Stitchy McSeamy-Pants

I have made no small amount of noise regarding the benefits of circular knitting.  It stands to reason that I will do just about anything to eliminate seams from my knitting.  And I will.  Except when I decide to ADD seams.  ADD seams?  You heard me right:  I swear on Barbara Walker's pantyhose, seams have a bang-up brilliant purpose.  Just not the one you think.

I stand behind everything I ever said about flat knitting with seams being harder to shape than knitted tubes.  I know I'm right when I say that circular knitting is better, faster and in all ways superior to flat.  But seams have one fantastic use that tubes cannot accomplish: 

They let us match the patterns in our sleeves presicely, while giving us the perfect place to hide yarn tails from stranded colorwork without weaving them in.  You can read more about the tail-hiding colorwork version of this theory in my book, but for today's illustration, I'm going to show you some conjoined sleeves made with only one strand.  I made these for my Elizabeth Zimmerman Percentage Sweater.  I'm at the point in the EZPS process where I need to have two sleeves to join onto the body tube in order to start shaping the upper half of the sweater.  I have long suspected that getting two matching sleeves would be tricky using self-striping yarn, and my suspicion was correct.  Add 2-color corrugated rib to the process and things can go squirrely pretty quickly.  My solution:  Knit two sleeves together with steeks in between, cut them apart, then make a seam in each one.

This particular yarn (Paint Box by Knit One, Crochet Too), in addition to being really beautiful, is also nice and sticky.  By that I mean that its 2-ply woolen-spun qualities make it an excellent candidate for a crocheted steek, which you can see below.  The crochet is done in black 2-ply fingering-weight; a finer guage than the rest of the sweater, to avoid excess bulk.  Here are my two sleeves, still conjoined, with steeks already secured.

To crochet a steek , you reinforce the edges before cutting them by working a chain around the stitches that will be cut.  You make two rows of double crochet, and then cut the ladders of knitting between them.

Here is a closeup of me doing that (Warning:  Scissors + Knitting may = dangerous viewing for the squeamish)

The cut stitch edges, bound neatly in their crochet chain, will quickly felt down with wear and washing.  Want proof it really works?  Check out some antique Fair Isle knitting, and prepare to have your mind blown.

Here I am making the actual seam (working yarn is the black 2-ply again, this time doubled).  Rather than sewing, think of the stitches you make as lacing up the opening - just as with ice skates, or a corset.  Working from the right side, you stitch through the ladder of every stitch on either side of the opening.  Pull each successive stitch less tightly than the last until you have 8 or 10 "laces", then gently snug them up by pulling the working yarn:

The laces disappear, the edges butt together, and the seam is just about indecipherable.

Here's our wee beastie, the finished seam, from the wrong side (notice how well-behaved and flat it is,with no blocking or steaming at all?),

And from the right side. 

The seam is invisible, and only the mirrored increases on either side hint at its location.  The horizontal stripes match perfectly, rather than spiraling with a "step" as they would do if knitted in the round.  This tendency is even more pronounced in striped or stranded colorwork designs.  And the biggest bonus:  A perfectly matched pair of sleeves, with no guessing, no fudging, and no faking.  No thinking, either - just knit, stabilize, cut and lace them up.

Kids, DO try this at home!  Just remember the following:

Crocheted steek edges are only for untreated, 100% wool yarns.  NO superwash, and NO blends.  Only do this with a yarn that can felt.  Don't panic; there are other ways to secure those other yarns. I just want you to be sure you have chosen the proper victim for performing this daring feat.

A brilliant set of instructions on the actual crochet stitching for steeks is here.  Now go forth and seam something.  You have my blessing.
 

Distribution

Time and time again I have been asked why I didn't choose to self-publish my book.  It's true that I may have realized a higher per-volume profit, had I done so.  But I also would have had to assume all the responsibility for so many aspects of publishing (about which I know nothing) that I might never have seen a finished product.  And even if I had achieved all that on my own, I would still have been faced with the extremely daunting work of distribution.  Distribution would be the actual getting of books into the hands of would-be readers, a process both convoluted and byzantine.  Not to mention heavy.  Books really weigh a lot, as evidenced by the wee parcels I received yesterday:
 

That would be 8, count em, eight boxes of books. 

Friends of the blog, Knit Picks are hosting a swell book party here in Portland on 11-11, for which we agreed it would be easier if I just bring along the books.  And here they are.  there are 160 of them in this pile.  And now that they are here, all I can think is WOW, there were actually 20,000 copies in the first printing, and I am so happy that I don't have to schlep them all around with me, or try to get them to the book stores, yarn stores and warehouses where they need to be.  This is but one of many, many times that I am so grateful to my publisher for all that they do.  Not only are they really good at it, they work their magic without my ever knowing it.  The shiny beautiful books just arrive on cue at the right place, without slightest skill or bother on my part.  This meditation on the nature of all things Schleppy has brought me to the following conclusion:

More things should work like this.  For example, there should be a Global Laundry Distribution Conglomerate.  This GLDC would procure dirty clothes from their points of origin (bathroom floor) using GPS locators.  Then white-gloved delivery personnel would return them, clean and ironed, to the appropriate wardrobe-containment unit.  Imagine the well-oiled beauty of the GLDC's sock management administration:  Satellites could triangulate the position of any missing single sock for instant Hosiery Reunification, which process could be tracked via internet any time of the day or night.  We have the technology; why can't it be used for good instead of evil?

Or how about Coffee Service On Demand? CSOD would, by subscription, result in the libation of choice delivered to your armchair, bedside or car window.  Facial recognition software could transmit your beverage preferences to the nearest CSOD agent for immediate fulfillment.  How hard could that be?  Honestly, we can put astronauts into space; but try scoring a half-caff lowfat latte at the wrong time of day.

