How long does it take for something to become a routine? Four weeks? Six weeks? I'm not entirely certain, but I know that I was feeling nervous about a few days away from home after starting back to the gym. It's taken me so long to find the motivation to start working out, and I feared that time away so soon would result in me slipping back into "lump" mode.

As it turns out, I needn't have worried. After a day of walking in Manhattan, I logged more miles than I ever could on a treadmill. Nothing beats running for a bus or hoofing subway stairs for cardiovascular conditioning.

And nothing beats a large city for offering some of the most original, if not wacky, options for getting fit. If I scoffed when Crunch offered Cardio Striptease, I'm now utterly gobsmacked by their latest offering: Stiletto Strength.

I may have scoffed at Cardio Striptease, but I tried it when I was a Crunch member. It was beyond lame. Thinking about Dave Navarro or yarn can raise my heartrate more than that class did. Thus, I was a bit sceptical when I found out about Go-Go Robics with The World Famous Pontani Sisters. But just like my approach to internet dating, I thought, Hey, if it's really bad, it will be a great story.


I'm sorry to say that I don't have any photos documenting my tiptoe into Go-Go, but it turns out that the Sisters know how to teach a class that gets you all hot and sweaty -- in a way in which both your mother and your cardiologist would approve.


*photo of Gypsy Rose Lee

At my first job, there was a woman who would bring muffins to the office almost daily. Mind you, these weren't for mass consumption; she brought muffins only for the two big cheeses who could make a difference in her career. When she was selected to attend a tradeshow, when historically it had been the person in my position, I chalked it up to Muffin Madness.

My current boss informed me that my predecessor routinely brought him bagels in the morning, as well as making a delicious Irish Soda Bread for St. Patrick's Day. In turn, I informed him that all of those carbs and all of that sugar weren't healthy.

Lucky for me, I do not have to court his favor by bread alone. He's a cat person, so we're given to swapping kitty stories on a near-daily basis. He genuinely enjoys my little nuggets of Snicker's antics. Like the time Joe scolded me for giving her a bit of rotisserie chicken, on the grounds that it would make her sick. "If she can digest rabbit head without difficulty, I don't think a sliver of chicken will send her to Animal E.R.", I retorted.

Last week, he asked if I would be willing to knit a catbed for his cat, Holly. I've been on a small felting jag (if one Crazy Aunt Purl Mini Bag counts as a "jag") of late, and what could be easier than a Kitty Pi bed? I settled on Wool of the Andes over the suggested Big Kureyon. My recent experiences with Silk Garden and Korchoran have put me off the Noro for awhile.

Naturally, there's the issue of being compensated for materials and time. The first is tangible; I produce a receipt for yarn. But how do I charge for time? If I'm knitting something for my boss is it permissible to knit at work? Probaby not, but it sure seems like I could rationalize it...

It's been so windy recently that crawlspaces in the apartment building are howling. It's less charming in Dutchess County than it might be on Prince Edward Island, although I don't know that anyone on PEI finds gusting winds charming. I doubt it.

The winds have brought a change. I think it could be Spring. I am hesitant to speak too loudly and boldly lest I find myself trudging through 13" of snow late next week. The standard scene is simple: warm weather comes, everyone believes that Spring is here to stay, only to awake to a blanket of snow in early- to mid-April. I call it the Easter Snow.

Easter snow be damned! I must knit ZephyrStyle's Green Gable -- which I insist upon calling Green Cable, in spite of the absolute lack of cable(s). I assume that the name of the garment is a nod to the placement of the lace panel, a sartorial gable, if you will. At any rate, I don't know if knitting a cheery, Spring garment in a cheery, Spring color will ward off or bring on the Easter Snow, but I can't stop myself.

I am giddy!
I am delerious!

Easter snow be damned!

How long does it take for the effects of being a non-driver to wear off? Probably longer than you'd think. Sometimes, I get in the car, and I just sit there. Waiting. Waiting for the car to start moving. Believe it or not, I sometimes forget to put the keys in the ignition. You must think this is an early sign of some neural disease, but I think it's something less fearful than that. I'm convinced that a lifetime of being a passenger is a tough habit to kick.

