Although some progress has been made on sock and cardigan, neither is really photo-worthy.
And so I shall offer flowers.
In other knitting news, Gina sent me a link to the Vogue Knitting Fall Preview and I think I am in love with the entire Gray’s Anatomy segment, and some of Modern English as well.
And yet there are still summer sweaters I want to knit, even though summer will probably be gone before they are done.
After thinking about sewing a few summer skirts, I finally got the ball rolling this weekend. Here we are, summer mostly past and I am finally making another skirt.
Do you remember this fabric?
I originally posted about it on May 28th. And that seems frightening to me, that I planned on making a simple summer skirt and I am just now making it, nearly two months later. Where has the summer gone? Well, I actually do have a few ideas, but let’s not dwell on that.
This is the pattern I am using, Simplicity 4186. It is a very simple, one pattern piece skirt. There are two options, pleats that run straight up and down, and pleats that are angled out from the center.
I have no idea which skirt will look best on me at the moment. I haven’t made a pleated skirt for some time so I opted for the straight up and down pleats. That is one of the interesting things about sewing, it is always a guessing game.
Saturday night I traced the lining pattern and sewed the lining. So far so good.
Sunday night I traced the skirt pattern, and cut the skirt. I kind of have mixed feelings about the skirt. I love the fabric but I am not sure I will love the skirt yet. It was an inexpensive cotton from JoAnn Fabrics so I figured that if the skirt works and I like the pattern I have a skirt I can wear for the summer. If it doesn’t work, either fabric-wise or pattern-wise, I have at least made a muslin, and hopefully, learned something. I am always hoping that I will learn something, especially when I don’t end up with wearable goods, but sometimes I have my doubts about this.
OK, on to the skirt.
Saturday I traced, cut, and sewed the lining
Sunday night I traced the skirt pattern and cut the skirt fabric.
I still had doubts, but went ahead anyway. I made an extension for the contrast band to go at the bottom of the skirt and started cutting the green fabric. When I placed the first piece on the skirt, I did not like it. Yet, ever hopefull, I cut the remaining strips. Still not good as you can see below.
The green is much too bright and does not go with the skirt. I wonder what I was thinking when I purchased these two fabrics together. Did I not see that the green was too bright? Obviously not. It seems I was running with the vision in my head, completely oblivious to the fact that the reality of the materials were not going to yield that ever-elusive dream result.
I do not have enough fabric to recut the skirt, but I do have enough to add bands of the same fabric at the bottom. Perhaps I have a decorative ribbon that I can use at the seamline between the two pieces. Perhaps I have another piece of fabric that will work as a contrast band? Perhaps all these options were overwhelming my poor, tired, frustrated brain.
When you hit a wall, go to bed. Words to live by. And so, I did.
Today, I will construct the skirt and see if Iit fits and if it looks good on me and I like it. Then, having passed those three critical tests, it will be time to see what can be done about replacing the bottom piece and bringing the skirt to a wearable length.
I finished Stephen King’s The Gunslinger today and enjoyed it immensely, enough in fact that I was half tempted to get the second volume of the series and run back to the exercise bike so I could read some more. This first volume of the DARK TOWER series was short, not 300 pages and the reader slides right through it. I finished it in less than 2 ½ hours, but I am a moderately fast reader, especially when fully engaged in a book, or chained to it by the rotating wheels of a bicycle. Further, faster, further, faster, seems to be the mode of bicycle reading at its best.
But back to the book. I had read one of the volumes in this series once before, the third one I believe. It left me completely confused. I believe my mom had sent it to me in a consignment of old books she was passing on. I read it before realizing that it was part of a series, or that I would become so involved.. At first I thought the western theme did not appeal; but it does. It is archetypical after all, as the story of the journey or the quest, and the whole issue of good and evil. King approaches the story in an interesting, at times confusing, intelligent and gripping way. At first off-putting, you are drawn in. Nothing is clear in this world. But then nothing is really clear in our world either; one begins to feel at home even as one is uncomfortably aware that one is lost and out of place. I am not going to tell you about the characters. I do not yet know them, if ever I will, and am still confused at the end of book one, but I think this is part of the point. Knowledge is always partial.
A good story. I have always liked Stephen King. He is obviously a literate and good writer. His stories are good as stories and I am partial to good stories. The best make us think about ourselves a little differently, but the best stories always do. He is literate but does not write literary fiction, a plus in my book, because literary fiction seems so often to be too heavily bound up in its own existence. Give me a good story any day. I am looking forward to the next volume.
I will have to read the end again tonight again before bed. There are things to ponder.
But not quite at the end, and not the ponderous subjects I intend to contemplate later, this line resonates with me now:
“despite a tremendous increase in available facts, there were remarkably few insights”.
