the Village Knittiot

For the last couple of days I’ve had a post rolling around in the back of my head, which is a little odd, because since deciding to take a break I haven’t really felt the usual compulsion to write much of anything. Particularly here on the blog. This self-imposed hiatus has been an excellent refresher for me. Sometimes you just need to be quiet and listen. That has pretty much been the theme of the summer for me. And I have heard a lot of things. I’m not sure that’s over yet, but today I felt the need to write and I am listening to that voice.

As the Summer of Knitting Naturally has worn on, I have found myself experiencing a sense of freedom and relief. At first I couldn’t quite put my finger on where it was coming from. Then I took a step back from the blog and that sensation increased. So I decided to give it some more serious scrutiny.

A not so surprising side effect of the boundaries I set for myself this summer is that is has been much more difficult to buy yarn. Not that there aren’t options, it’s just that they are few and far between and usually only available online. I tend to be reluctant about purchasing yarn I haven’t touched or felt or visually inspected. I say, “Oh, I’ll think about it.” And more often than not, I just never go back and actually hit the “buy it” button.

In the midst of all of this (as usual) I have been in the throes of some serious evaluation of my path and where I want it to ultimately take me. The getting quiet and listening are a big part of that. I have had some revelations and realizations and moments of clarity. These moments, in turn, have caused me to seriously think about my priorities.

Financially, knitting has been my priority for the better part of the past few years. I started crocheting to preserve my sanity in a difficult situation. This led to knitting. And like many things in my life, what was once an activity promoting peace, relaxation and a personal sense of accomplishment, has been turned (by me) into a pressure-filled pursuit of excellence with unrelenting expectations and standards that I can’t possibly meet at the moment. In short, it has become discouraging. And expensive.

I hadn’t really realized how much pressure I felt about the financial aspect of knitting until it was removed from the equation. The pursuit of knitting, like most hobbies (or really anything) here in the US, seems to be primarily about the accumulation of stuff. Notions, needles, yarn, books, etc., etc., etc. And there is very little in this game that is inexpensive. Particularly once you start trying to find materials that were produced organically or sustainably or with some aspect of the earth’s future or the health and well-being of her inhabitants in mind.

While, admittedly, my stash is so small as to be almost non-existant and I like to think of myself as someone who has never been too terribly into the accumulation of things, the truth of the matter is that I struggle against cultural tides just as much as the next person. Living off the grid is still a pipe dream and I am not immune to the marketing messages that bombard me at every turn.

Since knitting became more than just an amusing hobby, keeping up with even a moderate amount of knitting and spinning is a major financial commitment. Every time I find myself with a little bit of cash, I feel I can’t spend it, because I will need it for that next sweater or that book or that [insert knitting purchase here]. Then there are the agonizing decisions such as, if I purchase this book, I won’t be able to afford the yarn for the project, or the needles or something else. Meanwhile the tidal wave of options continues to pour over us and the short-attention-span-syndrome leads to continual project abandonment, or, if you are me, option paralysis. I am afraid to commit to this yarn or that yarn for fear that I will end up not liking it and then I will have no money to get something I really like. Spending money is, generally, an exercise in anxiety for me. So this connection between financial anxiety and knitting has only served to make my fun and enjoyable hobby a big stresser.

In all of this quiet contemplation, I have suddenly come to see very clearly what has been lost to me in my pursuit of knitting. One of my dearest friends in the world told me once that she had made a commitment to less stuff and more doing. In other words, living life was more important than accumulating things. It has taken a little while for the weight of those words to penetrate into the inner sanctum of knitting. Yet, here they are. Somehow the necessity of the stuff has taken precedence over the actual doing.

I know what I want now, and knitting, while it is lovely and will continue to be a part of my life, needs to take a less prominent position in the knittiot’s hierarchy of needs. Or rather, it needs to go back to being that calming, peaceful activity that provided a lovely outlet for stress rather than something that adds to it. Simplicity is the name of the game here.

I have noticed over the last couple of years that Summer usually brings with it a bit of a lull in the blogosphere — or at least the portions of it I tend to gravitate towards. I think during this time of year we are probably more willing to actively engage with the world around us and we don’t need the digital buffers of a virtual community as much (or, at least, this sometimes introvert doesn’t). In essence we want to get out in our backyards and smell the proverbial roses and maybe watch the grass grow a little, figuratively speaking (and if you’re the sort who isn’t terrified of bugs and things like lyme disease or west nile virus, probably literally as well).

For my part, the quiet around the Village lately is due to a number of things. For one, I still feel like I am recovering from the frenzied pace that marked the beginning of my first summer here in Philadelphia. The crazy work schedule followed by the exhausting visit with my family has left me with a great fondness for naps and sleeping in (a luxury I rarely afford myself). And, while the knitting and spinning and fleece processing continues, it does so at a much slower pace. My summer of knitting naturally has been a tremendous part of this as, more than ever, I think before buying.