I bought my car in March of 2004. Two years is a fair amount of time, but when you compare the years of driving to the years of passengering and then factor in my extreme desire to have the option to travel by bus or on foot, I think the handful of times I've failed to start the car is low. It's certainly lower than the number of times I've failed to take the keys out of the ignition before locking and closing (manual locks) the car door. There have been a few occasions in which I've failed to bother with shutting off the engine before exiting the car. Thankfully, I have AAA.

I only wish I'd had my Esther Williams Hat with me while I was waiting for 75 minutes for the AAA lock-out crew to save me. Well, I did, but it was still on the needles and in my knitting bag -- in the car. This hat is soft, warm , and the perfect foil for a bad hair day or sixty.

There's a fancy crochet edging that I need to do, but I'm torn. I think the hat is lovely as is. But isn't that the beauty of crochet? I can give it a whirl and rip it out oh-so-easily if the edging isn't my cup of tea.

Speaking of tea, I think I'm in desperate need of a cup; I'm still a bit shivery from yesterday...

Until yesterday, I had never worked with Lamb's Pride Worsted. There's a project I did a year or so ago -- still waiting to be seamed, lined, and be-handled -- in LP Burlyspun. In the past, I avoided the Lamb's Pride wools for the simple reason that I've come to discover that I'm not found of
Knitting something to then felt it
Knitting with yarn that amounts to something that sort of teetered around the spinning wheel. I like plied or chainette yarns that don't strike me as having just be worn and shorn a day or two ago.

Last night, Sharyn, Theresa, and I held a mini-competition to see if we could, indeed, produce Crazy Aunt Purl's Easy Knitted Felted Bracelet Bag in under two hours. There's not a washing machine at the yarn store, so it's hard to say if you can make the pattern -- from yarn to hanging off of your wrist -- in two hours. Maybe Crazy Aunt Purl just meant the knitting part, but that's not entirely clear. But who cares? It's a sweet little thing to whip up for the wannabe-party girl in all of us who needs just her lipstick and some mad money for a good night out.

While I'm attemtping to felt this tonight -- without the benefit of hot water in the laundry room, thanks to our cheap-ass landlord -- I'll be working on the adorable Esther Williams Hat, courtesy of Poor Miss Finch.

I know it seems a bit late in the season to be on another hat knitting jag, but I like to keep my head and neck covered during those nippy Spring mornings. That, and I'm a sucker for sunny yellow. Mostly, it's because the pattern called for Lamb's Pride, and I'm now a late-coming convert.

Dear Vogue Knitting Editors,
You are killing me. I beg of you...Please stop featuring Koigu trousers, jackets, and skirts. No, really -- do stop with the colorblock Koigu trousers. Those were scary.

The modular skirt from the Autumn issue...the white jacket from the Winter issue...and now the adorable pink skirt for Spring/Summer? Personally, the modular skirt was too long for my body type and a tad too dark for my personal taste, but I could see that with a different color palette and a shortened length -- it would be killer.

Pink isn't my cup of tea either, but the Spring/Summer cover skirt knitted of Koigu is so sweet and charming. I feel that if I don't knit this for myself, I will be an incomplete knitter. Of course, my completion would require some color other than pink, but that's just quibbling.

So inspiring is that Koigu skirt that it was all the incentive I needed to lug my ass to the gym at 6:30am today.

Sincerely,
Slimming Down for Koigu in Dutchess County



While not every pattern spoke to me, I am smitten with quite a few. I do love those corsets, slip dresses, and such, but I'm not sure that I have the body, the moxie, or the destination to wear those clothes. At present, they are the clothes of my fantasies.

Eliminating the styles that appealed to me but that I'd not knit or wear in my present life and body form, I was left with a small pool of favorities. Favorites that I honestly would knit and wear. Maybe I am a boring and unadventurous knitter, but I fail to see the reason in buying yarn and knitting a pattern that will be shoved to the back of the closet just for the sake of "learning experience" or a "knitting challenge".

I'm very stingy with my yarn money and knitting time that way.