Of course you will recognize why this appeals. Have I not rambled on and on about this very thing far to often?
The itch to sew something, anything actually, but preferably clothes for me really soon has gotten stronger and stronger. Oh I have been in the sewing room occasionally with a few minutes here or there, but not enough time to proof a pattern, alter it and cut anything out, or just late at night when I am so tired that just trying to figure out how lining up the pattern paper seems like a major challenge.
These are not good conditions for perfect sewing. So I have played. I did a little messing around with coat pattern. I still need bigger shoulders and haven’t finished. I suppose my heart has not been in it, but time has been an issue as well.
I set up the embroidery unit on the Bernina and played with that too, trying different techniques. It was fun, but I wasn’t making something that I wanted to be making so it didn’t have the thrill. Perhaps I should find something I really want to do and start playing with that goal in mind, working my way up to the perfect garment.
Perhaps my brain has just boiled into mush.
So last night I decided I had to make something, and it had to be something easy. I want to make a couple of skirts. I showed you the fabric back in June. No progress yet. But skirts require measuring and proofing the patterns. I don’t have a TNT skirt pattern right now. Last winter’s skirt pattern is miles to big. Last summer’s skirt pattern is almost right; I can fit into it but it will be more comfortable in about two weeks. That is probalby close enough that I can probably use it as a base. In that sense it is probably good that I dilly dallied a bit on the cutting out. Now I will be cutting smaller than I would have been a month ago.
But back to last night. What to sew? Well, I could sew the baby blanket. The fabric was prequilted, all I needed was the binding.
Of course your realize that sewing the binding on the quilt took far less time than cutting the strips, turning up the hem edge and pressing everything so it was perfect don’t you? I got the cutting, hem pressing and pinning all done before dinner and dinner was a little late as G went to the gym after work. All I had to do after dinner was sew it up, but I didn’t finish. I was too tired I got about half way around and the corners were starting to get difficult so I thought it best to go to bed.
Instead it was finished this morning.
I can’t get the whole thing in a photo, but you get the idea. That stripy fabric is quite puckered, like a stretch seersucker, and it pulls up at that point. The blanket is square and holds for a few minutes after pressing, but then the stretchy parts pull up again.
Here is a detail shot of a corner.
I’ll ship the whole thing down to Knoxville today along with some more baby clothes. And then I think I will cut that skirt.
But first I have another picnic and concert to get ready for. Tonight we are hearing Mendelssohn’s Elijah and I am really looking forward to it.
Say goodbye.
I said farewell to the cuisinart today. It was not a sad occasion. A new food processor will be procured, not a Cuisinart; I am done with that company.
The first cuisinart I owned lasted a long time. I used it heavily for over 15 years and then something broke. The part was too old; the company was not helpful. The part could not be replaced. So I bought a new food processor, also from Cuisinart even though Kitchenaides were beating Cuisinarts in the ratings. My old machine had been excellent. I should have paid attention to the ratings.
This machine has been trouble. Things break. Replacements are not covered by the "limited" warranty. "Limited to what" I want to know. Limited to things that don’t break? Some parts are not replaceable at all. Cuisinart doesn’t want to bother. The lid had broken, the stupid little piece at the back that holds everything in place. No replacement available. I could hold it together with a screwdriver in one hand while I drove the machine with the other. I should have known it was a lost cause.
Last night the lid kept popping off, the mixer kept stopping, the chef’s frustration level kept rising. Eventually not only did the lid pop off it flew across the room, the bowl spun, food went everwhere. Foul language escaped my mouth, even in front of houseguests.
I will not miss this machine. It deserves a far worse fate.
I really like this short row heel. I wonder why I put the sock aside thinking I had to look up the instructions on how to do it? It is so easy and so intuitive and much nicer than working that heel flap which I hate.
For my short row heel I worked on half of the stitches, in this case 32 stitches of a 64 stitch sock. I worked back and forth on one needle. Each row was one stitch shorter than the previous row, wrapping the next stitch on the needle (unworked) before turning my work.
I continued in this vein until I had 8 active stitches remaining on my needle. I think the instructions had recommended 14, but that was too wide for me. In fact every sock I knitted before I learned this technique has been too wide through the heel. I guess I have narrow pointy heels.
Then after you knit the 8 active stitches, you start picking up one stitch at the end of each row, wrapping the next unworked stitch. When you pick up the stitches as you increase back to a full 32 active stitches, you are now actually picking up one stitch and two wraps, a little tricky on tiny needles, but certainly fun. It may not be the prettiest heel, but I am hoping to get better at it with practice.
With this technique I may actually become a sock knitter and who knows, a sock wearer. Well I need them anyway, at least for the gym and the garden. I don’t believe there is any rule saying I can’t wear pretty socks when working in the garden.
