3 Things I Know About Billings, Montana

Tomorrow morning at about a million o'clock, I'm going to visit Billings, Montana for the first time ever.  Here is what I know about it, so far:

1.    Billings is home to Julia Warmer, who owns Wild Purls:

2.    They have real winter there, not just a colder version of rain-slobber (which is what we have here in Portland, Oregon).  That is actual snow in the weekend forecast:

Somebody somewhere thinks highly enough of them as a city to have produced this T-shirt, on the assumption that others think highly of them as well:

Armed with these facts, I'm storming their beaches tomorrow.  I get to meet the knitters tomorrow, and then play with them all day Saturday.  Big. Fun.

My relentless quest for knowledge (okay, eleven minutes searching the internets) yielded the following important Montana-centric information:


            *    The largest snowflake ever observed was 38 cm wide was recorded in Montana on January 28, 1887. That’s just darn near 15 inches. Amazing!

            *    In Montana, the word "ditch” can be used to order a drink. It means "with water."  "I'd like a Jack Daniel's ditch, please" means, "I'd like a Jack Daniel's and water." This is not a joke. In fact, all you really have to ask for is a "Jack ditch." Try it out the next time you find yourself in a Montana saloon.

            *    It is illegal to have a sheep in the cab of your truck without a chaperone.


And now you, Gentle Readers, are at least as well-informed about my destination as I am.  Just one more service I provide.  Don't know what knitting to take yet. 

Something in Bison?

Swatchy McSwatcherpants

I once took a class for which the instructor (the lovely and talented Arenda Holiday) had pre-knitted all the class swatches.  She had decided early in her teaching career that in order for her students to be successful in the technique she presented, the swatches they worked on had to be dependable, which is to say, all made by the same person.  She liked making swatches, and could knock out bunches of them while watching tv, etc.  It was no hardship for her, and ensured that her students had every advantage. 

For us students, it was pure luxury.  I can't tell you exactly why, but those little knitted squares (perfectly blocked, too) and knitted by someone else brought a level of ease and decadence to the experience that I can scarcely describe.  I promised myself that I would do the same for my class one day, when the opportunity was right.

My Madrona students are being asked to make an entire neckwarmer for their homework.  In light of that lofty goal, I could hardly expect them to make practice swatches, too.  The time had come for me to become a benevolent swatchmaker.

Now, you know that my relationship with math is casual, at best, so when I figured out all by myself that 24 students needed 3 swatches each, for a total of...well...a LOT of swatches, I realized that I should start banging them out, and soon. 

I am normally a reluctant swatcher.  I really only do it because I'm usually writing directions that other people have to follow, and they might come and find me if I'm at all cavalier about things like gauge.  Picky lot, you knitters.  Left to my own devices, I hardly ever bother swatching.  I just kinda use the Force.

But these swatches are different.  They aren't trying to prove anything.  There are no right dimensions to achieve.  If I get a wee square of stranded fabric at the end, then my work there is done.  Little 4-inch success stories; that's what these are.  I couldn't be more smug.  Yes, they are the stranded colorwork equivalent of boiled water.  But you know what?  Some days boiled water is a pretty impressive achievement.  So I'm taking my validation wherever it's offered. 

Appreciating the humble swatch solely on its own merits is a new idea to me.  When the swatch is relieved of all responsibility for informing us of what a garment will be (totally unrealistic notion, by the way), it's really just a cute little mini-project.  Do I want to do this all day?  Not really.  But when I asked myself what there was to be learned from this exercise, I was surprised by the answers.

Swatch On, Dear Friends.
 

Don't Quit Your Day Job

Happy New Year, Gentle Readers.  A big announcement:

I quit my day job.

After 14 years, I have resigned my post at the hospital.  Packed up my fish and left.  Didn't let the door hit me.  Said my farewells and didn't even cry.  Much.

Turns out that even I have my limits; notably juggling my family, my knitting, my writing, and my full time employment left me ragged around the edges.  Turns out that for me, "multitasking" means "doing more than one thing at a time badly". 

So while certain challenges lay before me, I am confident that I've made the proper decision.  And of course, I have Big Plans:

Institute Minimum Household Sanitation Thresholds

Find out where the Grocery Store is

Learn to Cook

Find out what the pets do all day

Go for a walk

Knit

Be waiting for the Smallies when they come home from school.

And this is just the preliminary list of Big Plans.  If things go well, I'm also going to look into getting a social life.  Well, at least find some like-minded knitters to hang out with.

The run-up to my big exit from the rat race has been intense.  When things start going down hill, it really does get faster at the bottom.  Job 1 as soon as I was free of the day job was to assemble and ship the Wisteria kits for Madrona:
 

Behold the glory of the handpainted Wisteria Yarn!  I got to ask especially for the yarn attributes I wanted for this project.  I got to specify the color palette.  I got to confer with the yarn artist.  And then I got to bring home this huge hurkin' pile of beauty to make the kits from!  How's that for a knitters' Dream Come True?  My Madrona students are SO going to love this. 

As for the actual kit-making, I had lovely assistants:

Lookit how Helpy they all are!  We assembled all the kits together, right here on the dining room table.  I asked them if they thought this would make us a Close-Knit family.  Three pairs of eyes rolled skyward, and the dog groaned.

So the kits are mailed, and I can breathe for a little bit.  Thing the Next will be the Catkins project.

And yes, Clementine is adjusting to the new scenery, as well.