Fricknits

What a Difference...

...a day makes.  Reentry?  You know the feeling.  There's nothing in the fridge, the thermostat is all out of whack, the cat's pissed off at you, and the careful repacking job?  Well, the under-strata is lovely, folded, and orderly,  but the top layers are a treacherous, shifting rubble pile of all that you found in your "last sweep" of the place- miscellaneous Legos from under the couch, that final sippy cup in the drying rack, the shampoo and conditioner from the outside shower, and that Baby Einstein DVD you almost (phew) left in the DVD player.  And half of that is now all over the trunk of the car, because even though you didn't acquire anything on this trip (okay, a little smidge of yarn, but that is still in its original bag or otn), you wish you'd brought twice the suitcases.  Oh, yeah, and your plants are dead.  Your creditors are not.

But if you're lucky, if you click your heels together three times and say, "There's no place like Black Dog Knits!  There's no place like Black Dog Knits!" well, then, you might just get to come home to this:

Two packages from my new favorite Australian cultural export.  You send me a cashmere/wool project bag, gemstone, freshwater pearl, vintage and crystal stitch markers, and two skeins of merino 4ply from The Knittery (colorways Earth and Passionfruit), and I'm one step away from having the Biscuit dress up as you for Halloween, instead.  (Just kidding, Nora.  Angus it is.)

And, from the files of "what a difference a gauge makes," we have these two numbers, my most recent FO's:

This is Cari Luna's Baby Yoda sweater, knit up in Manos Cotton Stria.  It looks kind of lovely in the photo, and it is very soft, but despite the worsted/aran description, this yarn knits up kind of icky on size 6's.  Like runny pantyhose.  I made a few modifications to the sweater, mostly because after photographing Beth's for her, and falling in love with the pattern because of her lovely purple version, I also listened to her warning about the amount of seaming that goes into this relatively small sweater.  I did the sleeves in the round and a three-needle bind-off for the shoulders.  I also omitted the two 6" lengths of i-cord for the inner ties, opting instead for less bulky ribbons.  Now I'm almost finished with version #2, which I did in the round to the armholes, and in a very Yoda color (photos in next post, promise).  Because you know I can't knit anything just once, right?  (Cough *Wallaby* *BSJ* cough.)  I had plenty of the Cotton Stria left over, so I also whipped up another of Adrian's bonnets on size 3's:

Aaaah.  Now that's how Cotton Stria should be knit.  Anyone know how to do some good bear ears? 

Take-Home Lesson, v.3

a.k.a. Home is Where the Politically Incorrect Juice Glasses Are

1.  The Setting: I've been coming to this cottage in Nags Head, North Carolina ever since I can remember.  That photo is from 1982 (I was 8; my sister was 6), taken in the kitchen here, and nothing has changed.  Well, except for the circumference of my thighs.  We must have been playing Housewife.  How very quaint.  The cottage is carpeted in threadbare orange-and-yellow 70's dreamsicle and decorated with the most delicious mix of my Granny's beach finds (that woman could arrange a bucketfull of crushed beer cans into something beautiful, I tell you), cross stitch projects completed by various family members (including one very complex fish I stitched before I discovered knitting and never looked back), and kitchsy weirdness.  Unfortunately, due to various factors including the fact that the Veteran's Administration gives people like my Pop, who served four and a half years in the jungles of New Guinea, the runaround, we might not hold onto the cottage forever.  And so I wanted to photograph a few of the things that will always make this the most special place in the world to me, like the HLR sign- my Pop's initials- that has always decorated the front of the house until it fell recently.  Two of Pop's names are the Biscuit's. 

2.  The Details: Some thoughts on store-bought kitsch:  It may be initially very attractive, all that tiki stuff and the juice glasses with winking 50's housefraus painted on, but nothing beats the real thing.  Those glasses above celebrate Davy Crockett, and they've been a confusing and vibrant part of my summer history since I can remember.  One depicts Davy, "Hero of the Alamo," staving in the head of a Mexican soldier with his rifle butt.  The other celebrates Crockett, "Indian Fighter," standing next to a huddled bunch of peaceful-looking natives smoking pipes and wrapped in blankets, which are probably smallpox-laced.  The other glass that's still here depicts Foghorn Leghorn saving Henrietta's egg from the clutches of the Chicken Hawk.  Some death with your breakfast?

