Four hundred pages and a thousand miles of yarn*: or, how to beat the sunk-cost fallacy
Our greatest duty as artists and as humans is to pay attention to our failures, to break them down, study the tapes, conduct the postmortem, pore over the findings; to learn from our mistakes.
Just frog it already!
—the wise friend of many a knitter
Out of all the cognitive biases identified thus far—188!?!!—the sunk-cost fallacy has got to be one of the most pervasive. To make sure we’re all on the same page, here’s the standard definition (using a veganism-and-creativity presentation slide from 2021):
In other words, humans tend not to own up to mistakes and misconceptions simply because we’ve spent SO MUCH TIME making and believing in them. It can be embarrassing, even painful, to admit that the premise of a novel we’ve been writing for years is fundamentally flawed, or that we’ve spent money we don’t have on a graduate program that definitely isn’t the career path we want after all, or that the relationship into which we’ve poured all our emotional resources is never going to be the loving and growth-oriented union we’d hoped and longed for. When we hang on too long, the original mistake can compound itself many times over. Nor does the sunk-cost phenomenon play well with the standard pep talk on perseverance; we’ve all known at least one writer or artist overworking material they ought to set aside because they hold a (not-unfounded) conviction that professionals don’t trash work that isn’t working, they fix it. And in this productivity-obsessed culture, you’ve pretty much got to be a Zen monk to avoid framing the situation as a waste of time and resources.
…Okay, I am not nor will I ever be a Zen monk. But I think I’ve figured out what to say to myself to make it easier to admit that something’s not working and take action accordingly.
Sunk-Cost Dilemma A:
In my “‘writer’s block’ revisited” post last fall, I told you I submitted 360 pages of a novel I had no idea how to finish. And there were lots more pages that didn’t make it into that document, well over 400 total I’d say (it’s hard to tell when you’re working in Scrivener). With all my other novels I’d been able to write my way into the answers, but that wasn’t happening this time. To put it in quilting terms, I realized there was nothing for it but to cut up the thing for scraps and try for a different (simpler) design than the one I’d envisioned. I’m now pretty close to the end of this replotting process, and when I found myself in the midst of another sunk-cost dilemma last month, I decided it was time to write this post.
Sunk-Cost Dilemma B:
Waaaaay back in the spring of 2013, soon after moving to Boston, I purchased a sweater’s worth of sport-weight linen-rayon yarn in a life-affirming shade of green. Over the years I tried to knit myself a cardigan, but I always abandoned it (vintage stitch pattern + math to fit = eternal UFO. I should know myself by now!) Then in the midst of my craft decluttering, knowing I have a much higher/faster finish rate on gift projects, I figured that was the quickest way to stash down. Green is Heather’s favorite color too, and I’d found a sweater pattern on Ravelry I thought she’d love, so I downloaded the pdf, knit and laundered some gauge swatches, did some math, and cast on, hoping to finish it before my mid-October trip to Minnesota.
Well, I’m writing this post just after flying home from those ultra-cozy four-and-a-half days with Heather and Zach at a lakeside cabin under perfect blue skies and a canopy of orange and gold. And this is the current state of the sweater:
*A thousand miles of yarn is the most ridiculous hyperbole I’ve indulged in all year, it’s more like 770 yards (not even half a mile, HAH!)
I could have finished it in time. I chose not to. What went wrong? I knit multiple gauge swatches and measured them before and after laundering. I DID THE MATH! But I flubbed it somehow. This yarn grows A LOT widthwise, so a relatively snug bust measurement of 51” (the designer recommends 15-20” of ease) would have blocked out to approximately 68.”
Thirty inches of ease. Way. Too. Big.
Ordinarily when it becomes clear that I have made a mistake in my knitting or sewing, my anti-perfectionist script begins to play in my head: Follow your perfectionism to its logical endpoint and you will never finish a thing. Not a dishcloth or a granny square, not one sentence, nevermind a complete paragraph. You will be THE CREATOR OF NOTHING!!!
And this is all true, of course. I tried to tell myself it would be okay, that I could put in a crocheted “seam” up the sides to tuck in some of the excess width, or that if it doesn’t fit her (“come on, it definitely won’t fit her!”) it will fit someone else who will wear it and love it.