I have also finally accepted the fact that I am not the kind of person who enjoys purchasing other people’s patterns and making them, that I will not readily plunk down a sizable amount of cash for a collection of someone else’s designs. It is just not something I do (easily). I simply want knitting to occupy this space in my brain that is something like second nature. I want to be able to just find yarn that I like and use it to create something of my own. I know this is not a new expression of desire for me. I’ve said it at least a dozen times. And I’ve lamented my lack of knowledge and the lack of classes that explain on a fundamental level just how this knitting thing works. I’m not talking about purls and knits and step-by-step instructions that walk you through a specific pattern or isolated technique. I want something that will give me a knitting foundation. You know, the kind of instruction people used to get when having socks and sweaters depended not on your ability to buy a $35 book and follow directions, but on knowing how to take yarn and turn it into a sweater or pair of socks that fit the intended recipient.

But to blame the lull here on slower, more process-oriented knitting wouldn’t be entirely accurate. The truth is, I’ve been a lot more preoccupied with thoughts about writing, or to be more accurate, what I want to accomplish over the next couple of years. I’ve also been reading a lot (which further reduces the amount of knitting time I have). At this point, I’m not sure how blogging fits in to all of this, or rather, I’m not sure how blogging about knitting fits into that. And while I recognize that I haven’t ever blogged exclusively about knitting, it has provided a framework for what is here. However, I find myself feeling a bit limited by that framework lately. Fiber and its various incarnations are only a part of my life and there are avenues I’ve been wanting to explore and haven’t felt able to in this space.

When I first started blogging, I was really struggling with my writing. It had become a source of tremendous stress for me and the act of writing something out here where it was visible to the world was an important act at the time. Blogging became a tool by which I was able to rediscover my voice and while it might sound melodramatic, it saved me at a time when I was in want of a little saving. Then there was the unexpected and very welcome side effect of finding this little community of amazing people who were supportive, surprising, creative and thoughtful. I don’t want to lose that, but lately I’ve been feeling as if my focus is split. I’m wanting to make some changes but I’m not quite sure yet what they are. Until then, I suspect the Village will continue to be a little on the quiet side.

Saturday was such an unbelievably wonderful day that I am almost at a loss for how to describe it. By the end of the day I couldn’t stop myself from smiling even if I tried and satisfaction and contentment were simply radiating from the core of my being. I felt as if I had come home.

It’s hard to tell if we go to Maryland for the fiber and stay for the friends, or if we go for the friends and the purchase of said fiber is a pleasant side effect. Whichever it is, I do know this — it is a scientific fact that you get more pleasure out of purchasing things in the company of friends and companions than you would on your own. This is what makes a fiber festival such as Maryland so successful, because even if you have managed to wander into a booth all by yourself, all you have to do is turn your face a few millimeters to the left or the right and you will find someone who can be brought to tears by the beauty of a drop spindle or a 1/2 oz. of Mongolian Cashmere. They will rejoice with you as if you are their best friend since first grade and you’ve just told them the most important and exciting news of your life.

As everyone predicted, I walked into the festival and was immediately overwhelmed. Wow. There was so much to take in you hardly knew where to begin. I was so grateful that in the first barn we wandered into I ran smack dab into Juno, who promptly sat me down at her brand new spinning wheel (which is so beautiful that I just want to sit and stare at it forever because it is that amazing) and after a few minutes of spinning on the best wheel I’ve ever used in my life I was completely calm again. Don’t you love people who know what you need? After that, the fiber aquisition began.

Juno gave Mr. Knittiot a crash course in fleece selection and we immediately found a beautiful white border leicester half fleece and purchased it. Later after wandering the entire festival we went back to this booth because we liked what they had so much and bought two more half fleeces. Mr. Knittiot picked them out and as it turns out he has quite the talent for it, because my girls are gorgeous. They are exactly the colors I was looking for, they are soft, clean and delicious. Right now my whole house smells like sheep. That rich, earthy scent of lanolin is the best drug I know of. See below for a few pictures that don’t quite do them justice, but it was the best I could do. The white fleece is 3-1/4 lbs. and both the dark chocolate with the brown tips and the grey with rosy tips are around 2-1/2 lbs. each.

True to his word, Mr. Knittiot was an excellent Id and Enabler. He urged me to buy when I was starting to falter and hesitate on the things I was clearly in love with. He hung back when I needed a few minutes to think. He kept an eye out for booths that he knew I would like and at the end of the day when he wandered off for a minute he came back, took me by the arm (without any explanation) and walked me over to a place called Botanical Shades. Turns out they specialize in selling naturally dyed yarn and dyeing supplies. We had a fantastic discussion with the man who was running the booth for his partner who does all the dyeing and it was so encouraging to find another business that has larger goals than just making a profit, or rather are interested in making a profit while practicing business in a way they can feel good about. After realizing that I didn’t have enough money left, Mr. Knittiot did the best thing. He bought me an Earthues Natural Dye Kit for my Summer of Knitting Naturally project. Everytime I think I love him as much as I possibly can, he expands my definition of love. It wasn’t that he bought me something, because anybody can buy any person anything. It was the whole day and the thoughtfulness and the support and the everything else. He is charming and wonderful and I feel so lucky to have him.

Since the Summer of Knitting Naturally is foremost in my mind these days, it pretty much dominated all my purchases. And I was interested to discover that while there were a number of places that offered naturally dyed fibers (in some of the most stunning colors I’ve ever seen), what really attracted my attention were the natural colors of the fibers themselves. It is such a rich palette that we have to work with. Particularly once you start mixing and matching fibers and blending them together, it is unbelievable the variations you can get. Just from my fleeces alone, the range and depth is stunning.