Noro Schmoro
It seems that so many knitters are smitten with Noro yarns. I'll be the first to admit that the colors are sensational, but... That alternating thick and thin of the yarn drives me to distraction. It also comes up in the same area, creating a garment that is akin to an overstuffed couch on one side and fishing net on the other.

Don't even get me started on the rough finish of much of the yarn. I'm no so bothered by those strands of kinky silk in the yarn, but I am thoroughly annoyed to find knots, and wores, sticks and twigs in my yarn. Yes, some call it "vegetable matter", but I call it what it is. And furthermore, if I wanted to spend my time picking knots, sticks, and twigs from hair, I'd have bought a farm and had some children.

Fuzzy Bunny
Bunnies and horsies are those animals that have a ubiquitous appeal to females of all ages. I've been on a horse a few times, but it didn't rouse any great desire in me to don jodphurs and ride. I'd be more interested in riding bareback and managing to stay on the horse because my foot got tangled in the mane or some such nuttiness.

I never liked bunnies either. Someone I knew in my childhood raised rabbits, and I was completely put off by the smell. Maybe it was all a bit too "country" for me at the time. Now, I find the sight of a gaggle of wild turkey to be brag-worthy to my friends in NYC.

Back to the bunnies. Angora. Soft, fluffy, and feminine... I don't think me and Ang. get along very well. I have a disturbing memory of getting into a fist fight wearing a pink angora sweater with a pearl button. I pack a good punch, but something about pink angora would diminsh even Ali's boxer cred.

Another angora issue is the flying fur (and not of the fistfight variety). We are cat owners. Do I really need another coating of disembodied fur? Between Snickers and my lax approaching to leg waxing, I don't think I can carry the burden of bunny fur on top of it all.

Like a Phoenix from the Frog Pond
In spite of grousing that I had nothing to knit yesterday, I did have yarn in my bag. Rather I had the misshapen carcass of Gioia in my bag. There no better way to make waiting on hold with the Department of State a pleasurable experience than to rip back a woebegotten handknit.

Frankly, I thougth that the hank of Kochoran would find itself up for swap because I couldn't imagine what (other than a scarf) I could do with the yarn. At least I couldn't imagine it until I saw a little complementary at The Garter Belt.

Thus, I was saved from the dismal fate of sitting -- idle-handed -- through a knitting lunch with Sharyn. And while I was saved from my hands becoming the devil's playthings, I'm not so sure I'll be saving the Last Minute "Purled" Beret. I'm not convinced that the shape and color suit me. I'm getting that Jiffy Pop Popcorn Head again in something that looks like dirty popcorn.

For several weeks, Sharyn -- of my knitting circle -- and I have been meeting at lunch for an hour of munching, gabbing, and knitting. I'm going to mention the day I "cheated on her" by having lunch with my boss, if only to highlight what dorks we are, and to beat her to the punch.

Last Summer, there were a few months there when I completely lost my will to knit. Well, that isn't entirely true. I wanted to knit, but nothing worked out for me. I started and abandoned a number of projects. Eventually, it worked itself out, and came back into the Knitting Fold. I have not experienced such a bleak period since. Granted, there were moments of darkness recently -- ripping out several reincarnations of a vest in Silk Garden -- but nothing compared to the two months of idle hands.

My idle hands scare me. And I'm very afraid at the moment because I don't have a knitting project with me. I do have a book, but that isn't an option when lunching with Sharyn. I'm not so rude that I'd read while sharing my break time with her. But yeah, I...have...nothing. Nothing at all to knit today.

While I have a healthy number of patterns and a fair amount of yarn at home, but like shy wallflowers at their first dance, nothing is coming together. Nothing is hooking up. I'm still here empty-handed in spite of waking up a full hour earlier than usual to rummage through patterns and yarn -- hoping that something would pair up and ask for a public announcement of their relationship.

Nothing!

There have been times in my life that it didn’t feel as if I were actually living my life, but rather some surreal interpretation of it. Like the time I was the only one to arrive to work on time. Everyone else was 30 minutes late. Confused, I had worked myself into believing that I’d somehow missed the announcement that the clock change had been moved to August and that I’d forgotten to “fall back” or “spring forward” with everyone else.