But I’m not knitting this sweater for some other person. I am knitting it for my friend, who will look and feel good in a garment that is “slouchy” but not to such an extent that it feels like a(n albeit pretty-green) trash bag with three slits cut in it for her head and arms. If it doesn’t feel good to finish something that isn’t quite right, it definitely won’t feel good to give it.
Over morning coffee with Heather and Zach, I started knitting a smaller size. She oohed over the color (I knew it!) and we talked about sunk cost. Here are Heather’s two primary pieces of advice:
to practice self compassion when reflecting upon supposedly-wasted time;
to look at EVERYTHING we write (or make) as skill building, meaning that the words we toss are just as necessary as the words that show up in a published work.
Our conversation reminded me of something Téa Obreht said in conversation with my friend Deirdre at the International Literature Festival Dublin this past May:
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Dross is inevitable when we live in a state of creative possibility. False starts, dead ends, and poop-outs aren’t evidence of our failures, they’re an ***occupational certainty.*** No writer has published every single word they have written. Every fiber artist has had to pick apart (frog, seam-rip, whatever) stitches that won’t get them the result they want, just as every home cook or baker has had to dump a failed experiment in the trash at least once.
Knowing if and when to quit (or pivot) is a call-and-response between intuition and logic. Heather’s two guidelines are the most essential, but I also feel like that’s easy for me to say since my considerable writing and knitting experience (25+ years and 19 years, respectively) allows me to come to a quicker decision than I could have done at, say, age 25. If self compassion feels out of reach (so far) and “everything is skill building” doesn’t automagically override your obsession with the One Perfect Outcome, here are a few more things to try:
Put the project in time out, and for longer than you think it needs.
When you circle back to your sunk-cost dilemma, ask yourself these questions: What’s the un/happiest outcome if I persevere? The un/happiest outcome if I quit? What are the one or two likeliest scenarios of all these, according to my inner guidance system? Are there other options I haven’t considered yet?
Now for the most clarifying questions of all: Is this project making me miserable right now? Has it ever made me feel radiantly, ludicrously happy? If yes and yes, return to step 1.
If you find yourself flinging your project (figuratively or literally) across the room again and again, over a period of years, well then—you just might have your answer. Keep in mind, too, that an indefinite time out still siphons a small amount of creative energy from your active WIPs.
I could have admitted the sweater was too big about five inches sooner. I worried about it all that time before I finally stopped. Owning up to the sunk cost meant not being able to give Heather her present in person, and that part was tougher than the necessity of frogging a full month’s worth of knitting. I was surprised at how I felt about the actual starting over. I felt good about it. I was looking forward to it, because knitting half of this sweater was a lot of fun. I listened to three wonderful novels—Travis Baldree’s Legends & Lattes and Bookshops & Bonedust and Maria Dahvana Headley’s The Mere Wife—feeling oh so content all the way through. Casting on a second time for the same sweater means I’m 2x’ing my enjoyment of this collection of stitch patterns and (hopefully) listening to twice as many excellent audiobooks. I’m practicing self compassion and choosing to value process over product. I can reframe my glorious-mess-of-a-time-travel-novel similarly:
Cutting up (or altogether chucking) these pages is the first step towards a stack of pages that WILL work.
Tossing this plot gives me plenty more time to live among these characters, for whom I feel such profound affection.
After this reframing, it is obvious to me that starting over is a joy and a privilege. I’ve learned so much from this process that I can (and will!) someday write a book about it.
Whether or not you decide to throw in the towel, look for the boons inside this period of frustration and uncertainty. This is how we get better at the work we love to do.
P.S. The International Rescue Committee is the humanitarian aid organization to which I contribute on a monthly basis. Here’s a link so you can click through and donate if you feel so inclined.
A Forest on My Shoulders
Oh, hello! It's been a long time since I've blogged about a craft project, so I do have a bit of a backlog. (Also, how wild is it that this blog is over TEN YEARS OLD?!?) There's a chapter in my next book about making my own clothes, so I really needed a good pic of my most recent FO: a lace shawl in Vegan Yarn Albireo, a fingering-weight blend of bamboo and organic cotton. The color thrills me to the bottom of my soul!