I knew that I wanted to do a lot of experimenting with different fibers, so my goal was to obtain as many different types as possible. Luckily for me, I happened across Shadeyside Farm in the main barn. They specialize in more exotic fibers, and I was able to get (from left to right in the picture below) some Baby Camel/Tussah, Yak/Bombyx Mori, Black Alpaca/Bombyx Mori, Chocolate Alpaca/Tussah. The photo doesn’t do the colors justice. And, of course, you can’t feel how soft they are, so you’ll just have to take my word for it — they are exquisite.

At the Dzined booth, I picked up an 8 oz. ball of hemp for a mere $9. The woman who owns, runs and does everything else for Dzined gave me some great spinning tips and I am thoroughly excited about delving into plant fibers. I looked for Soy Silk and Bamboo, but sadly found none. I did, however, find a supplier who I can order through. She also happens to carry the Foxfibre naturally colored cottons developed by Sally Fox (one of my real life heroes).

Later in the day, Cassie of Too Much Wool introduced me to the wonderful world of Woodchuck Products, where I got a nostepinne in walnut and a little wraps per inch counter. His prices are so reasonable and his work is so good that I will certainly be getting more from him.

Oh, also, remember the Mongolian Cashmere I so casually dropped into the conversation way back toward the beginning. Yeah. Well, there is indeed a half of an ounce sitting on my futon right now and it is so soft that it will make you want to cry. I tried to take pictures, but I think its beauty may have broken my camera. Just trust me, it is amazing. The best part about it is that the woman who purchases the fiber works with a fair trade company. This means the product was a little bit on the expensive side (no, I’m not even going to tell you what I paid for half an ounce), but I know that the producers of this exquisite material are getting paid a fair wage. It’s a little thing, but it makes me feel even better about it. If all goes well, there will be another Mongolian Cashmere accident and it will net me enough fiber to spin the yarn for the Bird’s Nest Shawl from Folk Shawls.

It feels very strange to be writing such a product heavy post. I don’t typically blog about my purchases and this post is getting very, very long. The truth is, as wonderful and exciting as all these things are and what they will mean for my spinning in the next several months, nothing can compare to the joy of being with people. And Maryland was all about the people. It was so gratifying to finally be able to spend some time with these fellow fiber folks. Among some of those I was finally able to meet in person were the lovely Etherknitter (who was as delightful and warm as I imagined she would be), Rachel H. (whose thoughtful and engaging comments are so good that it does seem to indicate she really should have a blog, but not if it is going to distract her from making spinning wheels. I’m just sayin’.) and Crazy Lanea (who is as talented, funny and enjoyable to talk with as you can imagine). When the festival closed and it was time to go home, I wasn’t ready for the day to end. Luckily a couple of local Philly knitters/spinners suggested that we all go out for Indian food (If you are ever in Columbia, MD — Mango Grove was the best vegetarian Indian restaurant I have ever eaten at). Naomi and Kirsten were wonderful dinner companions and it made the whole day just seem complete.

Okay, now this has gotten ridiculously long and I really ought to sign off. More tomorrow…

Id (das Es, lit. “the it”)
Freud borrowed the term “Id” from Georg Groddeck’s (1923) The Book of the It. Groddeck defines it thus:

I hold the view that man is animated by the Unknown, that there is within him an “Es,” an “It,” some wondrous force which directs both what he himself does, and what happens to him. The affirmation “I live” is only conditionally correct, it expresses only a small and superficial part of the fundamental principle, “Man is lived by the It.”
(Groddeck, 1923/1961, p. 11)

(content taken from A Freud Glossary: link)

My mantra for tomorrow is “Man is lived by the It!” And what is the “it” if not the impulse to create? I have come to realize that my love of knitting and spinning and all pursuits fiber related come from a place inside of me that is filled with longing, in a very over powering and primitive way, to create something with my own hands. Why else would the concept of taking raw materials gathered from a field and transforming them into something practical and beautiful fill me with such profound joy? It’s the pleasure principle. Knitting strokes the Id, no doubt about it.

When I first posed the idea to Mr. Knittiot of him accompanying me to Maryland, he happily agreed, offering to play the role of my Id for the day. That is, he decided it was going to be his mission to encourage me to act on impulse, make decisions and most importantly walk away from the festival with a bundle of wooly goodness (we in the knitting community refer to such wonderful and selfless people as “enablers”). This bodes well for the day as does the weather forecast which now says it will be 74 and partly cloudy.

Yesterday I gave my Id a test run (all by myself even!) and managed to not only survive shopping for clothes (I hate clothes shopping, it is a necessary evil, which is why it has been a year and a half since I bought anything new and only the increasingly large hole in my favorite pair of pants convinced me it was time for a new pair) but also walked home with a couple of items that look flattering and feel great (i.e. comfortable — I don’t believe in being uncomfortable just to be fashionable — guess who doesn’t wear high heels. ever.)