This morning, I had one of those experiences. As I was giving my hair a final brush before walking out the door, I was shocked to see a proliferation of both grease and dandruff. My hair had been washed at the salon Saturday, so I could only assume that the six layers of product used had a hand in this. I don’t know why anyone would use six different products in the short span between blotting the excess moisture -- from chin-length hair -- and the final styling, but I’ve got to admit that it’s a great way to secure heavy shampoo sales.

I contemplated throwing on a hat and dealing with Mt. Greaseamanjaro Snowglobe later, but now my head was itching madly, so my only option was to wash my hair. In the bathroom sink.

Apparently, the snowing blowing wasn’t limited to my apartment, because when I emerged – fourteen minutes late – I discovered a coating of snow on the ground and cars. It wasn’t the sort of “Oh crap! Two feet of snow fell overnight!” sort of snow, but rather, “fake movie” snow. I thought for a moment that I’d walked into a twisted version of a Macy’s Christmas window display. Between the ground and my head, there was an awful lot of snow flying around for the first day of Spring.

My sour mood carried over into my knitting, and I didn’t pick up needles at all over the weekend until late Sunday. I finished the crochet edging on the Blue Baby Project #2, and I sewed on the cutest little buttons! It’s hard to be angry and seething when you look at something so adorable and colorful.

This is one of those days when nothing seems to go according to plan. One of those days that makes you think that you were better off a lonely, but thin and fashionable city-dweller.

I love Joe, but holy fuck…I hate where we live. Let me count the ways.

Complete strangers ask me all sorts of probing questions about my marital status and why I don‘t want children.
Why don’t you piss off back to your church and pray for me? Pray that I will continue this downward spiral into Extreme Suburban Dowdiness. Thanks.

My caffeine holy grail is dying. The first independently-owned coffeehouse will be closing.
The fearful conservatives of Dutchess County would rather drink gas station swill or McCoffee than support a local coffee shop. Maybe it’s the ethnically-ambiguous gay barista? Is it too much for your plaid-shirted whiteness?

City-slicker prices for country-mouse services.
I got my hair cut today. Cut at an establishment recommended to me by a woman I assumed was cutting edge -- an assumption I made because she was a MAC makeup artist. Perhaps, I should have taken heed that she’d also been a beauty advisor at Clinique.

I’d consulted with a young, hip-looking stylist earlier in the week. I explained that I wanted to keep the bob but make it more extreme -- short in the back and a sharp angle to the jaw and longer in the front. I was thinking a cross between Aeon Flux and Louise Brooks...


Where’s the extreme? Where’s the funky?

The extreme lies in how extremely, monstrously boring the cut is. The funky? Well, it could only be the stale smell from re-inventing of two of the 1970s most dowdy haircuts: The Dorothy Hamill and The Toni Tenille.


It really makes me want to do something honestly radical and honestly extreme. Like shave my hair. Or get a tattoo. Oh...right...I tried do that, but no luck. Not in Dutchess County, where the tattoo artists would rather talk on the phone about their skanks and their AA program than talk to a potential customer about reinking and reworking a faded tattoo.

Now I know that there's all sorts of issues within the tattoo community about covering or re-working another artist's work, but look at this weak and weary piece of shit flash that I got over twenty years ago. Give a gal a break -- even if she's a lumpy, dumpy one -- will ya?

Things got a little crazy at knitting group last night. No drugs or drink were involved, just a fair amount of avoidance and a little hook.

In an effort to find a work-around to finishing the edges of Blue Baby Project #2 -- which involved picking up stitches and knitting, Theresa suggested I learn to do a small amount of crochet. Just enough to work an edge and neaten it..."It's like picking up stitches, but much easier...". That is all I needed to hear from Theresa. Without a moment's pause, I had an F hook in my hand as was eager, eager, eager to learn. Yes, indeedy, I tried my hand at crochet, and I have my loathing of picking up stitches to thank for it.

Guess what?

I liked it! Look at that neat little leg edge! While I don't see myself fully converting, I will say that I am now hip to the hooking.

And while I'm on the subject of old dogs, yesterday Deb commented that daring me to do something silly is like daring a dog to sniff another dog's butt...

So, for Jillian...