My friend Dan and I spent the day in Newport recently, and he was kind enough to take these photos on the cliff walk. Newport is one of those places you've got to admit is deservedly touristy. We did a lot of browsing in the shops (including an antiques mall in an old armory), paused for a round of delicious cocktails, drove by the Newport mansions on Ocean Drive, and wept and gnashed our teeth when we discovered a local vegan restaurant had closed.
I used to think shawls were old fashioned in a way that wouldn't work for me, but after seeing so many beautiful ones at Squam and online over the years, I eventually changed my mind. I wanted a garment I could feel embraced by, and I don't care if that sounds corny. A shawl is perfect for a cool summer evening, and in the fall and winter you can wear it more like a scarf.
A few project notes: I don't necessarily recommend the pattern I used even though it's a nice mix of easy lace and even easier garter, because if you're going to charge for a pattern like this (and you should, don't get me wrong), you need to include stitch counts. That's just basic. Thank goodness another Raveler took the time to count and write them out! And of course, the yarn was an absolute dream from start to finish. (I adore Heidi so much I've interviewed her for A Bright Clean Mind.) For full details, see my Ravelry project page.
Still need to identify this plant! [Edit: a kind reader informed me that it is Canadian goldenrod.]
Georgina, Reprised
Behold, the most flattering garment I have ever knit! I never blogged my first version of the Georgina cardigan (knit in 2012) because I didn't use vegan yarn and felt weird about it (well, yeah). 
Georgina #2 is knit from a bamboo-pima cotton blend I've enjoyed knitting with before, although this version is definitely slippier: 
The shawl collar won't stay put, but on the upside, it's much more comfortable to wear than that scratchy wool. First finished garment of 2015! (The Unicorn dress was #2.) 
I am trying to make cardigans and dresses to wear together. The green bolero and my sundress #1 matched so perfectly—I must recreate (and veganize) this outfit. The sundress fell to pieces from so much wear, but I have enough calico to make another one! (I've already started it. Three more dresses to finish by the end of the summer!)The construction of this bolero is pretty ingenious: you start at the back, increasing stitches and separating for the side fronts, then block hard before grafting the shoulders and picking up stitches for the sleeves and collar. As for pattern notes, my only suggestion is to start the decreases immediately after picking up the armhole stitches. Otherwise there's too much fabric around the underarms. 
And now it's time for a BUTTON-OFF!: 
Georgina #1 buttons were a gift from Ailbhe. Georgina #2 ancient-coin buttons from M&J Trimming in NYC. I will deeeeefinitely be knitting a third version at some point, but I have to decide on a less slippery yarn sub.I've made zero knitting progress lately, partly because of all the sewing I've been doing (yay!) and partly because I've hit a wall—ambitious lace vs. not taking the time to memorize the pattern so I can knit on autopilot. I need to get started on something mindless for a camping trip this weekend!
Guardian Angels and Other Projects
I've been meaning to blog about the long-sleeved tee I screenprinted for my mother for Christmas. One of my all-time favorite travel photos is of this lovely old headstone I found in Ardmore, County Waterford, and I knew Mumsy would appreciate being able to wear these "guardian angels." I must confess that this project didn't proceed as smoothly as I'd hoped. The lines I'd painted (with the drawing fluid) were too fine and my printing technique was totally rusty (I can't believe I took Krista's class six months ago already), so I wound up having to handpaint most of the image. It was worth the painstaking effort though! A few other things I've been making lately: I'm on target with the garment-a-month challenge so far—I finished my project for January, which I'll blog about soon. Now for a dress!
Further Adventures in Wartime Knitting
(Previous entries: Knitted Garments for All, Knitting for Little Men, Knitting Patterns from 1939, the Victory Jumper.)
On the tail end of my Vermont leaf-peeping weekend my friend and I stumbled upon the coolest antiques store EVER. Dozens of vendors each have their own little niche inside the one large room, and I definitely got the impression that this sales model results in higher-quality offerings all around. When we were checking out the owner said she'd enjoyed overhearing my enthusiastic exclamations over the past half hour or so ("Oh my God, a OUIJA BOARD! But don't let me buy it. Don't let me buy it!!!"), which, of course, made me love her treasure trove of an antiques shop all the more.