And while I would rather have liked to whoop it up with my fiber buddies at the bi-weekly (does that mean every two week or twice a week?) philly fiber gathering yesterday evening, instead I was sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair in the swelteringly hot gym of a very well-to-do catholic high school (what, all that money couldn’t buy a theater?) watching a very miserable version of Les Miserables. Uggg. I know that confessing to a general dislike of Les Miserables is bound to get me hung in some circles, but I have tried to like it and just don’t. And while I have seen some wonderful high school performances in my day (a particularly stunning version of Bye Bye Birdie comes to mind), this was not one of them. Nevertheless, we went with some coworkers of Mr. Knittiot (one of the kids in the show works with them) and afterwords we went out and indulged in a little aftershow Guinness (I actually splurged and had two). I was out until well after 2:00 and it was the first time in more than 4 years that I heard last call. I felt very young. Today I feel very old.

Anyway, tonight is preparation (make the lunch — tofu egg salad, peanut butter and celery with raisins, fresh strawberries, mmmm) and tomorrow we leave at the crack of dawn for the 2.5 hour drive to the festival grounds. I won’t be wearing Ruby Joy, but I will have my charming husband with me and you can’t miss him — if you see a tall, lanky man in black with a long curly moustache (ala Snidely Whiplash) and a pork pie hat, I’ll be the shy, linen-clad gal in the glasses standing next to him looking like I am going to pass out from the sheer magnitude of it all…

Maryland is a mere five days away and it looks like things are going to be quite busy this week. I prefer being busy, since it will almost guarantee that the hours and days leading up to Saturday don’t stretch on endlessly.

My charming husband has decided to accompany me in order to play the role of my id — which sadly seems to be lacking (or locked up somewhere) when it comes to making purchases. In truth, I just have a hard time making decisions in general and tend to get overwhelmed easy. So I’m bringing a grounding element with me. Perhaps he’ll find some fibers that he feels compelled to have as well. Mr. Knittiot hasn’t been crocheting much lately, but there is nothing like a fiber festival to get you in the mood.

Despite the sleep deprivation on Saturday night that came courtesy of a very inconsiderate and obnoxious neighbor who has a stereo system that I would like to smash into a million little pieces with a very large hammer, it was a lovely weekend. Good time with friends and lots of knitting and fibery accomplishments.

Since this is going to be my first trip to Maryland, I am doing a little prep work. On the subject of this particular festival, I have received some excellent advice from my fellow knitters and Maryland veterans. It has all pretty much been the same — you will be overwhelmed by the magnitude. Without question. This usually serves to make me positively giddy with anticipation. Even so, me and the being overwhelmed, we are good friends (you know, in the way that mortal enemies are) and we go way back. So this week I intend to give some thought as to what it is I am looking for at Maryland, with the full and total understanding that if I want to chuck it out the window the second I step onto the fairgrounds, that is perfectly acceptable.

After much swooning over Juno’s amazing finds, I am contemplating fleeces. With my upcoming Summer of Knitting Naturally, you don’t get much closer to the source than that. I am also going to be on the lookout for farms that are more local to my neck of the woods — not necessarily for purchase at the festival, but for later use — and also operations that are using organic methods to care for their flocks. I also want to try out a number of different spinning wheels. I won’t be in the market for a new one for a good year, I bet, but when it comes time to buy, I want to have a much better idea of what I am doing than I did the first time around.

I want to find some Socks That Rock, because working with this yarn has been one of those distinct pleasures that I want to repeat again and again, and I am one of those people who just likes to see the colors in person. Definitely need some undyed fibers for this summer’s experiments in plant-based dying. And I’m highly curious about soy silk, bamboo, hemp and other plant fibers for spinning, so I may have to grab a little of each of those as well for experimentation purposes. If I can manage to find anyone with information on using plant dyes or who sells plant-dyed yarns, you can bet I will be hitting those booths.

Every year at Rhinebeck I start out with a small notebook and a pen in my hands and the intention of taking detailed notes to help me remember the various suppliers and what they offer that I like so much. By the time we get halfway through the second barn, I have usually abandoned them and entered that trance-like state in which I am mesmerized by everything I see. It doesn’t typically wear off until we are safely back at home and I realize I can’t remember anything I thought I would. I vow to take better notes next year and the pattern repeats itself. I want to avoid that cycle at Maryland. I’m not sure this is a very realistic goal, but perhaps if I gave myself permission to only jot down notes when something was really, really amazing or fit in with some of my above stated goals… Or maybe, I should just relax and enjoy my day. Hmmm. What a novel concept. Have I mentioned I’m a very goal-oriented person?

The Kiri Shawl, or as mine has come to be known — Ruby Joy, continues to progress. I honestly have never been happier working on anything as I am this. It is beyond beautiful. Needless to say, I will be working with Alchemy yarns again, there is simply no question of it. I have refrained from stating out loud that I am trying to finish this before Maryland, because I didn’t want the accompanying sense of pressure and/or failure. However, thanks to yesterday’s progress, a sweetie who will be working the next several evenings and Smallville and The L Word on DVD, I think we can safely commit to blocking by Thursday evening or Friday morning. But I am not making any promises. I will be at Maryland on Saturday, with or without the shawl and either way is just fine with me.

This weekend while visiting Sophie’s Yarns I had a really good discussion with the owner of the store about what is happening to make knitting a more environmentally friendly pursuit. After all, it was Earth Day and it seemed like a timely discussion. As soon as we got talking I had the feeling that this was one of those moments where you suddenly find yourself walking into a conversation that you are not entirely sure you want to be having, because you somehow know that the result will be thought provoking and will require change. You can see about a hundred miles away that it is going to give you something to think about, something that on some subconcious level you may have been avoiding, but that, no matter what, after this you will never be able to ignore again. And it all started with the most innocent of comments, “Oh, what a gorgeous yarn. What is it?”