*SNIFF* *SNIFF*

Here are two seemingly unrelated bits of information about me:
I love gadgets. Even if they seem absolutely unsophisticated, I'm hip to anything that promises to make some hideous task less so.

I hate seaming. Even if it's a small baby item, I have to bribe myself to finish it.

What if there was some sort of gadget that promised to make the ordeal of seaming just a bit easier? Wouldn't that be divine? Yes, I think it would. So, can you imagine the squeal of delight that passed my lips when Alyssa pointed me in the direction of KnitKlips?

And while I'm disclosing superficial personal tidbits, let me state for the record that Klever Kombinations of substituting K for the hard C rubs me like a cheese grater.

Back to the KnitCKlips! In spite of the dreaded K, it was only natural that I'd fall head over heels (and possibly ass over tea kettle -- which is particularly frightening when the stove is on) in love with these babies.

The most obvious test run would be one of the Blue Baby Projects. I figured I'd start small, so BBP #2 is up first. Look at them! They are practically seaming the garment for me. Well, not really.

Fact is -- they are a bit cumbersome when doing mattress stitch. But they do hold the fabric together, which is a big help if you have to do a bit of stretching, cheating, and easing to get your ends to align.

And in a pinch, they could probably pull double duty as mini hair clips.

I could only hope for alien abduction at this point. Maybe the extraterrestials have developed a cure for UTIs that doesn't involve antibiotics. I recognize the miracle of this treatment, but medicinal miracle often come with a heavy price -- the side effect. When the treatment results in my needing seven days of Monistat, I'm less than keen.

I'm amazed when women tell me that they've never had a UTI or a yeast infection in their life. Really? Because it seems rather unfair that some of us are picking up the "female trouble" slack, I've a mind to give these women the same sort of askance and pitying look that I often get when I state that I don't have or want children. "Really, I wouldn't feel fulfilled as a woman if I didn't have to wrestle with vaginal suppositories from time to time...but to each her choice".

And while we're talking female parts, let's move onto the glaring fact that Blue Baby Project #1 is still unseamed. I can't blame it on feminine issues or alien abduction, but since she's not here to defend herself, I can blame on Teri. Between her leaving and a heavy snow storm, the knitting group hasn't met in two weeks. I really can't summon the motivation to seaming without some knitterly belittling support.

Blue Baby Project #2 is blocking on the kitchen table and is also scheduled for surgery seaming Thursday.

There are other UFOs about, but I'm in denial. What Orsa wrap? What Bulky Bolero?

Side note: For the those prone to urinary tract infections, I suggest D-Mannose as an antibiotic alternative.

Whoever thinks that our water supply has not been tampered with is obviously not acquainted with my circle of friends -- many of whom seem to be in various stages of being "knocked up".

I'm not complaining because I rather like knitting things for babies. The garments are so cute and so small, which generally translates into a quick finish. Not counting seaming, of course. That seems to be a rather large hurdle for me -- the seaming.

Actually, I think I solely dislike seaming sleeves on baby items. From now on, it's either a garment knit in one piece, or I'll be churning out rompers and blankets. Of course, I haven't thought of the option of knitted animals, but that present a sort of double sleeve dilemma. Really, what are arms and legs but modified sleeves?

My Bulky Bolero is somewhat stalled due to the fact that we've been experiencing weather that doesn't call for much other than a lightweight cardigan. Oh, and yeah, it may have something to do with a rather boring pattern of a six-row repeat of what amounts to three-row garter stitch ridges.

My lengths of avoidance were extreme -- I opted for ChickLit over knitting, but it felt nice to be motivated to read -- not mention have the attention span -- to read again.

I know that many knitters have multiple projects going at once. There's the project that is simple, portable, whatever. Then there's the project that requires attention and is rather like carrying around a small cabin. The Bulky Bolero is neither; it's just dead boring to knit. And while this baby garment -- pulled from the latest Knit Simple -- is comprised entirely of stockinette stitch, it will be the perfect foil as it's a rather simple and quick pattern.

Provided I force myself to seam the thing before month's end.