I just looked it up so I could link to it—Antiques at 27 Main in Bristol, Vermont—and I'm so sad to read they're closing at the end of the year. Why does every place I over-the-moon adore have to go out of business?!
Naturally, I was all over the vintage pattern books and notions. This picture reminds me of playing horseshoes with my grandfather and sister.
This one gives me MAD BABYLUST even though said child is almost old enough to be my grandmother.
I don't know when I'll get around to knitting out of this incredibly charming pattern book (isn't that always the way?), but I can tell you that I'm making use of the claret-colored bias binding in one of my Christmas presents (which I'll blog about in January). I was sewing quite a bit back in August and September, so I have to catch up on sharing those projects too.
Ugh. Still so bummed about that antiques shop going O-O-B!
Why Knit Vegan?
My Empire of the Sun cardigan, made of a hemp-cotton-modal blend.While I was at Hawthornden last year I got into several conversations about veganism with my fellows, and on one occasion Colin asked, "Well, what are you knitting with?" At the time I was working on my vintage quickie 2.0, so I replied, "It's a bamboo-cotton blend." He seemed a bit disappointed that he hadn't caught me knitting with wool!
Recently I overheard a friend talking about A Verb for Keeping Warm, a yarn company based in California. My friend explained that they started out by salvaging fleeces; the sheep had been sheared before their slaughter, but the wool was going to waste. I didn't make this comment at the time—I'd have made myself that annoying vegan, you know—but it astounded me that no one gave a thought to the dead sheep! I'm all for salvaging materials, but there is something unnerving to me about destructive or dishonest acts to foster creative acts like spinning and knitting.How is the wool industry destructive or dishonest, you ask? Well, you are taking the hair off a sheep's back, which is a sort of thievery, if we are to be frank. Then we ship the animal off to the mutton factory when she stops producing sufficient wool. I know you want to believe that we are doing the sheep a favor by shearing her and that the animal lives out her days on a sunny green pasture, but that's just not reality. For more information about how sheep are actually treated, please read this PETA article. I also highly recommend listening to Colleen Patrick-Goudreau's podcast episode from 2010, "The Shearing of Sheep."Here's the trouble with wool: it may be "nature's perfect fiber," but it does not belong to us. Even if you assured me that the sheep you spin from live in your own backyard and that you will never sell them for meat, I will say "thanks but no thanks."
You may have noticed that I kept knitting with wool for awhile after I transitioned to a vegan diet, and I can only say that my knitting was a fairly large blind spot for me. There are many absolutely breathtaking wool and silk yarns out there, and it is all too tempting to push aside any uneasy thoughts of where it came from or how it was produced.And yes, it's true there aren't a ton of great vegan yarns out there...YET. But there are enough to get started with, for sure, and I hope to offer vegan knitting resources on this blog on a regular basis in the coming months and years. I'm particularly excited about Vegan Yarn out of British Columbia. (But I can't buy any more until I've knit some socks out of this lovely stuff!):
Bamboo-nylon sock yarn from Vegan Yarn.Another thought I've had is that if Vaute Couture can make gorgeous coats out of fabrics that can totally pass for wool, surely someone can do the same for knitting and weaving yarn!
And finally, I would like to offer you some proof that plant-based yarns can result in projects that are every bit as attractive as their wooly counterparts. Last month my new yellow cardigan made it to the front page of Ravelry!:
(Thanks to Kath for sending me that screenshot!)
Empire of the Sun
The best part of being a knitter is loving something you made so much you never want to take it off....And, admittedly, the compliments. It's always fun when a non-knitter is completely gobsmacked when I tell them I made what I'm wearing.Thanks to my dear Elizabeth for all these gorgeous photographs! Having a confident photographer take FO pics was a real treat. 
The buttons are from Jo-Ann—I'd been hoping to find the perfect vintage buttons on Etsy, but I really wanted turquoise and I couldn't find any in the right size. 
