I happened to come across Etherknitter (How have I missed this blog before?). In a discussion of her own purchasing behaviors and the “seduction” that happens when you fall in love with yet another yarn and have to bring it home, she observed,

“How we stash reflects our inner selves, our emotional barometers, and how we soothe ourselves when we respond to pain AND pleasure.”

I think that about sums it up. I know I have a tendency to rail on about mindless consumption, but I’m not trying to just be a big meany who wants to ruin everyone’s yarn fun. Let me state clearly, these are my own barometers, for me. I know that when I mindlessly consume and purchase items out of a sense of emptiness or anxiety or any other emotional space, I am ignoring what is going on with me. I am silencing her voice and trying to buy her things instead of listening to what she has to say. I am bribing her like a child — “If you’ll just be good for mommy, I’ll give you this yarn treat…” Only it never really makes her happy and she doesn’t feel validated, just plied. And that is disrespectful.

This morning I had a very long and involved dream about grocery shopping with my mother. I woke up feeling very tense and sad. Shopping and/or spending money with my mother usually puts me on edge. When I was growing up, we were in pretty dire straights financially. She struggled just to make ends meet and was very much unable to give me much of anything. I have so much appreciation and respect for having grown up in an environment where I did not just get whatever I wanted (as so many of the people around me did), even if I didn’t always understand it at the time. I have tried to impart my gratitude to her throughout the years, but it seems like she lives behind this wall of guilt and what I say never quite makes it through.

Now that she has the means, she tries to make up for the past with lots of compulsive spending and elaborate gifts. She seems to be trying to soothe two little girls — her own and the one she imagines is me. I haven’t always known how to deal with her generosity, because there is part of me that reaches out and latches onto all those bright and shiney baubles. There is a part of me that is so grateful to have a parent who I can rely on and occassionally be a little spoiled by. And then there is a part of me that wants to reject those gifts and reassure her that she doesn’t need to buy me things to be worthy of my love. I guess this is the adult Rachel who wants her mother to feel satisfied and ok. It’s very complicated.

When I woke up today, I realized that I need to develop a different relationship with my mom and money. I don’t know what that means yet, but I do know that more than anything I want to be respectful of her. So, we’ll see where that goes.

All this made me realize why it that I find my meager stash so uninspiring at the moment. I believe it is because most of my purchases were made out of a sense of emptiness and anxiety and were bought without purpose. I wanted to feel better and so I bought something. We tell ourselves things like, “But I deserve it!” and really what do we deserve? Don’t we deserve to find out what is going on with ourselves. “Why am I buying this?” It is the one question that stops me every time. Even more than “Do I need this?”

The Etherknitter said that what was more telling to her than anything were the emotions involved when she chose not to bring something home. Hmmm…

During my daily blog reading I came across a mention of the Yarn Harlot’s knitting olympics. I know, I know, you’d have to be living under a rock not to hear about a movement started by the queen of knitting blogdom. But it intrigued me so I swung by just to see what the deal was. I read a bit. And then a bit more. And then a bit more. I got that familiar feeling. You know, the one where your mind does this weird fluttery thing and your pupils get a little wide. Usually you can’t blink or tear your eyes away from the screen and your brain starts racing at a mile a minute with all the…possibilities. Yes, it was excitement. Something about this excited me! In January! Me, excited about knitting, in January.

I don’t care much for sports (hockey is a whole different category), but I have always loved the Olympics, particularly the Winter Olympics. Or at least I did. It is becoming a little too slick for my tastes and the endless manufactured tugging of our heart strings is a bit much. Once upon a time it was about amateur competition. No professionals. Right? Now there are steroid controversies and people freaking out because some skier is so good he can win competitions while drunk. Oh, and advertising. Don’t forget the advertising. Still, despite all this, it still does something for me. All these men and women from around the world gathering together and having this moment, which they have spent years and lifetimes training for. I can push all that other stuff aside and focus on these people who know what pushing themselves means. What striving to be the best costs. Yeah, I love the Olympics.

So, this knitting challenge seemed like just the excuse I needed to sit and watch endless hours of the Olympics perfect thing for me. I will admit that challenges such as this one can be a bit of a double-edged sword with me. Sometimes they are just what I need to get me going and inspired — like a work deadline. And sometimes they are the unrealistic expectation which I will later use to punish myself for being such a great big failure. But, thanks to a good therapist and a lot of hardwork on my part, I think my days of self-punishing behavior are behind me. So, I have decided to take the plunge.

I realized immediately that my main obstacle was going to be finding the right project. Since I have been so clearly uninspired (as has much of the knitting blogworld I have come to realize — must be a cyclical/seasonal sort of thing), I think my chances of finding a satisfying pattern in existence that is also challenging are not very likely. So what’s my answer? Design, design, design!

I have a little less than a month, starting today, to come up with a pattern of my own. Friday is library day, so I will attack their shelves with a vengence and pull in every knitting reference book I can find. I will utilize the vast world of the Internet. I will put my brain and inherent creativity to work to create… well… something, but it will be mine and it will be original. That is my pledge.

In the midst of my fervor and excitement, I dashed of a mad e-mail to my dear friend K– (who I have briefly mentioned a few times on the blog) asking her if she wanted to join me in this insanity, despite the fact that she has every reason in the world not to join — including the most busy time of the year at work, starting a lace shawl knitting class and various other projects in the works. First she said no, then she said yes, and even more than that, she decided for her project she is going to be altering a pattern for the first time. I also managed to talk her into doing a little guest blogging, which, lucky you, because she is one of the smartest, wittiest, most interesting, intelligent and humorous people I know. (Don’t worry, Kai, no expectations or anything).

Let the isanity begin!