The yarn, it turns out, is from Hand Jive Knits — a California based company that is committed to using only natural and plant dyes to produce gorgeous, subtly variegated yarns (and some rovings too, I see from her website). I have been interested in plant dyes since I started spinning, but I just haven’t gotten around to playing with dyes yet. Kool-aid dying grosses me out — I just can’t handle the fake and overpowering fruity smells. I have certainly admired the results others have achieved, but it is not for me. I am a little too freaked out by the toxic dyes to muck about with them in my kitchen, plus, I know when it came time to pour the used solution down the sink I would feel guilty. Yeah, I know, the height of hypocrisy. It isn’t as if I have cried over all the synthetically dyed yarns and clothing and any number of other items I have in my house. Sometimes, despite my best attempts to be a responsible person, I fall into the kind of thinking that seems to say — as long as I don’t have to deal with it, I don’t have to worry about it. It isn’t a concious choice, it is a default one.

I mean, let’s face it, our impact on this earth is insane and if we really wanted to change our lives so that this impact was severely reduced, it wouldn’t much resemble our current lives at all. In fact, I’m sure that for most of us the impact of that kind of change would seem pretty miserable — like the stuff apocalypses are made of. Because responsibility toward the environment that sustains us would mean a severe reduction in the consumer culture, which, at this point, would basically equal a collapse of our whole economic structure. We have created an economy where growth is dependant on wanting more and more and more. This in turn requires more resources to produce it. This in turn puts greater strain on the earth. Then corners are cut and processes “streamlined” so people get what they want faster and cheaper and the cycle goes on and on and on.

I am not trying to sound so bleak here and I don’t want to ignore the positive things that are happening out there (like the rise in organic farming and available produce, local food movements, environmentally responsible corporations, charitable organizations like Heifer International, etc.), but sometimes I just want to cry. And a lot of times, I just have to push this stuff out of my head so I can get up every morning and keep going. Saturday’s post talked about the one-step-at-a-time method of change. As you can see, thinking too much beyond each of those individual steps results in paralysis and despair. Neither of which is very useful. All we can do is one thing at a time and hope they all add up to make enough of a difference.

One of the things I think I have been pretty subconciously blind to (especially when overcome with a love for a certain colorway) is the process that takes a few fibers that have been twisted together and transforms them into something remarkably (breathtakingly, even) colorful. Dyes — especially the bright and vibrant ones that I tend to fall so hard for — are not exactly kind to the earth. Something has to happen to those toxic materials when they are done turning wool, cotton or any other fiber into the colors we love. The sad truth of the matter is that, like everything else, they return to the earth and contaminate the soil, our ground water and so forth and so on.

A couple of months ago I was reading through the book America Knits and in it was a profile of Sally Fox. She is the vision and the brains behind Foxfibre, an organically grown cotton that she slowly and methodically has cultivated over the years to naturally produce various shades of green and brown. They require no toxic dyes and information about purchasing yarn and fibers (and even fabric for you sewers out there) can all be found directly on her website. More companies are starting to carry lines of organic wool, cotton and silk, including Blue Sky Alpaca, among others. Smaller companies like Hand Jive are basing their entire line of products on using plant dyes and suppliers that are committed to teaching natural dying techniques and selling dyes that can all be found in nature (like Aurora Silk) are also out there. These are the kinds of things that excite me and give me hope. But the thing is, without my support and the support of other knitters, they won’t make it.

So, I have been thinking about how I can contribute to the success of companies like these and I have come up with a plan. While I realize that it is not realistic to think that a bunch of knitters are going to suddenly give up on a whole world of yarn dyed and produced traditionally, I thought I might be able to motivate enough people to participate in an extended experiment that would expose us to more organically grown and naturally dyed yarns and fibers. And what better time than the summer to familiarize ourselves with some of that organic cotton and hemp and to experiment with some of the natural dyes that can be found right in our backyards. Thus the seed of an idea was planted and it has grown rather quickly.

So, without further ado, I invite you to join me in a Summer of Knitting Naturally. I realize, of course, that Maryland is coming up in just a couple of weeks and I felt it wouldn’t make any sense to start this until after the event. So, my thought is that it will be a three month committment taking us through June, July and August. The guidelines are simple — you set your own goals. Everyone is at a different space in their lives about what they can do, so you decide what is manageable for you. Do you want to focus on knitting or spinning with more organic fibers? Do you want to learn how to dye yarn using plants? Never tried hemp before, but always wanted to? Now is the time. Knitting Naturally can take many forms, and what will work best for you is completely up to you and your imagination.

Every week I will be posting information on fiber-related companies that are doing great things for the earth and where their products can be purchased. I will also be experimenting with some spinning of new fibers, including *gasp* some of that FoxFibre cotton and maybe a little hemp while we are at it. I will also be doing some dying with plants in my kitchen and I promise to document the entire process and let you know what I’ve learned.

For those who are interested, please leave a comment (with a valid e-mail address in the e-mail field). Remember, this is all about baby steps. Make a realistic, manageable goal that you know you can stick with, but also make one that takes you just outside your comfort zones and exposes you to new things in the world of knitting. My sweetie is going to be working up a button for the venture, which I will hopefully be able to post in a couple of days. I look forward to hearing from you!

