House of Homework

My husband goes to school.  I'm not sure, but isn't the next academic certification after "PhD" officially "DemiGod"?  My husband goes to school to further his intellectual understanding of the world, its thinkers, and its fellow lovers of language.  He has to do lots of homework, all the time.

My husband goes to school for his JOB, as well.  He's a public schoolteacher, because that's where he can make a real difference.  In the trenches, if you will. 

He completely blew my mind last week, by describing a family who chose to homeschool its oldest child until he turned 15, at which point he displayed extremely antisocial behaviors (go figure - never met other humans of his own age -), and then summarily handed said child over to the public school system.  Which here means: To the personal care and feeding of the man I married.  Good thing he has room for this kid in his heart.  If you have wondered how/why I could love someone who threw away my fleece, this is one of the many reasons:  Did your parents screw it up?  I'll get you into college anyway!  Last week was the end of the semester, which meant he had to read, critique, and grade the final exams of all 180 of his students.  That's a lot of essays.  And then he had to create new lessons for the beginning of the new semester.  Lotsa homework.

Lindsay gets gobs of homework.  In the 6th grade, Linds studies for two different math classes, advanced placement language arts, social studies and science.  I have wondered this year at the amount of after school work her teachers pile on.  I suppose if you throw enough spaghetti at the wall, some of it is bound to stick.  She's not the sort to complain about it, but she does notice that it cuts into her recreational reading time.

Campbell has homework every week, too.  His is all received on Friday, and he has to pace himself through it all week long to have it done in time to hand in.  To say that Cam dislikes homework would be like referring to the WEBS warehouse as "a yarn collection":  Something of an understatement.  Last night Phillip asked Campbell if his homework was done.  Something in the nine-year-old psyche twanged, and Cam went from zero to pissed off in a nanosecond.  He launched into a rant against fathers, homework, and the impolitic cruelty of the universe.  Phillip's hair may actually have blown back.

And me?  Well, I am making swatches for my steeks students.  Normally the pre-class swatch is the responsibility of the student, but since my Madrona students are already making an entire full-size garment before coming to class, I feel that asking them to make swatches too is just tacky.  72 stranded colorwork swatches.  Lotsa swatches.  Swatch-a-palooza.  Swatch-tastic.  Sure, it's homework, but it's not really my homework, so somehow I don't mind it.  And that's when I got the e-mail:

"The homework for the class you will attend at Madrona has been edited.  Please download the new homework instructions to prepare for your class."

One of the great things about the Madrona winter retreat is that the teachers are all encouraged to also attend classes as regular students.  I am really excited about what I will learn this year.  So much so that I seem to have completely skipped the part where I look at the homework requirements.  It never even crossed my mind to check.  That's right: I'm supposed to be knitting a mini-sweater in order to participate in my class.  I was this close to being the only student to show up with her homework not done.  I, who live in the House of Homework, on Student Street, in the City of Study, in the Province of Preparation.  Didn't even think about needing to attend to my own homework.  Ironic much?

Oh, sorry, Janine Bajus, world-renowned teacher and designer, for coming to your class unprepared, with no homework!  The dog ate it.

Back Story

Today is a rare delight for me:  I get to tell you about something I made, which you can actually now see.  Some of you might even already have it, since the Blue Moon Fiber Arts Rockin' Sock Club  first shipment has officially gone out.  I am privileged to have been chosen to make this design for the coolest, toughest, and most devoted group of sock knitters that ever was.  No pressure.  

Sometimes I feel like the character in Greek mythology (I think it might have been Midas' barber) who couldn't keep a secret and had to dig a hole and whisper it into the ground to keep from exploding.  There are so many things I dream up, and work on, and tangle with, that I am forbidden to share with you before they are ready for prime time.  And as those who have met me know, I was born without the Shut Up Gene, so things get dicey for me at these times.  When I am knitting on a deadline, and every minute has to be spent on one of these Project X items, I can't even go to knit nite, because I can't be trusted not to spill the secrets.  Bummer.  So with great glee, I herewith spew the goods on the Distelfink Socks:

I was really surprised to learn that the lovely and talented Lucy Neatby was selected for this project as long ago as Sock Summit, because I was asked only this fall.  Maybe the enormously busy and productive Ms. Newton forgot that she wanted a second design in the space between?  Or maybe she was mulling over whether traditional stranded colorwork was really the way to go?  I would never ask, since I hate to look a knitting job in the mouth.  What I do know is that this project represents the very first stranded colorwork sock that Blue Moon has ever offered, and I am well and truly flattered by the honor I was given to make it.