The pattern is Gudrun's Empire. The King Charles brocade pattern hits that sweet spot of easy yet impressive, and I picked up a few new tricks too (the bias bind-off and the i-cord bind-off around the collar). My Ravelry project page (with detailed notes) is here. There are definitely more designs by Gudrun in my knitting future—maybe Laar next? (See Anne's gorgeous version!) 
Hempathy is, like all plant-based fibers I suppose, advertised as a warm-weather yarn; but I have been wearing this cardi and my Pomegranate sweater and just a tank top underneath, and with my Vaute Couture coat I'm perfectly toasty. (I still have to blog my Pomegranate photos, which Elizabeth took on the RISD beach back in November!) 
(You can tell in this shot that I didn't pick up the wraps. Haha. Knerd alert!) 
I will leave you with this hilarious piece of over-the-topness (although the ladies' costumes are definitely not vegan!):
The gift that keeps on giving
Knitting with Vanessa.
Lately I've been giving knitting lessons to the ESL students here. I can't tell you how satisfying it is to watch them, a few minutes after the click happens and they nail down the motions, teaching their friends who've shown up late how to do what they've only just learned.
I'm also doing my part to eliminate the annoying stereotype that men don't knit (or crochet). Daniel knit the most perfect garter stitch scarf I've ever seen—a Christmas present for his girlfriend who is patiently waiting for his return to Colombia.
Daniel weaving in the ends with a crochet hook.
Last year at this time, I taught my dear friend Amiee how to knit. At least that's how she sees it—as I see it, I gave her some pointers, but it seemed to me that she already knew how. She insists she only knew how to crochet. At any rate, she's been stitching up a storm over the past year, and when I saw her in Providence the other weekend she presented me with a gorgeous shawlet-scarf (the pattern is Saroyan by Liz Abinante).
The color choice was a mindful one, as it's been an ongoing joke-on-the-square with us that I need more orange in my life. I never expected my teaching to come back to me in such a perfect way. (Not to mention useful—Amiee knew I needed a vegan scarf!) This is the first thing anyone has ever knit for me, and I'm so grateful!
(And I love how this has been a blog post entirely about other people's knitting.)
Where We Make: Bonnie Sennott
Bonnie Sennott is an artist and knitwear designer living in Amherst, Massachusetts. She blogs about her creative work at Blue Peninsula. You may recall that I am currently knitting her Pomegranate pullover, and I can't remember the last pattern I found so pleasurable or satisfying to knit. Bonnie has drawn inspiration from Squam Lake (where we met last year) for patterns like Deephaven and Rockywold, and here she describes another beautiful setting that creatively (and literally!) nourishes her.
***
Although I have a studio (a spare bedroom), I can’t seem to confine my creative impulses to just one room. There’s work all over the house—sketchbooks on the dinner table, embroidery on the coffee table, knitting projects on the sofa—even on the kitchen counter!
But my home is a private space, so I thought instead I’d write about one of my favorite places to work away from home: the Bookmill in Montague, Massachusetts (population 8,400), a former mill that houses a used bookstore, café, and restaurant, CD store, and artist studios.
My Peppernut shawl artfully draped over a chair as I work on a pattern in the Lady Killigrew Café.
Quirky rooms awash in light pouring through big windows; comfy, well-worn furniture; an ever-changing selection of books and notecards; good WiFi—all this makes the Bookmill a favorite hangout for writers, artists, and other creative folk (and booklovers, too!)
“Books you don’t need in a place you can’t find” is their marketing slogan. But it’s really not that hard to find. And the bookstore? Amazing! Lots of books I do need—I’ve found some great stitch dictionaries there. On sunny fall weekends, the Bookmill can be crowded. But I always find a nook or cranny where I can knit or embroider. When my eyes or hands need a break, I head into the Lady Killigrew Café for an iced tea or fresh salad. I love the view from the café windows and how peaceful and at ease I feel there—so much so I named a scarf pattern after it. As I stitch or knit while listening to the Sawmill River rush by, I find my mind quieting down—sometimes working there is like creating and meditating at the same time. It’s a beautiful place, and since I’ve been going there for seventeen years, it really does feel like a second home.
***
Where We Make is a series on creative workspaces. Read the submission guidelines here. If you'd like to contribute a profile of your own space, please email me at cometpartyATgmailDOTcom.