About ten years ago, I arranged to meet a close friend for coffee at my favorite spot in Olde City, Philadelphia. It wasn't as innocent as it seemed, however, for that night, I told her of my grand plan. I would be quitting my job and moving to Seattle in a few months. As I sat there beaming, she sat there stunned, mouth agape.

Fast forward to mid-February of this year: Teri announced, via email, that she was planning to move to Washington state. I couldn't believe my eyes. In my adult life, I've been left by boyfriends; I've had distant relatives die, but I've never had a friend leave.

Ask my anyone who knows me...I am the one who leaves. Aside from my childhood, living with Joe is the longest I've lived at one address. Even at university, I changed dorm rooms, changed residence halls, and even spent a semester abroad. Once upon a time, no one dared enter my address information in pen. One smart friend used address labels and then complained bitterly that the labels were so thick that closing the book was difficult. One friend praised the invention of the PDA as a method of beating me at the address change game.

Teri was the first person I met at Yarn Central. Teri was my partner in crime in Atlantic City at Stitches East. Even with a screwed up shoulder in a sling, she was a hoot and a great travel companion. Travelling with friends can be a little scary, but I came back from that weekend realizing that I'd achieved something in the hinterlands of Dutchess County that made me smile: I'd made friends. I'd made real friends. Friends who would pick me up from the train station after a business trip. Friends who would trust me to cat-sit or baby-sit in spite of my seeming lack of maternal instinct. Friends who would cry and laugh with me during the rough patches at home and at work. Teri is one of those friends.

I'm finding it very hard to say "I'll see you later" because I know that it's going to be waaaay later. I'm trying to be supportive and positive, but I'm going to miss her like hell. The group dynamic won't be the same without her. My life won't be the same without her.

Last night, the knitting group gathered not to knit, not to say goodbye...but to wish Teri well on her journey to a new place and a new chapter in her life.

Buona Fortuna, cara mia. Ti manchi.

Four years ago, after a week of clever email exchanges and hour-long conversations, Joe showed up at my door for our first meeting.

Our date lasted six hours, and even then, it felt as if it were ending too soon. Conversation was smooth and easy. The quiet moments between were even smoother and even easier. Within moments of meeting face-to-face that Friday night, he stole my heart.


My Emily the Strange calendar marked our anniversary rather fittingly -- laughing cat ballons. It's just kooky enough to capture the essence of our relationship.

Isn't that the term for getting something easily after a few failures? If so, then I really needed a little bit of something to pick up the spirits after the double whammy of U Neck and then Ruby.

Thank you all for your comments yesterday. I've made peace with the Silk Garden. I've also made swap arrangements, and it will enjoy a new home with Culryknitter.

Yarn, don't cross me!

As for Ruby, I will make that pattern at some point in the very near future with a more suitable yarn, but for now, I've focused on something entirely new. I am a Gemini afterall.

Unloading that yarn certainly made me feel better, but I was still feeling a bit down-trodden. I desperately needed to find my Redemption Knit. Through the magic of the internet, it wasn't long before I found my new inspiration.

I found my thrill at Gleek. She'd re-gauged a Yesterknits pattern for a bulky yarn, and I knew this was precisely what I needed to get the knitting motor running again.

I'm using Lane Borgesesia Knitusa yarn for the bolero, and I'm enjoying the simplicity of the pattern repeats. In short, I am enjoying "the process". The resulting fabric -- the yarn is nicely plied -- is quite pleasant. The portion shown is three repeats shy of a complete sleeve. At least it's what I think will be the sleeve once the entire thing is knit and assembled.

I just have to caution myself and remember to stop and fully read through the directions prior to loading up my tapestry needle and embarking on a wild matress stitch rampage.

I'm convinced that I am cursed when it comes to knitting up this most recent batch of Silk Garden. My first attempt with the U Neck Vest from last Winter's Vouge Knitting was ditched because the fabric was just too drapey and not showing the Silk Garden to it's best effect. I also feared that the fit would not be, well, as fitted I as desire.

So, this is my progress with Ruby.

