Plans... and some progress

This sweater has been sitting in my to-fix pile for about a year. I bought it at the Gap last February or so, and wore it constantly for about two weeks before one of the shoulder seams ripped out. Another sweater that I bought at the same time was improperly finished, so the cuffs were coming undone from the sweater at the wrists, and I tried to return them, but was only able to get about $40 of a $110 purchase refunded. I had second thoughts, and decided that even if their finishing job was crappy, I could fix it pretty easily.

And then it sat in my to-fix pile for about a year. The pieces were originally crocheted together, and I thought that I really needed to maintain the same seaming if I wanted the sweater to look right. But, a few nights ago I got fed up and sort of haphazardly stitched it back into place instead of attempting to crochet the seam... and what do you know, it looks fine and is wearable again.


It's a very, very cozy sweater. I kind of want to recreate it in wool at some point - it's made of cotton, which works well for this particular sweater, but I also think that an oversize sweater jacket might be really beautiful in a fingering weight merino. Sort of like a combination of the Minimalist cardigan and Pas de Valse. Mmm.


Hopefully next up in the sweater knitting will be the Bubble Pullover, which I'm scheming about making in Cascade Lana Bambu, a gorgeous, slightly variegated aran weight single. I used to have a turtleneck about the same color that was ruined in Indonesia, so I'm excited to have something similar back in my wardrobe.

And, lastly, the coat (now christened the Narnia Coat) is growing. It looks huge and silly here, but this was before sewing the side seams, the bottom and sleeves are still not hemmed, the back needs a dart, and the collar is going to be a shawl collar and not the gigantic rectangle seen here. Progress has been made, but it still has a ways to go.

Crunch time

So, um, this needs to be a coat by next Sunday.



This week: pinning and sewing and cutting and sewing and pinning and stabbing underneath my thumbnail while pinning and sewing and cutting and pinning.

Yesterday, I spent two hours staring at my fabric to make sure that both of my sleeves were the exact same size and placement on pattern. I measured eighty billion times from eighty billion different guiding marks to make sure that the curves of the sleeve caps were the same on both sides and on both sleeves. People started making fun of me because I just couldn't stop obsessing with the pins before sewing in the guide threads.


I feel vaguely as though this process should involve calculus.

Well anyhow, today, I did the same thing, but with the easing of the sleeve caps into the shoulders of the coat. I finished at 6ish, after pretty much doing the same dance of pin, sew, cut, furrow eyebrows at fabric for an hour and a half, for five hours. Sheesh. But tonight, the shoulders were sewn and sleeve set in - a great success after much contemplation and consumption of cookie bars.


And, luckily there are still enough hours in the day for fun - yay for housemates returning!

I'm going in this weekend, too. With any luck, this baby will be finished, with a lining and a proper hem, a little more than a week from now.

Hahahah. Sob.

I feel so much more kinship with Project Runway contestants than I used to.

A Revelation

Failed G-Rocks Jaywalkers of 2007

Here's a story: many years ago, I bought my first skein of Socks that Rock (STR). For those in the fiber world, you know that Lime and Violet have spent tens, if not hundreds, of hours squeeing over it; it sells out super fast at fiber festivals; and, lastly, there seems to be a sort of polarized mass of opinions on it. On one hand, you have those who are obsessed with the colors, no matter the pooling situation, and would sell their left kidney to get into the monthly sock club. On the other, you have people, who, like me until two hours ago, were sort of "meh" about the whole thing.

There's only one really ridiculous problem with the above statement. Okay, ready? I own six skeins of the stuff. Granted, two are in a semi-solid colorway, Oregon Red Clover Honey, which is a prime example of Color Greatness. But the other four are variegated, all bought from Tricoter in Seattle on one of my trips back home.

Now, the first skein is easily explained away. I had heard a lot about Blue Moon, and had read many a blog post that extolled the tight twist and incredible colors of STR. So I went with my mom and we bought some. I picked up a skein of G-Rocks, and knit it into a Jaywalker sock that pooled in an ugly, lopsided way and was entirely too small. Then I changed needles and knit it again, and the colors were beautiful and stripy, and it was too big. Then I changed needles again and the colors were happy.... and the damn thing was too small again. I began to see a pattern, and shoved the yarn into my closet so I could cool down.

But for some insane reason, I didn't stop acquiring it. I got another skein, this time in the colorway Rocktober, thinking that it would be nice for some Embossed Leaves socks. I knit an entire sock before realizing that it was way too big, again. Then my mom gave me the skein of Puck's Mischief that she had bought at the same time as me, after discovering that socks aren't her thing. Then, last summer, I bought a skein of Carbon Dating, pretty much because I am a total dork and could make chemistry jokes more effectively if I had carbon-tastic socks on my feet.

All of this would be a lot easier if I weren't such an insane perfectionist about my knitting. But I am really deeply bothered by pooling, and this yarn so loves to do it - especially in fancy, lacy, cabley patterns. Which kind of brings me to tonight's simultaneous facepalm and cry of victory:

Dear readers - all five of you, hi Mom and Mr. Charlie Weasley! - it has taken me nigh three years to pick a plain sock pattern, cast on, and see what happened. And it turns out that it didn't take any beating into submission, or cursing, or really anything other than watching Gilmore Girls and lazily knitting a Madder Ribbed Sock from Nancy Bush's Knitting Vintage Socks, also known as my favorite sock book ever. No, there was no fight; the yarn kind of cooed and rolled over so I could rub its belly.


AGHHH. I just... have no more words.

It's vintage

A few days ago I was feeling in a mood to paw through vintage clothes, so I went to Ratsy's to check out their latest finds. And find I did: a pair of cute shoes in size 10 (almost impossible to get my hands on in vintage or second-hand stores ) and a classic Liz Claiborne sheath. I was going to wear this today, but after checking the weather forecast decided against it. The snow has been melting, but today it was 34 F again and I decided to go with a slightly toastier outfit. I did keep the shoes, though.


I think the technical term for these pants is culottes? They were another Stella purchase from two or three years ago, and they are fun for dancing - they look like a skirt, but have none of the twirly dangers of even the longest skirt. They are pleated beautifully, and I'm a sucker for anything with polka dots. And the vest, although you can't see it too well, also has polka dots but in a much more subtle way. I have yet to get a very good picture of it, but here's an idea of the material.


It's hand-dyed using mud and although it's pretty thin, it's quilted so it's a really warm layering piece. I got it at the Pike Place Market location of Simo Silk, which also has cheongsams and other gorgeous Chinese style clothing.

I've been reading a copy of Alligators, Old Mink & New Money, a book written by the proprietor of what sounds like an amazing vintage store in New York. She writes about clothes in this way that is incredibly warm and visually oriented, and she explained her view of where vintage fits into fashion really well:

There are people I've me who think the "vintage" label is an all-or-nothing way of dressing, that people who shop at my store wear only vintage or "retro" clothing... for me "vintage" means using older pieces to help create a fresh, one-of-a-kind style, with almost no rules as to how that's achieved.

This really struck a chord with me. Because as much as I love the fit and style of so many vintage pieces, especially from the 50s, I don't feel the need to mess with pincurls or retro kitchen supplies because of it. I think the clothes were beautiful, but the political and social atmosphere is not one that I want to evoke in the way I dress; I don't bake, I find atomic kitsch more disturbing than cute, and I have no particular drive to get married. What I love is the way older clothes are cut to fit curves, and the way very classic lines look with unexpected elements of color or other clothes with more contemporary shapes. But in the end, it's all about how the clothes make you feel - it is always amazing to me, the ability of clothing to both create and convey a mood.

Ok, off to bed now!