Ruanas, shawls, and garments based on rectangles continue to fascinate me. Usually however I am disappointed in them when I actually see them on the body. Any given individual example may work on a particular person, but draping rectangular garments over rounded forms is difficult unless the exactly correct proportions are achieved.
Yesterday this garment arrived for my consideration, forwarded by a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. It is surprising because it is not the kind of thing I have ever purchased from this store.
It looks rather nice on Matilda doesn’t it. She has the advantage of not having arms. The actual garment was much too narrow through the shoulders for me.
The jacket is by one of the Issey Miyake Lines, HaaT, and it basically consists of a large rectangle with sleeves, something like this sketch:
You can see the construction from the inside of the garment here:
But what is really interesting about this garment is not its shape. It is hard to keep on the body, and I think it would work better as a modified rectangle. What is really interesting is the fabric. The body of the jacket is made up of a bunch of small rectangles of fabric that have been pieced together at the corners. The fabric seems to have been fulled slightly, but not completely felted; this probably does help with ravelling, but this is not a jacket for heavy duty wear.
After the individual pieces were all sewn togther long rows of machine stitching were made free form to create the stripes on the fabric, and a few appliques were added.
Pockets were placed on the inside of the jacket:
I am really intrigued by this cutting up or deconstructiong of fabric and then reconstructing in a similar but different form. This could be fun to play with someday. I see many possibilities, not practical maybe, but fun.
Digging to America was a joy to read, as I would expect from any novel by Anne Tyler. There is no great action, no great turmoil, and in fact very little self-analysis, although more in this book than some. But Tyler’s novels of everyday life and everyday people are so well drawn, so personal that the reader is pulled into the characters, feeling themselves a part of the family, as if these are people we know and care about on an intimate level.
It is a fairly complex story a story about culture, community, family, and fitting in. The truth is we all feel that we don’t fit at some point or another, or many of us, any way, but Tyler explores the ins and outs of family and cultural difference with a deft ear. The juxtaposition of two families, each adopting Korean infants, leaves room for a generous and tender exploration of American-ness, both through the Donaldsons, an American family in all its variations, and the Yasdans, an Iranian-American family. The book really made me think about culture and assimilation, foreign-ness and exclusion, and even what it means to be an American and what assumptions Americans tend to make no matter from where on the political spectrum they hail.
The writing is straightforward and simple. This is not a book you savor for the beauty of its prose, or for transporting you away to an imaginary place away from real life. And that is not to say that it is poorly written and not a joy to read. The spare simplicity is very evocative and effecting. It is a very well written novel. It is certainly not a literary novel though, and I don’t mean that as a critisism.
In some sense it is different than most books I love. I tend to love books for the writing, a true luxury that is, like slowly savoring the finest chocolate, or I love books for the story itself, the way it draws me in to a world of its own and takes me to some other place, outside of real life, a place were visions can become reality. These books are a necessity of sorts; we all have times when we need to escape from life as we know it into some fantasy world, be that a world of espionage and adventure, romance, beautiful clothes and expensive real estate, or just plain old fantasy. By being able to indulge in some fantasy life we are able to more easily accept and tolerate real life.
This book does not really provide that escape; it is a book that draws you in to the details of life, and perhaps, but only perhaps requires that you look at the people that make up that life a little differently. There were times I was exhausted and annoyed by each of the characters with their assumptions and beliefs and negative values. But we are all like that. We all blunder through life sometimes more successfully than others.
And yet the book was enjoyable in its own quiet, reflective sort of way. I finished the book hoping the characters will get a little closer to getting it right the next time, and perhaps hoping that I too, might be a little closer to that elusive goal.
In the end it is the story that I always fall for, and this story is no exception. Highly recommended.
What is it about music that makes the knitting go easily whereas at other times my mind might wander interminably away much to the detriment of even the simplest pattern repeat?
The sleeve of Otto was ripped yet again, but not completely this time. Apparently knitting and talking are not always good companions. The solution may be just to find something simpler to knit during Thursday knitting: finishing a sock perhaps? And yet the first error did not occur due to the distractions of conversation but during the viewing of television. Now I know perfectly well that I don’t really watch televison with rapt attention; I never have. This is why I need something to do with my hands while I am present in front of the TV, so that I remain there, a captive audience, for otherwise I would usually wander off entirely. And I do not believe that I was so raptly involved in Project Runway that my mind was not capable of a simple 2 stitch repeat; but apparently involved in something other than the TV and my knitting.
At any rate I managed to rip about six rows of Otto just before the concert began and get the stitches back on the needle in an orderly fashion. Luckily I had my sock with me in the car, as I could not have ripped and picked up those stitches on the bumpy Taconic. This time the pattern took and actual progress was made.
