Dominance Issues

I'm still, miraculously, not sick.  Campbell is greatly improved, but Lindsay and Phillip are still on their lips.  While I await the inevitable, I'm knitting swatches for my Madrona steeks students.

I've learned that knitters have a much easier time cutting up knitting that they didn't make themselves, and have no emotional attachment to.  And since their homework is to complete a 6-ft stole in time for class, I figure the least I can do is make some dumb swatches for them. Sure, they're thrill-seekers, but asking them to complete three more little swatches on top of that stole knitting might be just enough to put somebody over the edge.  So I'm making 75 swatches.

Today I thought I'd use one of them to demonstrate something that comes up all the time when I teach stranded colorwork knitting:  Strand Dominance.  Why does it matter which strand is above and which is below?  The answer is that it doesn't.  Unless you change their positions.  A picture tells the whole sordid tale.  Notice anything different between the lower half of this swatch and the upper half?

How about Now?

No?  Don't worry if the whole thing looks the same to you.  The difference is extremely subtle.  Except when it isn't.  How about now?:

Now imagine if the strands were changing position willy-nilly, rather than precisely halfway up the swatch?  That would make for some very uneven knitted fabric, and some pretty wonky colorwork.  Have a piece of stranded knitting hanging around that you don't love?  Take a look at its strand orientation, and see if a light bulb doesn't come on for you. 

Moral?  Make a command decision as to which strand is above, and which strand is below, and stick with it.  Easy as can be, and so simple, once we understand it!  Knowledge is power, Gentle Readers.  Now go forth, and knit like the Rock Stars you are.

Night of the Living Histamines

Three out of four Huff family members are sick.  I'm passing out cold medicine like Halloween candy. 

They all have different sick styles, too.  Lindsay lies in a puddle, with only the occasional whimper to alert me that she's still conscious.  Campbell forgets there's anything wrong with him until he notices he can no longer breathe, and then collapses into a truly impressive coughing fit.  And Phillip gets Mad.  He's always been that way - doesn't notice any physical clues to illness - just gets angrier and angrier until one of us asks if he's feeling unwell, and then he answers, "Well, yeah, I guess I am about to die."  He actually went to work today.  God help his co-workers: We, who also have to live with him, salute you.

I've been slinging chicken soup for a couple of days now, and living in fear that it's my turn next.  And when I say "fear", it's more like mathematical certainty.  There is NO chance I will outrun this crud - not when I'm surrounded on all sides.  I've been wearing a hazmat suit and shooting disinfectant like a teenage boy with Axe body spray, but I can't buck these odds forever.  Nope, all I can do is make sure the groceries are bought and the medicine cabinet is stocked, and wait for the inevitable.

As a career germophobe, I often wonder if the threat of catching a cold is worse than actually getting one.  And I know it's just the crazy talking when I think "Okay, enough already - I'd like to just get sick and get it over with".  But nope, I'm still clear of sinus, smooth of throat, and otherwise pretty much functional. 

Which leaves only me available for daily chores such as dog-walking, dishwashing and lozenge-fetching.  I stepped over somebody's carcass with a laundry basket under one arm and retrieved a wadded tissue from the floor with the salad tongs.  And it crossed my mind for the jillionth time that this Mommy thing is just Super Glamorous. 

Man, I hope nobody's been sneezing on my yarn.


 

Felt Like It

This has been a big week of all things hatty, here in my corner of the living room.  I got a little crazy playing with felt, and decided I'd try doing it by hand, just to say I'd done it once.  First I made some flower parts, after looking at pictures of Japanese Anemones.

I quickly lost patience during my first attempt, with hot water in the bathroom sink.  It didn't seem like I was quite cooking with gas.  So I boiled some water in my tea kettle and rigged up a potato masher/measuring pitcher contraption that really did the deed:
 

I got this pitcher thingy in 1992, and even though I accidentally melted the bottom so it no longer sits level, I can't bring myself to get rid of it.  This is only the latest of many bizarre and useful applications I have found for it.  Tupperware is still making them, so I guess I'm not alone in loving a strange piece of plastic.

And speaking of love, get a load of the finished flower!  Just the thing for the dead of winter.  If this baby doesn't perk you up, check your pulse:

I perched it on a Balmoral Bonnet, which I then perched on a young lady:

It's called "Bonny Wee Bonnet".  I had so much fun making this because it went really fast, and I thought you might like it, too.  CLICK HERE to get the pattern on Ravelry.  Grab some worsted-weight yarn from your stash this weekend and you can have one done in time for Robbie Burns Night (1-25-13).  More delicious than Haggis, and less dangerous than Scotch.  Slainte!