My New Favorite Sweater, part 1
When it comes to knitting patterns, my eyes are faster than my needles. I buy a pattern thinking I'll cast on for it soon, but that almost never happens. I bought Bonnie Sennott's Pomegranate at June Squam 2012 and cast on a little over a year later, which is actually on the quick side for me. Ha.
I'd been wanting to try Hempathy for awhile—it's a sturdy blend of hemp, cotton, and modal (rayon)—and I'm really enjoying knitting with it. Much easier on the hands than you'd think. I love it so much that I bought a bag of yellow Hempathy for a cardigan (which was my Uganda knitting—I needed something much easier than this!) 
(Cardi pattern by Gudrun Johnston—blogging about it eventually!) 
I usually knit on the T, and I'm getting lots of comments from my fellow passengers. My favorite was this guy who'd just told someone else that he's a physicist. Then he turned to me and commented that the lace chart I was working from looked awfully complex. Ha ha! Lace charts are easy once you know how to read them! And you are a physicist!! 
I'm aiming to have it done and ready to wear on my birthday (which is three weeks away).
Making in Tandem
Making your own hours is one of the best things about writing for a living. I can work on the novel 'til 1AM, and spend the whole next day crafting with a dear friend.If you haven't read Amy Lou's Where We Make entry yet—do! Amy's space is incredibly inspiring—soaking up all the happy creative juju is so good for me. Oh, and she has a brand-new website too, which captures her energy as perfectly as her guest post.I got some knitting done (though no sewing—next time!)
It is a lovely friend indeed who takes the time to steam some almond milk for your coffee. Still working on my Pomegranate (by fellow Squammie Bonnie Sennott). This is the most complex lace I've ever done, and I often get comments as I'm knitting on the T. Really enjoying it. 
Selfish Knitting
On our way to the beach yesterday, Elizabeth and I got to talking about selfish knitting. I'd been feeling it for awhile, but this was the first time I'd actually put the right words around it: when it comes to making things for other people, I am tapped out.For years now I've prided myself on my handmade gifts--and before I got into knitting and sewing, I did quite a bit of stained glass. (I've since given up that hobby since it's relatively messy and potentially dangerous, at least for an absent-minded crafter like myself.) The gifts I made were often very time consuming, but it felt worth it once I figured out who my more appreciative friends were. I love my friends and I love their babies, and I'm sure someday I will feel excited about knitting for them again; but it doesn't make any sense to make something because I feel like I ought to, and that's just where I'm at right now.Ultimately this has to do with my being kinder to myself. I can't knit and sew my own wardrobe (an ambition I see as both a creative and political act) if I'm making things for other people. I want to be more like Momo on Ravelry, who has knit herself literally hundreds of gorgeous sweaters. (I'll be good with a dozen, but you get my point.) I will no longer feel guilty for using my skills for my own benefit; and, frankly, if someone I know wants something handmade, I am happy to show them how to make it themselves.So this embroidery is the last thing I'll be making as a gift for a good long while:
It's almost done (and long overdue--it was supposed to be ready for Christmas!)In between finishing that up, I'm knitting myself a Pomegranate. (I'm wearing the sample in the Squam pic below.)
And while we're on the subject of selfish knitting, I want to send a shout-out to my dear friend Anne, a longtime knitter who recently finished her very first sweater for HERSELF. May it be the first of many!
Handmade Summer
I'm even more excited about making my own clothing since I went vegan. Yes, phasing out wool has been a bit of a challenge, but challenges are FUN! Here's some yarn and fabric I have plans for this summer:
Shibui Linen for a Xia blouse (Ravelry link). Treated myself at Gather Here after my book deal!
Cute vintage-y cotton lawn from Mood Fabrics, destined to become a Violet blouse. (It's almost finished!)
Making button loops using this tutorial from @colettepatterns: http://t.co/w603zGNBTp #sewing (So excited for my new blouse!)-- Camille DeAngelis (@PettyMagic) June 13, 2013
Vintage rayon from this Etsy shop and Italian shirting from Mood Fabrics. Both for dresses, one of which will have some pretty nifty bias action.
