Merry Knitmas

Hmm, it’s spring now, isn’t it? No matter, the northern parts of the east coast are still mired in Ragnarok (probably), so the holiday knits I sent out a couple of weeks ago are still relevant to my family.

First, the non-knit crafty things though–

SONY DSC

“Is that a trio of dinosaur print flannel jimbly-jambles,” you are asking yourself, I’m sure. And let me tell you, friend–it certainly is. I sewed all three in a span of three days near the end of January and I’m pretty pleased with myself. I recently learned that all seams have to be “finished” or your garment falls apart, which really might’ve been nice to know about ten years ago. Then instead of being incredibly frustrated with my abysmal sewing skills, I might have had a couple of encouraging successes, leading me to practice more, and, in this alternate reality, I would now be capable of inserting a cuff placket instead of a miserable failure at same. But never mind, that’s a story for another day.

In addition to belated holiday jammeroonis, I made a belated holiday point twill scarf for my dad (no finished object photos, sadly, as this item was given away before I had simultaneous light and time for picture-taking), a pair of handspun colorwork mittens for my mother-in-law, a tiny sweater for a brand-new nephew, and a cabled cowl for my dad’s girlfriend.

Let’s start with the least drama-fraught item.  This is a newborn-size Welcome to the Flock, and I shall henceforth refer to it as “wee sheepies.”

As almost the entire planet is probably aware, I become incoherent with delight where sheep (and especially lambs) are involved.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said for my colorwork in this instance.

Just look at those fuzzy little sheep tummies and try to ignore the mess around them, okay?

I probably made quite a few modifications, but I couldn’t say what they are. I was too busy gibbering about the wee sheepies to make notes.

Next up, Irish Vine mittens.

Funny thing about these mittens. I was knitting along on the first mitten, delighted to be working with cormo, which is a lovely wool, which I had combed and spun myself, endlessly entertained to watch the pattern emerge with each round. But there were doubts, too. The fabric seemed a little thin. It was a little open. All in all, it was looking just a little bit on the side of not-quite-big-enough.

No, I thought. No, this will be fine. It’s going to stretch when I wash it. I’ve followed the pattern, it’s going to be fine.

I kept knitting.

I grafted the top closed.

I started the thumb.

It felt wrong. Really wrong. I tried on the mitten.

My fingernails nearly stabbed through the top.

I made despairing noises. I sighed. I carefully ripped the whole mitten out.

And I restarted with the yarn held double.

It was a good decision. Colorwork in too-thin yarn on too-large needles is a pretty sad sight.

Of course, I could have saved myself a great deal of time and labor if I hadn’t knitted on in denial for several days.

Last, and with perhaps the most dramatic story of all, this Nennir cowl:

I started this shortly after the Winter 2012 issue of Knitty came out, using Malabrigo sock in “Playa.”

After finishing the first chart, I decided I didn’t like the hand of the fabric. Too loose, almost mushy (not to be confused with smooshy, which is a great characteristic in a knit); my stitches looked sloppy and the cables really weren’t showing well. This is a big issue I have with Malabrigo Sock–it’s soft as anything, but it’s well on the “heavy lace” side of “light fingering,” with little twist in either singles or plying. For something calling itself sock yarn, you’d walk holes through it in about two minutes. That’s usually a deal-breaker.

But this is a cowl, not socks, so I ripped it out, held the yarn double, and started again.

Then I ignored it for a while. And then a year had gone by since I bought the yarn, but I wasn’t worried, I had lots left.

But then I knitted and knitted and knitted and knitted and suddenly there was not so much yarn. I began knitting faster, to outrun the end of the yarn. (Did I mention how knitting in denial is a very bad idea? Knitting in denial backfires almost every single time. Avoid.)

Suddenly there was half a chart left and I was definitely, definitely certain that the yarn was faster than me.

No matter, I thought. I will go to the yarn store. I will purchase another skein. Surely they’re still dyeing this colorway. If I use one strand from the original and one from the new skein, they will totally blend and no one will ever notice.

I almost didn’t find any Malabrigo Sock at the yarn store. When I did manage to locate it, there were only four skeins in just three colorways.

I ended up with “Primavera.” It’s not really close, at all, but it was closer than the others; nothing else even resembled the right combination of color, fiber, diameter, and texture.

I held out hope, though. Held double with “Playa” and kept to the back when possible, it wasn’t a particularly jarring transition.

But then, ten rows before the end, I ran out of the original color completely. And that’s why the inch or so left of center looks like a different color. Fortunately the person it will be accessorizing wears her hair long enough to cover the weird part.

It is a comedy of errors, friends.

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