Ruffled

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the craft store (no idea how I got there - must've blacked out from the wool fumes).  Naturally I went over to the yarn area.  My fascination with cheap and widely-available yarns must be fed from time to time, after all.  On a table next to the Cascade yarns was this little gem:

Always a sucker for the Smally Clothes, I casually snatched it up.  I flipped all the way to project number 7 before remembering that I MADE A DESIGN FOR THIS BOOK:

Talk about surreal!  This publisher is really great about sending copies of the book to all its contributors, but this time I hadn't received mine before it hit stores.  In the mayhem surrounding publication of my own book, I completely forgot having a design in this one.  It was such a strange sensation to be standing in the craft store, holding a copy of the design, with near total amnesia surrounding it.  I always laugh when people ask me how I get so many pieces knit.  I never feel all that productive, never mind prolific.  But this hinted to me about what those people must mean:  It was like forgetting exactly how many children you have.  Not a little disturbing.  I felt, well, ruffled.

Smally clothes are the most fun to design, because I can be as silly and whimsical as I want.  You can make babies wear anything, because they have trouble getting away. 

When Lindsay was little (you know, like 11 minutes ago?), Phillip and I used to dress her in those tights with the lace ruffles on the butt under her little baby dresses.  We would put her down and let her crawl around every chance we got when she was dressed like that, so we could wink at each other and say "Bottoms Up!".  It was our sleep-deprivation-induced hilarious inside joke.  "Ha-Ha'" we would say, "Ruffle-Butt!"  It tickled us to death.  Getting to watch baby LuLu scoot around with her ruffles akimbo was adequate payback for the sleepless nights and days of exhaustion (punctuated by moments of panic) that was new parenthood.

I wish Lindsay had had these pants.  Hell, I might make her some yet.  Bottoms Up!

Aptly Named

This week I had the great good fortune to play with Scrumptious, a super-dreamy yarn which is being distributed in the USA by Lantern Moon.

Scrumptious is an unusual blend of 45% Silk and 55% Superwash Merino.  As you might expect with that fiber content, this yarn has an extraordinary sheen and luster.  It's available in a nice range of different weights, so it was hard to pick my favorite.  I chose a gorgeous, ropy Aran, and my favorite weight for almost everything in knitting, Sport.

I made some swatches and some sketches (I still cannot believe I get to do this for my JOB!), and then went back to Lantern Moon with my ideas.

Would you believe it?  Lantern Moon has trusted me with the first-ever American designs for Scrumptious!  The first samples will debut at TNNA in June, with availability of the whole mini-collection coming to you this fall. 

If loving string is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

Everybody Can Relax; I've Invented the Wheel

And now for a confession:  I'm a late arrival to the sock knitting party. 

For the longest time, the world of socks was a complete mystery to me.  I was focused on knitting that covers other body parts, and it seemed to me that there were SO many designers making socks exclusively (and brilliantly) that the world didn't need me to get interested in them.

Which is, of course, exactly when somebody asked me to design socks.  No grocery-needing knitwear designer can afford to limit the body parts they cover with yarn, so of course I agreed, and started cracking books.  The learning curve was steep, but not insurmountable.  I'm proud of the socks I've designed, and I've enjoyed sock-knitting as a palate cleansing activity that fits nicely in between larger projects. 

But last week, something weird happened.  I figured out how to make socks from the toe up.

I know.  It's like reporting the huge news flash that water is wet.  I have made the groundbreaking discovery that the Earth is Round.  I'm screaming with glee from the rooftops that socks can be made in the completely opposite direction from what I've done before, while the knitters below smile indulgently, and keep on walking.  Everybody else already knows this, but I am so excited to have finally figured it out.

And I made these!

Of course, when you try to take pictures of your own feet wearing new socks (toe-up or otherwise), the dog will think you have lost your mind and come over to offer an opinion:

I tried to explain it to him: "But they're TOE-UP!" I said.  Bailey remained unmoved.

Some people's pets are just too hard to impress.

"Dogwood" toe-up socks, with proper gussets and heel flaps.  Blue Moon Fiber Arts Socks That Rock Lightweight, in a Rare Gems colorway.  Click HERE for the pattern, to share my newfound joy.