Fanatical Coat

The fruits of my research are beginning to pile up.  I've isolated some books that mention Fana sweaters, and marked their pages with sticky notes.  I'm waiting for two more books in the mail (old ones from Norway, via Germany and Australia) that hopefully will round out the collection.

But this week's big breakthrough was on the internet.  I had searched for Fana information high and low, using every engine and every word or combination of words I could think of.  Or so I thought.

Turns out if you're going to research a topic whose name is not in your native tongue, you should actually make sure you're translating that name properly.  Yep.  It seems that "Fana Sweater" (English) will deliver a few hits from the google-nator.  But "Fanakofte" (Norwegian for "jacket in the style of Fana") will really bring home the bacon.

Duh.

And then once I found the ten million blog posts from every modern Norwegian knitter who's made a Fana in the last few years, all I had to do was implement Google Translator to make sense of them.  But not exactly.  Because I don't speak Norwegian, and Translator doesn't speak Knitting.

Google Translator: "I made my Fanatical Coat for this the traditions technical."

Probably Means: "I made my Fanakofte using traditional techniques."

It's pretty hilarious.  Poor Translator is trying so hard, but it doesn't know knitting things at all. "Masker" means "stitch" in Norwegian, not that the knitter was wearing a mask.  I've had to take a few giggle breaks between attempts.  But thank goodness, photos are helpful in any language, and knitbloggers are great at showing what they mean.

Meanwhile, my own Fanatical Coat progresses.  I'm pretty in love with it so far, although the checkers were acting really corrugat-y at first.  I knew I'd left enough length in the floats, but the unblocked fabric still sucked in like a supermodel's stomach.  Scared me a little, so I finally broke down and hit it with some steam on the ironing board.  

Just as I had hoped, the checkers lay flat, given a little persuasion. Bullet dodged.   Can you imagine if I'd been lying to myself about the length of the floats and had to start over?  Thanks, Knitting!

I promised myself after nine stripes (1/2 of the number I need before it's time for the shoulder border) that I could go button shopping.

Man, I am a cheap date.

Yarn at Last

It's been remarked that I've been *somewhat* on edge while I waited for yarn to arrive.  And by *somewhat*, they meant that I was chewing the table legs.  What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants.  And in my case, it's string.  Specifically, This String:

It's Rauma Strikkegarn, from Norway, via the Yarn Guys.  Yep!  I'm starting the sample Fanakofte for my Stars and Stripes class!  And this is a particularly virulent case of start-itis.  I haven't knitted a stranded colorwork sweater in at least a year and a half: Much, much, too long for me.

And I *may* have anticipated the need for applied trims in this project.  Anticipated, yes, but not actually decided on one.  In a rare moment of clarity, I pulled the trigger on an entire collection, knowing I will use them all at some point.  Really.  I will.  Look HERE for yours.

And with that, it's time to get going.  Start your engines!

Wildlife Observation

A Guest Post by Mary's Husband, Phillip

For the past few days my children and I have borne witness to a disturbing phenomenon:

What happens to a knitter when she doesn't have the yarn she requires.

Some specific symptoms materialize.

The realization that her hands aren't being used causes (in this order):     

Stage 1: Flailing.  First, an inability to sit still while watching television or having 'polite' conversations. This quickly manifests itself as

Stage 2: Manic Project Identification and Completion (a.k.a. "Search and Destroy").  The rest of the family stands by in a relatively idle state as the flailing moves from the hands into the entire body.  The yarn-deprived subject becomes a whirling dervish, attempting to accomplish everything she has ever thought needs doing around the house.  It seems to be some attempt to fill the string void.

This phase is accompanied by unfortunate side effects, as the afflicted cannot understand why the rest of the family is neither

• A. Panicking (this is truly a nightmare)
• B. Assisting in the tasks with appropriate speed, determination, and angst 

Stage 3: Resignation

The energy is spent, and there is still no yarn to knit with.  The patient unhappily succumbs to this fact.  The family can help by removing the subject from the house in attempts to "Take Her Mind Off The Problem" or "Have Fun".  This does provide brief relief (our subject seemed to sincerely enjoy Guardians of the Galaxy),  but in the end it's a temporary victory.  We can't stay away from the house forever, and when we return, There. Is. Still. No. Yarn.

The knitter finds some solace in yarn books and catalogs. The internet helps, unless something reminds her about the dearth of string.  Every once in a while, a wistful sigh escapes from the subject.  We helpless bystanders realize that the only thing any of us can do is wait.

Wish us Luck.