knitting season

In order to have awesome legwarmers by the first snowfall, you have to start now. I am making haute couture legwarmers for myself. I estimate that they will take 100+ man hours. Plus $40 for 4 skeins of dusty blue cashmerino yarn. For the next two months I have a second job called knitting. It pays about one half-inch of leg warmer per hour. But hey- beats takin' out the trash, folks!


(The legs below are not mine! This is a pic from the knitting mag)


I am a seasonal knitter. About once every 5 years I come out of fibernation and make a few things. I get all bulked up on chunky knits, then take it easy for another 5 years or so. I have a ton of failures and a few qualified successes. Heavily qualified. I was home in Black River over the weekend and spent a half hour ripping apart my parents' dresser drawers hoping to find a giant sweater I made my dad nine years ago. I was going to steal it back from him. Not really stealing since I made it for myself and f'd it up to the tune of the Jolly Green Giant- hence, gift for Dad. It's probably for the best that I stuck it in the garage sale pile at least 5 years ago. Whenever I wore it, the sweater was in a constant state of falling off- but last weekend I wanted nothing more than to have that sweater again. I have made ten full-size sweaters that I can remember. There is only one that I have never regretted making. Seven of them have ended up twice as big around as they were supposed to be. The other three I didn't use a pattern for. They were more frankensteinian. At least they didn't physically hurt people- unlike my forays into knitting hats for children. I once gave a hat so small to new parents that when they put it on their baby's head, my whole family demanded they take it off for fear of disfiguring him. Which brings me to my unwavering stance on the act of knitting:

it's the thought that counts
(and you better think twice)

P.S. all 100+ knitting hours made possible by my aunt Cecily's gift of cashmerino- THANK YOU!

born again hats

remember this tapestry? Well, I said I saved it to make a hat out of. Shortly after, I washed it in my parents' washing machine and their washer effectively shredded it. Sometimes their washer does that. It also reduced a pair of my dad's jeans to fringe. This is one of the lesser risks inherent in visiting my parents. My hatsmanship, already limited in its own right, was further limited to the shreds of the tapestry. Last week I was finally inspired to make good on my promise. Which is to say- keep it. The end result was a disappointment. The hat appeared to be flawless until the final stages. Then, as is most often the case with my novice sewing projects, the truth became apparent. The lumpy misaligned truth. I stuck it on my gumball machine for the picture because my head made its flaws all too evident. The style is supposed to be a cloche, not a gumball cozy.


While I was at it, I made another hat. Out of upholstery I cut off a random discarded chair with a utility knife. I know. I also think it sounds like a bad idea. Cat piss, cheetos crumbs, hairs of all pedigree, etc. I thought of all those things. But it really wasn't like that. The upholstery was striking. It is true that the cushion and arms were worn to nothing but the back side of the chair was practically untouched. I snuck outside with my utility knife and harvested as much as I could before the garbage man showed up. It was over a year ago that I acquired the fabric and did the requisite triple wash of it. The cloth lost so much dye that I thought my sink would be red forever. Which lends itself to an appropriate biblical metaphor. Washed all the sins right out of it...I hope. Here's my born again newsboy. Fully lined, just in case.



I used Eugenia Kim's book for all of my patterns. I highly recommend it.

taking the cake

I have a long-standing history of bringing cake to work. This began in college when I worked at the Nitty Gritty Birthday Bar in Madison. I once attempted to bike to work with a cake balancing on my bicycle handlebars. I made it less than one block. The cake ended up as a pile of pine needles on the kitchen table. I was late to work. Most of the cake went uneaten. note: when you live with 4 roommates, no treat goes untouched- even road rash

While I want to believe that I've come a long way since then, the following adventure will attest to a certain human resistance to change/ failure to learn from one's mistakes/ insistence on doing harebrained projects. I have drawn up a timeline of my work-related cake project.

Monday AM- boss assumes cake is being made in his honor
Monday PM- decide to make cake in his honor
Tuesday- take picture of boss's toyota


Wednesday AM- intend to thaw out frosting
Wednesday PM- realize I have not done this
later- go to BodyPump
still later- go to coffeeshop
later yet- bake cakes
after that- iron some laundry
2AM- organize cake board, box, frosting, picture of toyota on my computer, wrap and freeze cakes, set out tools, make parchment cones, dig cake-decorator's stand out of upper cupboard, decide to wake up early
5:30AM- wake up and stare at semi-frozen cakes for awhile
5:45AM- realize my cake board will require better engineering, plug in glue gun
6AM- work intently for 2 hours in sleepy project mode
8AM- abandon project to get to work, crack is developing along top of the hood- general sense of doom
2PM (late lunch hour)- leave work in massive april blizzard to finish cake, near delirium from self-induced pressure


3:15PM- construct ad hoc structure to protect the cake from raging winds and rain, leave apartment with cake fortress


3:30PM- wait on corner for bus as rain pools on the top of my ill-conceived cake tent, vow in explicit terms to never make a cake for work again...EVER.
3:45PM- arrive at work with cake intact
4PM- cake is generally well-received

I think this time I might change/ learn something from this/ insist on doing less harebrained projects.

easter, a new beginning of sorts

I spent Easter at my boyfriend's cousin's house thinking all the while that his cousin was his aunt. His cousin-in-law (uncle, I was thinking) said grace and kept it appropriately short and sweet. Quite matter-of-factly he expressed gratitude for this season of new beginnings. Irreverant maybe, but I'm happy to consider Easter my born-again New Year's. Seeing as New Year's didn't really pan out for me and waiting for my birthday seems like a bit of a cop-out, I decided to do the whole 'new beginning' thing on Easter this year- hence blog #1.

Two Easter projects. First project- tiny Easter baskets. Their tininess was the point. Partly because I am poor and cannot afford to make regular-sized Easter baskets. And because I am increasingly concerned with the carbon footprint of my projects. Tiny Easter baskets are respectful of this. The baskets involved two incidents of petty theft. The first- ketchup cups from Arby's. The ketchup cups were my muse- the inspiration behind the whole project. I came across them quite by chance on a day that I left work so starving that I couldn't imagine walking by Arby's without buying a roast beef sandwich. From the moment I saw them, I was determined to make them into Easter baskets. A little advice- always better to ask for something than to steal it. So, I asked. It took me a few days to get up the nerve. It helps to act humble. Feign it if you have to. Haughtiness was never rewarded with free fast food paraphenalia. The lady behind the counter handed me a partially used pack of 250 and said 'you better run fast.' I chose to take her literally. I came upon the sushi grass by pretty much the same means. Cheap thrills


Second project- not really a project at all, but a failure to dye eggs. Failure to buy vinegar, actually. I didn't realize this until after hard-boiling 17 eggs. I only had balsamic in my apartment. So, I broke out the vintage googly eyes. Bittersweet. I comfort myself with the knowledge that googly eyes never really bring joy until they've been stuck on a common object.