The Doctor is In

So you’ve knitted for a month, or a year, or a cycle of Wagner’s Ring. You’ve done all that you can to that sweater or dress or motorcycle cozy. Except to cut the steek.

This UFO now represents not only the knitting allowance invested in its yarn, but all the time and effort required to get it to this stage, as well. And there it sits. Still in the tote bag or storage unit where you left it until such time as the adequate stores of courage could be found to cut the steek.

You’ve followed along with me on my adventures, inwardly cringing as I ruthlessly hack up my knitting. You’ve heard me bang on about how hard it isn’t to cut open a tube of knitting. But still your steek remains uncut.

You’ve revisited this project a number of times. Maybe even re-read the pattern instructions right up to their blithe direction to cut the steek. “As if!” your would-be steekmaker cries. It’s just too daunting. What if all that time and money and effort end in disaster? What if the whole thing falls to pieces? What if the cutting goes fine but the finishing is a nightmare? Maybe you’ve even come to “Eeek! Steeks!” class with me to learn the finer points of the operation, but just need a little more confidence.

So there the poor little UFO sits, waiting for the proper planetary alignment to see its day in the sun.

I’ve been there, Gentle Readers; O I have.

Today I present a solution: Come visit me in my virtual living room, and I’ll help you sort it out.

Yes! I’m throwing a little steek party, and I really want you to come. It will be an open workshop. You can practice one or more steek techniques with me. Or brush up on just the one you think you’ll use on an actual garment. Or play a few rounds of “Stump The Teacher” with me by offering your hardest questions. For these three hours, I’m all yours, and anything goes with regard to steek-y goodness. Want to know how to add a steek to a pattern that doesn’t call for one? Want to change the size or shape of some knitting that isn’t quite right? Got general stranded colorwork questions you’ve been burning to ask? Well here’s the opportunity. Join me on 02-23 at 10AM PST for gobs of knitterly fun.

Click HERE to register.

I’m here to help you screw your courage to the sticking place, my friends, because the only wrong knitting project is the one that never gets completed.

Knitting Fearlessly

I’m coming up for air after a big weekend of teaching and high jinks at Vogue Knitting Live, in which I communed with around 100 of you, and happy times were had by us all.

Who’s up for more? This Friday I’m teaching “Fearless Two-Color Mittens” for Longmont Yarn Shoppe via Zoom, which is a great follow-up for students who have completed my introduction to stranded colorwork. It’s also great for intermediate mitten-knitters who are ready for a sample of traditional Norwegian mittens!

Included with the class fee is my “Nordica” Selbuvotter pattern.

“Nordica” Includes all the important Selbuvotter elements, and together we’ll explore the technicques, symbolism and folklore associated with them.

If you’ve ever been curious about the unique nature of this brand of knitting, this is your chance to find out more, with me as your guide.

And I’ll even teach you how to pronounce “Selbuvotter””.

Click HERE for details and registration.

A Plunge Worth Taking

After completing the renovations to my wannabe hacking jacking jacket, but before attaching the new hand-tied leather buttons, I did what any sensible tailor would: I put it on the dress form and paced nervously around it for several days. Then I asked you, Gentle Readers, whether to risk washing it or not. Then I started knitting a dress. And finally, I decided that the potential reward of washing it would be worth the risk, and busted out the Dawn Dishwashing Liquid (friend to all things filthy and wool):

My jacket, relaxing in the bubble bath. Note the throw-uppy brown of the water.

I lay herc arefully into a farm sink filled with cold water and Dawn. Then I gently pressed down, to make sure the surface tension and air were released. Then I walked away; Far away; for three hours. I steadfastly resisted the temptation to check, swish, or otherwise agitate the jacket in any way. I *may* have forced myself to leave the house, just to be safe.

Then I let the water drain without actually moving the jacket for another several hours. I knew squishing/wringing the water out would, at best, create hard wrinkles, and at worst, rumpled/shrunken canvas and padding. I had to leave again to keep myself from messing with it.

Still unsure of the results, I removed her from the sink and lay her flat to dry on a pile of clean towels. I rolled an additional towel up and placed it crosswise along the shoulder line, for support.

A full two days later (it’s the dead of winter, remember), I was able to hang her on an antique suit hanger (read: shapely wooden shoulders) over a heat register in order to get the hems fully dry without stretching out the length of a damp jacket.

And miracle of miracles, she barely had a wrinkle! Not so much as one nasty crease. My uncharacteristic patience paid off! Let that be a lesson to me. It won’t, but it seemed worth saying, at least.

I assembled my pressing tools. Knowing I was going to blog this, I searched for equivalent pressing accoutrements to which I could direct you. Sadly, they are hard to find, and smaller/less robust than those my mother passed down to me. But have a look HERE and HERE, if you’re inclined.

A selection of pressing tools, all vintage, from my childhood, and still going strong

Steaming and pressing in the bag without incident, I was finally able to attach my newly-arrived buttons. The were/are unequivocally worth the wait.

Thanks, Italy, by way of NYC!

And there we have it: A hacking-style jacket from handwoven Scottish wool, for less than $50 (the buttons cost far more than the jacket, and are worth every penny) and a couple of hours.

I love this thing, both coming;

And Going!

And lastly, a Selfie, with Atlas Puppy looking on approvingly in the foreground: As with the jacket, what this shot lacks in artifice, it supplies in authenticity:

What say you, Friends? Might you try a simple restoration like this, given a worthy wool and the right pricetag?