I had a plan for this Bamboo laceweight from Webs, but oftentimes when you order online what comes in the mail isn't quite what you expected. I think I'll make one of these instead. (Puffed sleeves! I can't resist!)
Ailbhe gave me these adorable buttons a few years ago. They belong on a vintage jumper, just not sure yet which pattern.I also finished a Miette cardigan a few weeks ago, which I'll blog about soon. Still need to take some photos!
Vintage Quickie (goes Vegan)
As you know, I love vintage knitting patterns. This one's called the "Three-Hour Sweater" and while the name is a total exaggeration, it is fun and cute and easy.
I first knit this pattern back in 2008, and the result was so unflattering I can't even bring myself to post a picture here (but here's the Ravelry link). I stuck to the original pattern when I ought to have rejigged the whole thing, as I did this time around: finer gauge, back shaping, knit the yoke in the round. Much, much better. (Ravelry link for Vintage Quickie #2, with copious notes.)
These photos were taken by my friend and fellow Squammie Jen Barlev one March afternoon while we were visiting Amiee in Pennsylvania. Quality time with my Squam buds is always so nourishing for me. (Literally, too--Jen surprised me with a bar of cherry lemonade vegan chocolate!)
Hooray for back shaping!The yarn is Valley Yarns Southwick, a bamboo-cotton blend. Pleasant to knit, easy to care for, and it's holding up really well. I'm determined not to see knitting without wool as a dilemma ("how will I knit warm-enough sweaters for the winter?!", etc.) I am resolved, because as Victoria Moran says: the wool industry IS the mutton industry.I've gotten to the point where I want to replace my favorite wool handknits (like the Victory Jumper) as soon as possible because I feel a certain degree of uneasiness whenever I put them on. In keeping with my new direction, I'll be blogging about vegan knitting more regularly starting over the summer sometime (whenever my new website launches).
In the meantime, I'm slowly destashing my wool yarns and replacing them with pretty pima cotton.
This photo is my favorite because I look like I'm knocking on an invisible door at the edge of the reservoir.
This is my other favorite photo because of the printable Amiee colored for me (you can find it here). I put it over my bed and it makes me so happy every time I look at it!
Knitted Garments for All
I seem to have lost my blogging mojo, though I'm sure to regain it when my Q&A (and giveaway!) with McCormick Templeman is ready to go next week. In the meantime, how about a little vintage knitting nerdiness?
Actually, I've been meaning to post this one for over a year. While I was staying in Edinburgh I met my friend "Ravelry Kate" (to distinguish from "Sister Kate" and "Agent Kate"). She's the friend who told me about the Mansfield Traquair Centre, and led me on a wonderful afternoon ramble through old lanes and churchyards.
Kate knits gorgeous sweaters from vintage patterns, and when she showed me her copy of Knitted Garments for All (published in 1944) I knew I had to get one for myself. This is a really excellent collection of wartime patterns--I even want to knit the undergarments! So I hopped on AbeBooks, snagged a copy for £5 (including shipping), and had it sent to Seanan in London so I wouldn't have to pay crazy-high postage. Looks like there are plenty of copies available on that site, which I've also used for inexpensive former-library copies of the Colored Fairy Books (post forthcoming).Kate has been working on this awesome colorwork jumper:
Three cheers for scratchy woolen underpants! (Because you know these patterns always call for 100% wool.)
I know this was the '40s, but it's still a little weird to see a model in a knitting book smoking--although he gets some make-up points for bottle-feeding that adorable little lamb.
Yes, I am actually rather enchanted by these "camiknickers."But this is the pattern I'm most excited about:
...Although I'm just going to plug the lace pattern into a basic short-sleeved raglan. The yarn I'll use is Madelinetosh, which I picked up at Squam last year (see first photo with book cover).Next week: The Little Woods Q&A and more Ciudad Perdida!
Squam 2012, part 1
Anne, Amy Lou, Jill and Jeanne, Saturday afternoon, Greenwood dock.
Evening light reflected by the surface of the lake.
Remember this?
A cicada shell (?) stuck to the porch screen.
Cragsmere.More soon.
Ishkabibble!