I love knitting during concerts although I have, at times, had my issues with Knitting in Public, and guilt, usually brought about by comments from other concert-goers. I do not knit in all concerts. I did not knit at Tanglewood three weeks ago, although I had my knitting with me. It could be because we purchased our tickets late and were literally at the feet of the Juilliard Quartet, and as I stared up at the performers I felt like an acolyte rapt at their feet. I watched the bowing of the violin and viola, I stole glances at the music as they progressed through the work. I watched fingers move, and the subtle tapping of feet, all this as I was carried away by the music.
Saturday night was a different kind of concert; not that the music was less than beautiful, or that my mind was not engaged, but more that I was there, one among hundreds in uncomfortable seats and although I loved the concert, sitting still has always been a difficulty. By engaging my hands I seem to free my mind to enjoy the music, to soar with it, and to pay more attention. Otherwise, no matter how beautiful the music my mind wanders, I start to fidget. I think about how my back aches, or my leg wants to move, or just how soon before I can stand up and go “over there”. I look at the other audience members and admire how they sit so still, so rapt with attention – or are they really thinking about Johnny’s little league game that afternoon? You would never know to look at them. But no one ever managed to train the fidget out of me, and I look at knitting as controlled fidgeting in many ways.
Listening to music soothes my mind and allows me to concentrate on the music and the pattern. There were no errors. The Brahms was wonderful. We heard the German Requiem and it was spectacular. It like it better this way, sung in German. The German is poetic with the music. You don’t need to read the texts to enjoy the music; sometimes I feel that I lose the detail of the moment if I am reading the text to closely. But knitting is different; it allows the mind to soar with the music. My hands work steadily, if perhaps a bit slower at times than in other circumstances, slowed by the rhythm of the music, the passion of the surrounding sound.
While I don’t believe that knitting picks up the spirit of the place or time when it was being knitted. Knitting remains inanimate. I do however, remember where I was with each knitted piece that was knitted at a concert or on a trip; the sweater is a reminder, for me far more reliable and evocative than photos or words, reminding me of where I was and what I saw and what I heard.
Perhaps I should be listening to music while I knit rather than watching TV. Well that will have to wait, as the stereo system is still down while the woofers are being rebuilt. The house is limited to the sounds of conversation or the television rambling on and on.
Last night’s performance at the Berkshire Choral Festival was truly specatacular. We were treated to Brahm’s German Requiem with Kelly Nassief and Phillip Cutlip. I had heard NAssief before and really enjoyed her performance. Cutlip was new to me but also wonderful. The entire performance was a joy, and I am sure this was not ony because I love the work so. Both G and I were humming bits and pieces throughout the entire drive home.
But it was unusually hot in Sheffield, as hot as at home. Usually it is much cooler in the Berkshires, even in the fierest heat wave. And it is hot here, mid 90s with high humidity, and expected to continue like this for several days.
We went out blueberry picking this morning and then cherry picking as well before stopping at the farmer’s market. By the time we returned I felt totally wilted. G. does not tend to keep water in his car, a camel he is, never thirsty.
But as soon as I saw the yard I knew that no amount of personal wilt would allow me to stay inside, lest I lose my babies. The flower beds looked they would soon be gone, the plants lying on death’s door. After pitting cherries and getting them in the freezer, I was back outside, hose in hand, Schubert on the Ipod, watering.
We got about 3/4 inch of rain on Wednesday, and yesterday’s rain obviously did not account for much. But the plants aren’t used to this kind of heat, and they obviously don’t like it. I can’t say I blame them.
We don’t have a sprinkler system. We really can’t have the high-pressure underground system for serveral reasons. First we have a well and although it is steady it may not provide enough pressure to run such a system. Secondly. the well is a the north side of the house, where there are no gardens, although there may be some if we ever get the deck built. Most of the yard and all the gardens are on the south side of the house with rock ledge in between. There is no path between the two except through the house, and even if we ran an additional set of lines through the crawl space on the ledge called our basement, there is no way we could bury the lines deep enough to be below frost depth.
The rock ledge issue is what keeps me from having a buried low pressure system as well. I can’t bury anything. I could set up a system, mostly on the surface, which I took down every fall and reinstalled every spring, but I would have to store it somewhere as well. Perhaps the new storage room under the deck (which will not hold the pump) will work for that. In the meantime I am still digging and putting in flower beds, and the regions to be watered are not connected or easily run off the one faucet we have.
So I hand water. A sprinkler seems too wasteful. Hand watering IS relaxing. I can ruminate, I can listen to music, I can just let my mind wander. But it takes time. And it is HOT.