Work has been busier than expected lately. Last minute projects. Tight deadlines. Up early. To bed late. Writing from the crack of dawn. It’s both exhausting and exhilirating. I am still in such awe that I am making this freelancing venture work. And work it is. Work, work, work.

Nevertheless, there has been at least a little time for knitting. Despite the hectic schedule, it was a surprisingly relaxing weekend and I was able to get through several of the pattern repeats on Ruby Joy. This shawl has been progressing so beautifully and I have been feeling so good about myself as I speed along. I’ve been checking my stitch count at the end of each row and it has (with the exception of a couple of rows requiring some tinking) remained right on target. I do visual spot checks here and there to make sure my yarn overs are lining up as they are supposed to be and they have been.

Then sometime on Sunday afternoon I looked down and I got that sinking feeling. Something didn’t look right. Worse, something didn’t look right about 15 rows back. Something about 15 rows back on my MOHAIR and silk blend shawl. Further inspection revealed that it wasn’t really terrible exactly, just a minor glitch. Only two yarn overs on one row that are off by one stitch. The other yarn overs on that row and every other row are perfectly placed. Really, it is just these two yarn overs. Hardly noticeable. Except, of course, to me.

I sat there for a number of minutes just holding the shawl in my hands contemplating my options. I could always tink back 15 (or more) rows, stitch by stich by tedious stitch, and fix the two yarn overs. Or, I could leave it as is. I also briefly toyed with the idea of slipping those few stitches off my needles and trying to work down the 15 rows to fix it. I even started in on that crazy plan only to realize that the problems inherent with mohair and fixing mistakes would hinder me from doing anything other than getting frustrated and destroying the shawl in the process or possibly setting it on fire when it proved impossible to do so.

So, I took a deep breath and just kept going. There is a mistake in my shawl and I am trying to ignore it. I keep telling myself comforting stories about how in some cultures artisans will purposefully introduce a flaw into an object they are creating because there is no such thing as perfection. I remind myself that this is probably good therapy for the whole accepting that life isn’t perfect stuff I’m supposed to be working on. And I am distinctly shutting out the voices that are telling me there is no point in having a shawl made out of such exquisite yarn if you are just going to let it have a mistake out there for all the world to see. I told that voice to shut the hell up and went and ripped out my unsatisfying socks hoping that it would relieve some of the tension. So far, that strategy has worked.

Even so, I know this is going to continue to bother me, at least a little. I know that someone is going to compliment me on the shawl when it is all done and I am going to want to show them the two deviant yarn overs to temper their praise. Sort of like a perfectionists cautionary tale. Yet, even with all of that, I honestly can’t face tinking all that mohair. It’s too disheartening.

This got me thinking about my tendencies toward perfectionism. I know we all have them to some degree. But it seems that some people are just better (or maybe more confident) about determining in what situations it is okay to relax your expectations and “let it go.” I sometimes feel as if I am afraid that letting my guard down in one instance will cause all my standards to rapidly deteriorate in every other area of my life (another symptom of an all-or-nothing approach, it would seem).

I find myself often stymied by perfection and unable to move ahead because of a perceived inability to achieve some ideal. And I’ve decided that is no way to live. It is singularly unsatisfying. So, I have been slowly cultivating a philosophy of imperfection over the last year or so.

A philosophy of imperfection doesn’t merely tolerate the messiness of life and the chaos that can errupt without notice. It should help you find a true sense of joy and unexpected wonder in these situations. Because, it is true — there is no such thing as perfect. Except maybe being happy with things as they are.

On Sunday when I gave myself permission to just keep going, there was a little shock of thrill that went through me. Wow. Just don’t fix it. It was so simple and so freeing. And it just turns the whole notion of perfection on its ear.

I’m currently reading through Stephanie Pearl-McPhee’s latest book — Knitting Rules. I sincerely enjoy receiving useful and practical information in a highly entertaining and well written manner and this book meets all the criteria.

After yesterday’s post, I delved into the chapter on yarn. It is appropriately named “Yarn and How Not to Feel Guilty About It.” She made some very good points on the merits of stash acquisition — some a little tongue and cheek and others that were more serious. Given my confession yesterday that I have a hard time committing to spending money on yarn and almost no stash to speak of, I figured that this would hold some valuable advice. Perhaps result in a more balanced approach that would allow me to purchase what I need and *gasp* occassionally what I want without the accompanying hesitation and panic and regret.

I was not disappointed.

She points out that if you were a carpenter no one would tell you that you had too much wood or, if you were a painter, too much paint and canvas. She also highlights the entertainment value and does a cost per hour comparison to some other popular forms of entertainment. Knitting, of course, is always the cheapest, because it takes the longest. Most importantly, she includes the caveat that as long as your ability to pay for the yarn is not exceeded by your actual purchases, you’re probably doing okay.

And lets face it, in this giant blogosphere we all call home, we have vastly different levels of what is a reasonable and responsible amount of money we can spend on yarn and its assorted trappings. There is no room for guilt in this equation.