Sierra in Villa de Leyva on a sunny Sunday morning, wearing the Ishbel I made her as a birthday/hostess gift."Ishkabibble" is my grandfather's sometime nickname for my sister, after a comedian/musician from the 1940s. There are well over 10,000 Ishbels on Ravelry, so I thought I would call this one something different.
Limonada de coco. OH. MY. GOODNESS. We can die happy. (This was in Cartagena, not Villa de Leyva. I had to sneak Kate in here somehow.)Now for more pictures of a pretty shawl (perfect marriage of yarn and pattern!) on a very pretty lady...
I used Jill Draper Makes Stuff Splendor Sock, which is THE yarn that is making me sad to be going 100% vegan (i.e., not buying any more wool. If you'd like to know why I've made this decision, listen to this podcast.)
(Ravelry project link.)
This is one of my favorite photos. She's got a secret and wouldn't you like to know it. Hee!
Knitting for little men
BABY-SWOON!!!! This is Cóilín, Ailbhe and Christian's little man. I knit the Pembroke vest from Petite Purls for his first birthday (March 2011), and here he is wearing it. I knit the 2T, but I guess the cables contract to fit, so it doesn't look like he's swimming in it. (Or he might just be a baby-Hulk.)
I also knit one for Lindsay and Trev's adorable little man, Eamonn, born in July 2010. I love how Lindsay found a shirt to match!I recently knit a third Pembroke for my nephew for Christmas:
Look! He's wearing his Petty Magic t-shirt!
I was working on Cóilín's vest back in February, during my sojourn in Edinburgh. One night I stumbled upon this little pattern booklet for 50p in a charity shop at the foot of Victoria Street:
That little boy on the bottom left is so dapper!Of course I snapped it up. Not only am I a total sucker for vintage patterns, but these are some of the cutest children's sweaters I've seen.
That bit about the "Red Indian design" kinda makes me cringe. Oh, before there was such a thing as "PC"...
"Please Clown, DON'T!"I'm always hazy on when it's okay to scan and distribute vintage patterns, and when it's not; a quick Ravelry forum search reminded me that one is not supposed to share vintage patterns unless they're over 75 years old. (I'm pretty sure this booklet is from the '50s.) Fortunately, it's not as rare as I thought at first--Google turned up a bunch of hits (~$1.50) on eBay and vintage pattern sites. (Just search for "Patons" and "jackets for small boys".)
This pattern is my favorite of the three—love the textures!
Turning Five
Last month my niece turned five. I promised to bake her a rainbow cake, and it almost gave me a nervous breakdown. (HA HA. You think I'm kidding?)
The rainbow layers had to be red, yellow, pink, and purple. It became a chant. Red, yellow, pink, and purple. Red, yellow, pink, and purple. IN THAT ORDER, or the unicorns would gouge out my eyes.(I'm kidding. I think.)Anyway, since she loves to play with my yarn whenever she comes to visit...
...I thought I would put together a little learn-to-knit kit for her, complete with Pony needles, a crochet hook, plenty of Knit Picks yarn and Lucinda Guy's Kids Learn to Knit, all in a project bag I sewed myself.
The pattern is Kate Davies' "Two Kates" project bag. I finished it in a couple of hours (if that).
I mucked up part of the seaming (so there are 'dimples' on either side of the handles, at the side seams), but I'm trying not to be such a perfectionist. It still looks good.More sewing is one of my resolutions for 2012!
A Christmas Jumper
Of all the pattern books in my library, I've gotten the most use out of Rowan Vintage Knits. My dad asked for a Beau out of green tweed (it's from Donegal, of course), and here it is.
He has hardly taken it off in the four days since I gave it to him. At Christmas dinner there was much oohing and ahhing over it.
(I was working on this while I was on the farm in Vermont.)
The buttons were a gift from Deirdre (I used the rest of them for Elliot's neckwarmer last year). My dad made sure to tell everyone at dinner that the yarn and the buttons were from Ireland.
I have to say, this is one of my most successful FOs: perfect marriage of yarn and pattern, satisfactory craftsmanship, flattering color and perfect fit--not to mention a great deal of gratitude from the recipient!
Raveled here.I hope you had a very merry Christmas!