Work

It’s TTC Knitalong planning time again. This year, I've taken on a bigger role in what we’re calling “Communications” , working on media and writing for the blog.  It’s a remarkable amount of work. Head over to the Knitalong blog to see some of the fruit of my efforts.  Each evening this week I've spent about an hour and a half researching and writing. This after eight hours at my job. However, I do not mind it all. I love doing it. It’s fun and challenging. Rather, it's fun because it's challenging.

This has got me thinking about the nature of “work” and “jobs”. My day job, where I sit doing very little, rarely using my brain and having no decision making power at all, is certainly not what I would call my work.  It’s what I do for money.  Yes, I continue to look for other opportunities but for now, I need to pay my rent and feed my kid. (I sometimes worry that those other opportunities may never materialize but that’s a discussion for another day).

Over time I've learned that it is essential for my spiritual and mental health to get my work satisfaction in my private life. The Knitalong is one example of this – and it’s for a wonderful charity. In the summer when my day job lays me off, I work for theatre festivals that barely pay but that provide the constant problem solving moments that remind me  I am a thinking human being with skills. I've never believed that people inherently love leisure and hate to work. We just need tasks that engage and satisfy us. Then it doesn't feel like working at all. Too bad so many people don’t have this in their professional lives. 

This comes back, as many things do, to knitting. Some find it dull or say they don’t have the patience. In other words, it’s too much work. In classic novels, I have noticed that the embroidery or knitting the heroine has in her lap is often called her 'work' by the author, and not in a nice way. Interesting. Those of us that truly get it, see it as so much more than a chore. We delight in the challenge of figuring out the pattern, the math, of choosing yarn, of watching the movement of our hands actually make something. You go through this amazing process and end up with something concrete that’s beautiful or practical or both. Yes, it’s work but it’s joy as well. I plan. I create. I knit. I work.

On that note, I finished another sock.

Windjammer Socks by Jennifer Tepper: published in The Knitter's Book of Wool

To A Stranger

PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,
I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,
I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Walt Whitman
Leaves of Grass 1900

Pink and Blue

My current project is Windjammer Socks from Clara Parkes', The Knitters Book of Wool. 
The yarn here from Painted Fleece (sadly discontinued), is great to work with. The main component of this sock blend is Bluefaced Leicester, a wool I've used before on socks with great success. So, I've known for a while that I like it. Now, thanks to Clara's book, I know why I like it.
Bluefaced Leicester Wool is the softest of the Longwool breed category. From the book, I've learned that this sheep produces fiber with "open but smaller curls, a fine fiber diameter and a silky demiluster". It also has a nice long staple length - 3 to 6 inches in comparison with Merino's 2 to 4 inch average. This means it produces a fabric that is durable and attractive. It's slightly rougher than the Finewool Merino, but not uncomfortably so. In my experience, softest is not always best. Socks knit with Leicester wool hold their shape beautifully, last longer and don't pill. A wonderful fiber.

More From 1975

 Cotton corduroy for the junior miss.

 High waisted and wide legged.

Sweet separates.

Fashionable Research

On this beautiful Saturday, The Daughter and I went for lunch and then wondered up to the Toronto Reference Library, a place I rarely visit but always enjoy immensely when I do. The intention was to sit quietly reading a book I had called up from stacks but that never happened. By chance we ended up on the top floor next to the advertising and catalogue shelf. Soon we were immersed in the wonder that is the 1975 Eaton's Fall and Winter Catalogue.

People like to joke about bad seventies fashion but in reality, the "sophisticated 70's" did a lot of things right. Of particular beauty was the decade's outerwear. Winter coats and hats were gorgeous. I would wear any of the above coats today.

Yes, I'll admit the wide lapelled poly pant suit is ridiculous but those sweaters sure are cute. The whole colour palette here is inviting. And that cream zipper sweater with culottes and boots? Tres chic.

Bathrooms in the 1970's on the other hand, were best avoided.

Adaptable

I've been meaning to knit another pair of Robin Melanson's Glaistag. The ones I made 4 years ago have worn through from many, many happy wearings.
There's some multi-coloured handspun in my stash that I wanted to incorporate somehow. The problem is that this yarn is thin as thread. My solution is to hold it with a double strand of Grignasco cobweb merino silk which, in a moment of madness, I purchased thinking I'd be able to use. In black. I can barely see the letters on this keyboard and black cobweb is a good idea?

Anyway, the colour effect of the two yarns blended is rather nice. Now problem #2 is that the mottled texture obscures the pretty English lace pattern. Alas. All those painstakingly executed ssk's and sk2p's that you can hardly make out. 
I did consider chucking the whole thing. However after consideration, I shall carry on. I've decided the end result, while not my original intention, shall be its own unique kind of pretty.