And while we're at it, why doesn't my refrigerator do the grocery shopping for me?  The weight sensor in my frige shelf should know when I'm running low on milk and transmit that data to my grocery, who would then know what to bring on its weekly delivery run.  Nothing difficult there; no wheels being reinvented. 

I think our society should start applying our vast command of technology and human know-how to some common sense endeavors.  If our global leaders are looking for any guidance on how to harness the power of all we have wrought, they need look no further than their children's' kindergarten teacher, or the guy at the deli, or the lady at the local yarn store.  We all know what needs inventing, what we want to take responsibility for, and what we could really do without. 

I'd love to go on about this, but I have to go find somebody's sock.

Spooky

Gentle Readers, at this time of year it is my tradition to dream up creepy stories of a grotesque and spine-chilling nature.  Proceed at your own peril, and never say you were not warned:   It's about to get kinda Halloween-y around here...

For your entertainment, a Gruesome Tale:

Ewedora Skimbleskein could knit and spin.  These facts were certain, and well-known.  In fact, it was often said of Ewedora that her friends had the warmest heads and hands of all, due to her prolific production.

So it came as a surprise to Ewedora when, one fine day, she went to her stash looking for merino, and found the cupboard BARE.  Where was the cashmere?  The mohair?  The quiviut?  A knitter's lifetime store of string, vanished!  Whatever could have happened?  Ewedora checked for the camphor balls, the cedar chips, and the lavender sachets.  Those, too, were missing.  In her distress, she stumbled backward, falling into the many arms of

A Moth of Unusual Size.

And by Unusual Size, I mean that this moth towered over her, his antennae rubbing the ceiling with a horrid scratching sound.  He eyed her cardigan hungrily, twitching his powdery wings.  "Have you come for dinner?" He asked.  "Certainly not" replied Ewedora, arranging her features into what she hoped was a calm expression.  "I've only come checking to make sure all my Acrylic Yarn is safe, and it's gone missing.  Have you seen it?"

The Moth squinted with suspicion.  "I can't recall.  What color was it?".   "Variegated orange and olive", she replied without flinching.  "Twas a gift from my granny in the early 80's, and my prize possession.  Surely you have seen it, standing in my stash cupboard as you are?"

"Can't say that I have.  But if you'll drive me to the yarn shop, I'm sure I could help you find some there."  Ewedora was many things, but gullible was not one of them.  She would never fall for such a transparent ruse.  Imagine being tricked into driving a giant moth to the yarn store.  And on Knit Night, no less.  What would all her friends say?  Even the gentle knitters would agree that delivering a giant moth to the LYS on Knit Night is decidedly bad form.  Still, she wondered if there was any hope of finding what the creature had done with her stash.  He couldn't have had time to eat it all; it had been where it belonged only moments before.  But where could the beast have taken her yarn?  She needed time to think.

"Excellent notion," proclaimed Ewedora.  "I'll drive you to the yarn shop.  But first, let me get my felted bag."  The gargantuan insect widened his eyes, and a small amount of drool escaped its mouth before he could wipe it away.  Ewedora backed carefully out of reach.  Retrieving her bag from an upper shelf, she held it out for inspection.  "Isn't this lovely?" She asked casually. "I made it from my own handspun.  It's Cormo and Ramboulliet, stranded, then felted."  The straps are knitted I-cord…

SNAP!

The creature chomped down hard, but Ewedora was too quick.  She snatched the bag from reach just as the giant mandibles clamped.  Knitters can move preternaturally fast when fiber is in danger.  "GIVE IT" slobbered the moth.  "Come and take it," Ewedora intoned evenly.  As she did so, she stepped in front of the open cupboard door.

With a great flap of its sail-like wings, the creature lunged forward.  Ewedora, in one fluid motion, clutched her felted bag to her chest and somersaulted forward, while slamming shut the cupboard door with one foot.  The giant moth whimpered from inside.  "It's dark in here," he sniveled.

Piled in the corner where the creature had been standing was Ewedora's stash.  Cashmere and Cormo, Seacell and Silk, all were uneaten and accounted for.  Ewedora's brave façade crumbled at the sight of her beloved collection.  A lifetime of accumulation, of places visited, of friends held dear, of projects yet-undreamed.  She threw herself into the fluffy embrace of her yarn pile, sobbing with relief, and clutching the skeins like lost loves.

The creature in the cupboard tried a different tack:  "I'm really sorry.  It was all just a misunderstanding.  I was standing watch over that pile of wool.  You never know who might come along wanting to take it…"

Having quickly accounted for every yard of her string, Ewedora pulled herself together and assessed the situation.  The Moth would have to be removed, that much was clear, but how?  A pacifist, she couldn't bear the thought of killing the bug.  Besides, imagine the mess.  Cleaning that up would use a whole afternoon of knitting time.  No, there had to be a better way…

"So hungry…" whined the giant moth in the cupboard.  "All right, I'll let you out, but only on one condition: You have to change your eating habits for good."  "Anything you say, just open the door!  I'm scared of the dark."

Ewedora seated the moth at her dining room table, and tied a napkin around its neck.  She handed him sterling flatware, and poured glasses of her second-best Cabernet.  Then she brought out the feast:  A platter piled high with variegated acrylic yarn. 

"Not bad", said the moth, twirling some yarn around his fork.  "And so much easier to come by!  But I thought this was a treasure from your Granny?"

"Not exactly," replied Ewedora. Granny DIDN'T KNIT" (insert shrieking violin noises here).