The idea for this sock originally presented itself to me a couple of seasons back, when Abby Franquemont and I first met.  I was trying to think of a collaborative project that was all about friendship, and could somehow incorporate her killer spinning with my saucy knitting.  At the time, I thought it should be mittens, with each friend knitting a mismatched pair, and then exchanging to make sets.  She was going to spin some yarn, and I was going to design a motif.  Abby and I both got distracted, and well, you know how it is.  Even the best of friends can find themselves sidetracked, and promise to pick up where they left off some other time...Abby, I still want to trade mittens with you, and someday we will do it!

So Tina asked me to meditate on the nature of friendship, to let it inspire a sock design.  She asked me my favorite color, and I answered "Aubergine", without any clue that she had already made a new aubergine colorway and given it to Lucy to work with a full 2 years ago.  Weird, no? 

I fell in love with Distelfinks when I was a kid, studying american quilts.  A mythical bird with magical powers?  And two of them together signify a blessed friendship?  Sign me up!  For a while I tried not to put that picot edge on the tops, and then I realized that resistance was futile.  The picot is my first love, my all-time favorite edge, and I just couldn't fight it.  Besides, I reasoned that the people getting this pattern were not necessarily going to be familiar with my sweater designs, so why not introduce myself to them properly?

Working with two brand-new, still nameless Blue Moon colors was completely transcendental.  The yarn came in the mail, without a ball band, note, explanation, or anything.  It just arrived, and immediately started whispering to me what it wanted to be.  And after forming an intimate friendship with it, I couldn't help but give the colors names:  The multi-colored one reminded me of a tropical cocktail in a coconut cup.  I dubbed it "Fuzzy Sunrise on the Beach".  And the dark semi-solid could only be "Auber-Genius", like what Wile E. Coyote has printed on the business card he hands to Bugs Bunny.  Last week, when I visited Tina, she presented me with my very own January kit (Rockin' Sock Club: I'm not just a designer, I'm also a member!) I saw then that she had actually adopted one of my names.  And for the record, I think "Pinky Swear" is a way better moniker for the multi than the one I came up with. 

So that's the story of the Distelfink socks.  Oh, and the part when Tina Newton said my sock toes were sexy?  I totally geeked out.  After I read that in her dyer's notes, I vowed never to wash my eyes again.


 

The Sheep called. They said they would make more.

Your response, Gentle Readers, to the news of my sweater loss has been truly astounding.  Gobsmacking, actually.  I knew I had many great knitting friends, but the outpouring of love that has washed over me from you all has completely blown my mind.

Everyone who contacted me said they felt my loss as their own, and unbelievably, offered over and over to help.  Help to search E-bay and Craig's List for me.  Help to re-knit all the sweaters.  Help to come over and paper my neighborhood with signs.  And most importantly, help keeping my spirits up.  Friends have called to check in on me.  Made sure I wasn't hiding under a pile of acrylic yarn.  Offered to bring over snacks.  Even sent replacement birthday presents for Lindsay. 

Knitters can do anything, and when they close ranks around one of their own, there is no safer or more loved place in the world. 

So I have spent the last week licking my wounds, thanking God for my loving and talented supporters, and reminding myself that my problems are blessedly those of the First World.

Worst Things I Did Last Week:

1.    Cry in the police station.  Really hard.  With snot bubbles.
2.    Visit pawn shops, where I was informed that no information could be given to me because they have to "protect the privacy" of their clients (I wondered who was protecting my privacy).
3.    Tell my little girl her birthday presents were stolen and she would have to wait till I could replace them.
4.    Wake up in the middle of every night remembering that the sweaters are gone and try to imagine ways of finding them.
5.    Kick myself for thinking the locked trunk of my car, in my own driveway would be a safe place to store my life's work.

Best Things I Did Last Week:

1.    Read a note of encouragement from a law enforcement veteran who has become a knitter.
2.    Visit pawn shops, where I saw things people have parted with, either willingly or not, under duress.  Belongings are just things.  It's people we can never replace.
3.    Drive my 76-year-old mom to the shoe store, where she insisted on replacing Lindsay's stolen birthday Danskos.
4.    Remind myself in the middle of the night that there is a reason for my loss.  Maybe God decided it was time to remind me how loved I am.
5.    Laugh my ass off when Tina asked me to imagine all the hobos in Portland dressed in Mary Scott Huff sweaters.  Style points at the Rescue Mission would be off the charts.
6.    Be hugged by Phillip, Lindsay and Campbell.  All at the same time.

Gentle Readers, your selflessly kind offers to undertake a massive reknitting project have completely floored me.  If, after a couple more weeks, the samples haven't found their way home. I will be contacting everyone who volunteered to help in that way.  The yarn companies will have to be contacted first, and then there will need to be some sort of organization,  of which I still can't quite conceive.  But I will.

And in the meantime, there are still (thankfully) deadlines for me to meet, and knitting to knit, and ideas to have.  And Blessings to Count.  Thank you, thank you, both old friends and new.  You lot are more than I ever dreamed of, and more than I deserve. 

And thanks especially to whomever called the sheep.