One of the most important pieces of advice she gives in this chapter is “Buy the best you can afford. The stuff you make is your legacy, and your time is really worth it.” The best that can be afforded isn’t always going to be the most expensive and what it is you can afford will likely change from month to month and year to year as life fluctuates and alters its course. In the end, I have to agree with that kind of thinking.

Right now, as I have mentioned, I am knitting a shawl in some of the nicest yarn I have ever had the privilege to work with (earlier today in an e-mail I noted to someone that Alchemy Yarns should be given the knitting equivalent of an Oscar). I can’t remember the last time I worked on something that I was so completely, rapturously in love with. I find that I am unable to be away from it for longer than an hour at a time. I tried to bring it into my office just so I could be near it while I worked, but the temptation to gaze at it admiringly and not work was too strong. So I take frequent breaks and visit it in the living room. I don’t have to knit, just touch it, hold it up to the light. I’ve even named her — Ruby Joy (after a newly rediscovered friend’s spritely daughter and the sense of bliss I feel everytime I pick up this project).

To borrow a little math from our dear Harlot, the two skeins that Ruby Joy will be comprised of cost around forty dollars. The pattern estimates that this shawl will take twenty-four hours to knit. However, this is me we are talking about and with the Knittiot, lace always involves some amount of tinking, not to mention the time I spend just admiring it, so lets tack on another six hours just to be realistic. Forty dived by thirty gets us $1.33 per hour of entertainment. Not too shabby.

Before I close, let me also say that seeing the infamous Yarn Harlot in person was a treat. I have never felt so good about being told how utterly uncool I am. Really, I just felt a lot better about the whole situation.

I am one of those consumers who has a hard time committing to a purchase. At a very young age I learned what a dollar was and what it could buy. Turns out it wasn’t very much, and since there were few dollars to spare in our household, a purchase of say, a $25 pair of jeans or a dinner out could be easily translated into a bill that could be paid or some other necessity that could be taken care of. This didn’t mean we never bought the jeans or went out for dinner, it just usually meant that there was a lot of anxiety surrounding it. Spending money was always something we weren’t supposed to be doing but did anyway.

As I got older and moved out on my own, there were more financial wakeup calls. And newer lessons about a consumer culture and the push to buy more, more, more. I watched debt destroy my mother when I was a child and I was determined to be smarter with my money, but nevertheless managed to find myself in a couple of debtful situations that I had to dig myself out of. Good lessons were learned, better systems were implemented and all that.

When we decided to move away from the Midwest, I got serious about my money and through careful spending and diligent saving managed to amass a sizeable chunk of cash in a relatively short period of time. Then we bought a house and all our money was just gone. I mourned the security I felt in having some savings in the bank.

Of course, then we owned a home. And I can tell you, nothing sucks away your resources like owning a great, big, old house. It isn’t as if we were even really able to do much with it. It was a mess when we bought it and it was a mess when we sold it. Just paying the heating bills and the taxes and the little things we could fix was a never ending drain.

Then there was the year of unemployment for Mr. Knittiot, which resulted in further tightening of the belt and more in-depth analysis of our relationship with the consumer culture. I learned so much about myself during that time. It was amazing how on the outside of everything money can make you feel.

There is a new book out right now called Not Buying It. It chronicles the author’s year of not spending any money beyond the necessities. I would love to go into what some of her “necessities” are, but there is this slightly bitter teenager in my head who was forced to attend a school filled with a bunch of rich, entitled, snotty brats and she occassionally likes to emerge and spout inappropriate things. I have learned that her generalizations are unfair and inaccurate on some occasions and so I just remind her of this and she tends to sulk away.

I read an interview with the author and she made some very interesting observations about how this affects your life. She talked about feeling isolated and left out. Since she hadn’t seen the movies or read the books everyone else was talking about, she felt stupid. Without shopping to occupy her time, she had a lot of it and didn’t always know what to do with it all. She also found that her relationship with her partner grew deeper, she discovered lots of places she had forgotten about such as the library and attended more events in her community because they were free.

Because of all these experiences in my life, I am a reluctant shopper. It isn’t that I don’t want to. On the contrary, I am filled with a desire to just walk into a store and buy whatever I want. But that isn’t really an option. And the illusion that it is an option for anyone is just that — smoke and mirrors. Still, we have the impression that this is what people do. They just spend money and don’t ever think twice about it. We imagine that they are worry free when it comes to finances, but we see about 0.2% of people’s worries in general and this is usually just fine with us.

On Oprah, recently, she has been on a kick about helping Americans reduce their debt. I find it ironic that she can have a show on debt reduction one day and the next highlight a shoe designer that makes uncomfortable (though, admittedly beautiful) footwear I would have to save for a year to buy. Even so, I think she is very admirable for trying to help people get a handle on their spending habits. As I was watching the second episode in the series, one of the debt reducing families talked about the reaction from some of her family and friends. Many of them were embarassed. They didn’t really want to know this about them, didn’t want to be associated with them. The wife said she felt that if they had come on Oprah and said they were swingers they would have gotten a better response. And largely, I have found this to be true. Money is a hush hush subject. And so our unhealthy little habits are allowed to fester and grow in secret and in isolation.