3.  The Lesson: I wonder what will say home to my boys?  I wonder if we'll be here together in years to come, whether I'll be able to give them anything near what I've been given by my parents and grandparents in this special place.  The couch is scratchy, and there are roaches.  The shower leaks, and a bare foot that touches the front deck is just a-screamin' for a splinter.  But there is no place on this Earth that I'd rather be.  So maybe I don't have to work so hard to make everything bright and safe and clean and edifying.  Because home just seems to be where the memories (be they ever so splintery) are.

New FO details in Knits '07!

Take-Home Lesson, v.2

a.k.a. "Sand Hole Philosopher"
a.k.a. "Further Evidence that I Overthink Everything"

1.  Why do we dig holes in the sand?  It's a futile gesture.  Our hopeless battle with the sea.  Our sand holes fill in in a night, if not a mid-day tide, just as our handknit socks begin to lose their lustre, not to mention the integrity of their stitches, with the first wear.  And that sweet baby sweater?  The one we imagine will be worn again and again, loved to distraction for its handmade heirloom quality, photographed and carefully wrapped in tissue for future generations?  More likely will languish in the "handwash" basket, finally reach peak fit in the dog days of summer, be thrown into the wash on "scalding hot" only to emerge a perfect potholder.

2.  Why do we dig holes in the sand?  Because it connects us to a time when our work was more physical, more raw, more essential.  No virtuality to it, no ephemeral words, no bytes representing our hours.  We hunted, gathered, hauled, dug, wove, spun, knit...  Something in us wants to go back to those hardworking days.  I know my triceps feel the burn.

3.  Why do we dig holes in the sand?  Because just like knitting that very doomed-to-potholderdom sweater, it's fun, damnit.  Take that, Nietzsche.

I've added the details on the socks and baby cap in the Knits '07 album.  Here's sand in your suit!

Take-Home Lesson, v.1

Blogging on vacation is hard.  I feel like a complete doof sitting here on the porch of the cottage, in full view of the MTV Real World Drama of the Lifeguard House across the street (it's like a clownmobile of 20-somethings in there), typing on a laptop.  So I've decided to say just three things each time I write while I'm down here, which is both manageable and might serve to keep me from looking like a complete 30-something workaholic dweeb...until I call the cops on their late-night shouting-and-street-football matches.  (If I call over, "Hey!  It's a knitting blog!  Not work!  You think I'd work here?  No way!  It's knitting, dude!" that it'll help?  No?  What, is it the maternity bathing suit?  The driveway covered in sidewalk chalk drawings of lizards and ceiling fans?  It can't be the knitting!)

A few things that occur to me every year when I'm here (and I've been coming here every year since birth) but I can't seem to remember once I return home:

1.  The BLT may be the world's most perfect sandwich.  Sure, I've switched from white to wheat bread, and from lettuce to spinach, and from mayo to goat cheese, but the superiority of this sandwich remains undisputed.  No longer will it be the Beach-L-T.  Year 'round, I delcare it!

2.  Stop your sniveling and sit down in the sand.  And while you're at it, wade out into that chilly, jellyfish-infested water.  You don't want to be that girl, sure to miss out on something fun.  And that's why they have those showers at the end of the walkway.  And vinegar.

3.  I always, always, always want to have access to an outdoor shower.  (The fact that I've stocked it this year with Megan's Misty Mountain soap-my favorite yet- is just an added bonus.)

Sorry to flash FO's and run, but it's our sixth anniversary today and I've  gotta stick by my man.  I did indeed finish my first pair of toe-ups, and that's the Sweet Baby Cap by Gro you see with one of Biscuit's beach finds sticking out of it.  So...do all babies in Norway have coneheads?  I'm starting to worry that this might be a bit Trekky for me.  We've got three months to wait and see!

Have It Your Way

I ate not one, but three hamburgers while in New York City.  Three.  But only one was "the" hamburger, and I thank my Yoda for showing me the way.  I didn't eat mine with a fabulous knitter, but Mr. Frick was there, and so was our friend Jon, and the Kentucky Derby was on the telly and the pickles were so crisp and the mustard was spicy.  I'd trade a hank or two of Koigu to be back there, I really would.  Speaking of which:

Here's the Purl haul!  I spent quite a bit of time squeezing my way around and around the center table before ducking into Once Upon a Tart next door for some sugary refreshment, but I stuck to my list.  Actually, I showed remarkable restraint and even cut a few items.  The brown and orange Koigu is for socks, and perhaps the edging on another BSJ (yes, my fourth).  The rust-orange Koigu Kersti (a much deeper color than pictured) is for a Placket Neck Pullover for the Fricklet. I took some photos for you, and here's a hint: I asked first.  They really appreciate that at Purl.