If I look pissed off, it's because I am. Very. One of my better body features is my small waist, which is obscured by the vest. Actually, obscured is an misnomer because it looks like I have a spare tire. Spare for an 18-wheeler, it seems. I could audition for the role of Wife of Michelin Tire Man. If I weren't so pissed off, I would laugh at that myself. I'm also aware of the fact that my plans to wear this vest with my cute brown plaid skirt tomorrow is shot. Shot to Hell.

It certainly isn't the pattern, as it's clearly a close-fitting garment. So, either my gauge is wildly off from my swatch, or I made the vest too big. Perhaps there's a negative ease thing incorporated into the pattern, and I wasn't aware of it.

Maybe I should not be wearing vests? Maybe vests are not cute and sexy in a Dork Chic sort of way. Maybe they are outright frumpy, which is definately in violation of my campaign to Dump The Frump and find my way back to being a fashionable and somewhat sexy woman.

Can anyone think of a sexy woman who wears vests -- other than a leather one with nothing but a Wünderbra under? I can't.

Some time yesterday, I had a small realization. A small realization with rather formidable consequences. You see, it suddenly struck me that using Noro Silk Garden for Ruby might be a bit more tricky than I'd first thought. I know that there all sorts of tricks -- alternating skeins, hunting for the color length of color variation, etc. -- that many knitters use to secure a bit of uniformity between the front and back and each sleeve.

I'd like to say that that is the sort of Adventures in Knitting that turns me on, but it isn't. I like my yarn to match. I want the front of my garment to match the back of it, and most assuredly, I want both sides of the front of the garment to match each other. Can't you just feel the nightmare that this would have been. Can't you just feel the depths of blinding madness to which I'd sunk if I would have continued knitting Ruby with Silk Garden as a flat garment.

When I explained all of this to Sharyn over (free) lunch yesterday, she weighed out the options. I had made rather nice progress on the back in just a few hours of knitting. It would probably take me many hours and many square feet of the appartment to arrange all of the yarn just so, in order to plot out where to begin using each strand of yarn on each piece of the vest in order create uniforn color patterns.

Like a mercenary, she growled: "FROG it!"

Rather than devoting one precious moment of knitting time to ripping, I cast on with a fresh ball of yarn. I knitted and chatted with Annaliese and Teri at the knitting cicle, pausing only to stuff my mouth with LoMein from the take-away next door to the yarn shop.


So far, working the garment in one piece is giving me all of the color uniformity and cohesiveness that I could hope for when making a garment from varegated yarn. Now that I've bound off for the scoop neck, it's a tad akward working the vest "flat" because it's got a bit more curve than the average flatty.

Here it is...the U Neck Vest. Full of hope and promise.

I wanted so desperately to like U Neck, especially since it had been dancing around in my head for so long. But there was just something that wasn't working for me in spite of the jury's proclamation that it was a keeper. For Teri, she didn't care for the ribbing, 6 purls and 2 knits. For me, however, it was something about the actual drape of the fabric that struck me as fundamentally wrong for a vest.


U Neck was feeling a bit airy and limp -- like overcooked pasta. To me a vest is somewhat like a corset. It's a fitted garment, so it should have structure. It should look as if it's holding and molding, not like it's languidly draped upon you -- ready to blow off at the mere suggestion of wind. No, that's what ass pointer shawls are for.

As Heidi Klum says, "In Fashion, you're either in or you out", and U Neck? You are out. Which means that Ruby is in. Ruby comes to us from Saun's Jem's Collection.

I know it's less visually stimulating than the ribbing, but believe me when I tell you that the difference in the drape of the fabric has me smitten with Ruby. This is how Silk Garden should look and feel when it's knitted, not like a piece ribbed cheesecloth.

Tonight is the First Friday Knitting Party at Yarn Central, so I'm hoping to finish the back tonight.

Mama Don't Mind

Nope, Mama Deb doesn't mind one bit if I post a picture of her lovely little daughter.

She is hip to this blogging thing, and she was happy to oblige me with some shots of the sweet baby in her knitted item.

Again, I show my utter lack of baby know-how by knitting something in Karabella Aurora Bulky, rather than using a machine washable and dryable yarn. But, I have to shrug my shoulers and ask who better make an early introduction to fine handknits than a distant "auntie"?

Especially since I'm not the one handwashing formula vomit off of lilac wool...