Shortly after I learned how to knit, my husband lost his job. As a knitter this makes me one of those shameful anomalies — one with a very small stash of uninteresting and uninspiring yarns. I have no Koigu, no Lorna’s Laces. I have few pattern books and even fewer finished objects. I don’t have a complete set of needles and own no Lantern Moon and only a couple pairs of Addis. I don’t have a fancy knitting bag and weekly trips to the LYS in which money is spent is not an option. I am not saying this because I want sympathy or donations or anything else. This is just a fact. Do I want those things? Yes, sometimes I do. But not always. Because having them isn’t going to make me feel any better.

Last night I went to Loop. Loop is my favorite yarn store. Mostly because Craig and his staff are the best kind of people. They make you feel welcome. They are just as in love with the yarn as you are and they will talk to you about it for hours. But it is also my favorite because they have shelf after shelf of beautiful, soft and delicious yarns in colors that make your heart want to cry. Everytime I go there I have to exert some of my well-developed will power. I have gotten good at saying no to the seduction over the years. But sometimes, there is something I want and I really want it and it is a good and a beautiful thing to want, and somehow the will power takes over without my permission and I walk away without it. And then, Regret. I’ve gotten so good at saying no, I’m afraid to say yes. Yes opens up the flood gates of longing. And I still know what a dollar can buy and its even less than when I was a child.

Lately I’ve been struggling a bit, feeling buzzy in my brain, dissatisfied with myself, fighting with old thought patterns. I haven’t been able to find a peaceful mental space in quite a few weeks now and this is wearying. I have been worrying that there is not enough time for me to “make something of myself.” And when I am feeling pressed for time and overwhelmed by the stresses of life, it is very difficult to gain the perspective required to break free from that particular form of chaos. I start saying things like, “I don’t have time for my walk,” and then skip three days in a row. This does little to improve the situation. Though these feelings are not new, the temptation to view them as a sudden and disastrous failure is always strong. I’m nothing if not melodramatic.

Yesterday, I managed to push myself out the door, despite some extreme grumpiness at the prospect, and onto the street for a short jaunt to the post office. Walks are often a good way to clear my head. And while the cobwebs haven’t been completely swept away, it was a good start.

Whenever I find the energy to stop and ask myself how things got so off track, it is fairly easy to identify the signs and build a road map of the derailment. Often times, I can even see what is going on in the midst of the situation, even if it sometimes takes me a little while to figure out how to disentangle myself from the pattern.

There is a Zen saying that I tend to cling to rather tightly, because it is precisely the sort of reminder my little birdy brain needs.

When walking, walk
When sitting, sit

One of the first things I worked on in therapy was learning how to do one thing at a time. This does not come naturally to me. Usually I have a hundred things going at once and keeping track of them all is a constant exercise in paranoia. What will I do if I drop the ball? Who will I let down? What will people think of me? Yeah, I’m not a perfectionist or anything.

This ability to multitask is something I have been praised and rewarded for again and again. I have prided myself on my ability to manage in this way. In work environments I am often tagged as “the reliable one.” The one who can be given any number of tasks and, thanks to a heightened fear of failure, will get it done, even if it kills me. And it is killing me. On top of that, I don’t always get everything done. I have a tendency toward unrealistic expectations and have an inflated sense of what I can accomplish in a given amount of time. This results in a very sad little knittiot who often feels like she has failed at everything (cue swelling violins and sympathetic “awwww”), even if it was only one thing.

Or rather, that is the old pattern. In therapy I worked very hard to instill more realistic expectations in myself. I learned how to focus. I learned that tackling one thing at a time usually resulted in greater productivity. When talking on the phone, I talked on the phone. When composing an e-mail, I composed an e-mail. When writing, I wrote. When editing, I edited. At least, on a good day.

But we all know that old habits die hard. We go away from therapy for a little while and the good habits are often (temporarily) forsaken as you easily fall back into comfortable, long-standing, deeply ingrained behaviors. It doesn’t take long for you to realize things are different. I had a frightening moment on yesterday’s walk in which I thought maybe I would always need therapy in order to keep my life in balance. Which is not to say that gaining additional insight into my life isn’t desirable, it is just that dependency on a therapist is not the goal. The goal is to develop a strong sense of my own resiliency and ability to care for myself. And thanks to therapy, I have an arsenal of skills to do just that. It was simply a matter of recalling those tools and tricks that helped and trying to implement them again.

Lately my knitting has had this same sense of stress and anxiety surrounding it. As have my creative writing pursuits. I flit from project to project, halfheartedly casting on for something and immediately ripping it out. Thinking about a topic for an article and tossing out a few sentences. Stopping. Contemplating something else. Ripping, erasing, deleting, frogging. All the while, there is this constant clock ticking in the back of my head telling me that I don’t have time for this. I need to be knitting for goodness sake. Or writing something “worthwhile.” Jeez, will you just chill out a little.

And I realized something in this. When I am knitting, I knit. That is why I feel so desperate to get a project going. Something engrossing. Something interesting and meditative. Something that will give me a break from all this mental turmoil. I am looking for that sense of peace that is missing when I have too many things going at once. The missing element from that, of course, is that when I am planning, I need to plan. And since I have been viewing that time required to contemplate the next project as stolen knitting time, it is just making everything seem all the more manic and my desperation gets completely blown out of proportion.

So, rather than get all stressed out about what I feel I should be doing, I need to schedule some time to do what I need to be doing. Planning. I don’t know why it is so hard for us to take even 15 minutes to help ourselves get organized…