Doing Nothing

Still searching for my Muse, I followed your advice, Gentle Readers.  When nothing is happening, then that's what you should be doing: Nothing.

I mellowed out and spun some more, not in my usual style, but as loose and relaxed as I possibly could make it.  My three plies wanted to become worsted-weight, so that's what I let them do:

I'm happier with it than I expected, considering how uncomfortable it was to spin that loosely.  Nice lesson in letting go of control, that.

After that, I felt I could take another crack at the Garter Stitch, seen here under the not-vigilant guard of the sleeping MacTarnahan:

Garter stitch is also not easy for me.  Something about the way the stitches present seems like exactly too much work for my fingers.  Not like stockinette, where the stitches are just a little more inviting to the needle.  I do dig the uncurliness of the fabric, though, which is an extremely welcome change from stockinette. 

I chose garter stich for the bottom of my cardigan because I just could not face another bout of 2 x 2 rib.  It's not that I couldn't suck it up and deliver the 2 x 2; especially now that I have the killer cast-on  for it in my bag of tricks.  No, the problem is that there is no corresponding tubular bind off for 2 x 2, and I have my heart set on matching trim edges for this beastie.  So garter it is.  And in spite of my petulant little attitude, I have to say that in this painted yarn, garter stitch is really beautiful:

Get a load of those sweet little color pebbles, will ya?  Totally worth doing.  Would be nice if I had remembered that garter takes twice as long as other stitches when I issued the decree to myself, though.  Mean Designer.

Tomorrow I'm on a plane to Sunnyvale, CA, where I get to play with the sassy knitters of Purlescence Yarns .   Drop by if you're in the neighborhood, and see what sort of trouble we get up to!
 

My Hovercraft is Full of Eels (and other diffucult translations)

Although the sparkly thing from my last post was complete in plenty of time to wear for my birthday party, I inexplicably lost interest in it the moment it was off the needles.  Haven't even blocked it yet.  No idea why.  Another instance of a completed project who needs a trip to the Aging Closet in order to be appreciated by its maker.  Fickle knitter.

I slammed the works into reverse, thinking that I had holdover guilt from Unfulfilled Sock Camp Energy:

The astute among you, Gentle Readers, will immediately observe that these are the PINKEST  socks ever witnessed by Humankind.  The closure of finishing them did not provide the release I expected, although I have to admit a small degree of smugness at having completed them in less than a week, Epic Sock Camp Scavenger Hunt duties notwithstanding.

I immediately ground the gears into sweater-from-sock-yarn mode, whereby I wound this beauty into balls and discovered Garter Stitch.  While thrilling, for reasons which defy explanation, Garter Stitch began to make me feel cross, somewhere around the 45th row on a size three needle with 240 stitches on it.  Go Figure.

There is simply no accounting for this inability to commit to a project.  It's not as if I haven't tried, for heaven's sake.  It isn't as though any distractions (sanitation standards in a building I have not inhabited in many days, and will be leaving again soon) are pulling my focus.  Heaven knows, I've been paying attention to the yarn, for goodness sake.  I've been whispering to it in a way that would make my husband jealous (if he were here, and not busy with grad school finals).  I've been caressing the skeins with the ardor of a misunderstood nobleman in a bodice-ripper romance.

And does it speak to me?  Does it beckon me to Cast On?  Not a Whit, Gentle Readers.  Clearly my muse has left the building. 

Undaunted (or unwilling to face the topsoil on the kitchen floor), I spun.  Here is Asia, painted by Abstract Fiber .  Nice bit of spinning, but still not quite the diversion I required. 

So what's my problem, anyway?  No idea.  Maybe I just miss my new friends from Camp.  Maybe I'm raring up to pitch the proposal for my new book, and it has me slightly worried.  Sophomore effort, and all that. 

Here's what I do know:  In a world where all the children don't have a good meal and a hot bath and a story before bedtime, my tiny woes are hardly worth mentioning.  Really?  You don't know which gorgeous pile of fiber to play with next?  Let me get out my violin.  In a world where war, and poverty, and want are everywhere, my little struggle with creativity (or the want thereof) is a pretty fine problem, indeed.  Lucy girl I am.  Even if my hovercraft IS full of eels.
 

Blinded by the Light

On the way home from Sock Camp, K.T. and Alice and I stopped by the legendary Churchmouse Yarns.   Even though I had completely blown my stash enhancement allowance, I managed to justify this as a birthday present to my inner knitter:

If buying it was wrong, I don't wanna be right.  Would you believe it's made in the USA?  Just in case owning it isn't enough to feel good about, I can tell myself that I'm supporting other American fiber artists, too.

One of the many things I noticed about myself as a knitter while at camp (where introspection is not only encouraged, it's required) is that I own very few whimsical little accessories.  Like, none, actually.  The other campers all kept appearing with gorgeous lace shawls, and beaded chokers, and embroidered i-pod cozies, while I appeared with nary a knitted personal embellishment.  I have a couple of excuses for this:  One is that the lion's share of my knitting is for work, and I haven't been called upon to work on that sort of thing professionally lately.  Another is that I never thought of making anything like that just for fun before.

But Sivia and Maria both provided me with plenty of inspiration by wearing such pretty things, that I realized I could branch out, too.  And then when I got home, I learned that my birthday party is a night out on the town this Saturday, with dressing up and everything.  So there was absolutely no further procrastinating.  I'm making lace:

It's fluffy, it's sparkly, it's in a color that makes me tingle.  I'm almost halfway done, and no; Dirty Laundry, I can not hear you bellyaching that I've been gone a week and have another week away coming up.  You are dead to me, yesterday's jeans and t-shirts.  Today, I only have eyes for this.