That last photo is of my favorite Purl feature- the touchy-feely table.  Unfortunately, I never made it to School Products, as wedding festivities kept us superbusy.  No yak, no camel for me.  But I guess that's okay, as Ravelry's got me cataloguing the stash, and I'm finally having to come face to face with the lunacy of my yarn habit.  You can check out a mere fraction of it in my Flickr set, but much more is to come, as my Mother's Day request was time to photograph, catalog, and re-organize the Beast.  So check back on Monday for a real eye-opener.  (For those of you still awaiting a Ravelry invite, I strongly suggest that you get a leg up by photographing the stash and uploading it all to Flickr, plus eating, sleeping, seeing that new movie, and calling your mother/grandma/Great Aunt Tillie.  Because once you start with the Ravelry, well, there's really nothing else getting done.)

What else did I do in NYC?

These are from the Sugar Sweet Sunshine bakery.  I understand there are some strong opinions out there regarding the best cupcakery in NYC.  This is a debate I could really get into, I tell you.

Still with me?  I have one last bit of Eye Candy for you.  Below is a photo of a few of the gorgeous gents who shared a minivan with me this past weekend.  As it is my bloggiversary today, let's have a little contest, shall we?  From left to right we have Mr. W, Mr. B, Mr. E, Mr. T, and Mr. C.

Leave a comment telling which of these gentlemen:

1.  Asked me to teach him to knit (and requested I make him an adult version of my WIP).

2.  Was, within 20 minutes of our arrival, kissed on the cheek in Tompkins Square Park by this man.  And lives to tell the tale.

Hint:  The knitter is not the kiss recipient, though some pointy sticks may have come in handy for him.  And a Purell wipe. 

Your prize will be perfection itself- a marriage of my stash and your personal tastes.  The stash is wide, and deep, and can accomodate just about any request.  Are you a Dijon girl?  Bread and butter pickles?  Avocado?  Here at Fricknits, you really can have it your way! 

Having this blog has really changed my life- given me reasons to write more consistently, a community of friends, and constant inspiration.  Thank you for being with me through this year.

Big Wooty Weekend

We've got a wedding to attend in NYC this weekend, and this is a big deal.  The Biscuit will be safely tucked away in Grandma's House of Wonders Where Anything Goes Except Food Outside of the Kitchen, and though recent events have made Mr. Frick and me even more apt to miss the little scamp even ten minutes after he's put to bed, we both know a little couple time is in order.  There will be hand holding.  There will be a marked decline in the cutting-food-into-tiny-pieces at dinner.  People, there may even be loitering.  And there will be room in my bag for stashquisitions!  I've canvassed two folks whose opinions I value, and therefore plan to hit both Purl and School Products.  Woot!  And look!  My wedding knit is finished!

This is the Little Lace Shrug from Lace Style.  I knit it up in KnitPicks Andean Silk in the color Sangria, and it took just over two balls and three days.  I was worried about it for a while, as it looked all baggy and weird when I first tried it on.  Then I seamed up the armholes another inch (3 1/2 " instead of the called-for 2 1/2) and added the border, and huzzah and woot again!  It fits perfectly.  Just right to wear over my standard maternity party dress.  (And by "standard" I mean "sole.")  Here's the back shot:

All that remains is to make lists.  Lots of lists.  I think I have blogged about this before: the list-making that must take place when traveling either with young children, or without young children for whose happiness (a.k.a. What He Will Eat, Routines That Can't Be Tampered With, Surefire Stop-Tantrum Fixes, What He Means When He Says XYZ)  you must still be accountable. And of course there is the obsessive combing-over of the pattern stack to find the just-right projects to take along.  I will be riding up Friday morning in a minivan chock full of (full-grown) boys.  Some pointy sticks may come in handy.

Of course, this is a big weekend for a lot of you who will be attending the MDSW Festival.  Have a blast!  I, of course, am sorry to miss it, as it was the Big Blogger Meetup last year that finally convinced me to jump into the blogpond myself.  (Thrice-lucky woot! I must be having a bloggiversary soon.)  Beth will be there with four of our students from last year, and she's organizing a scavenger hunt for them.  They'll be in teams of two, each with a digital camera.  So far, here's what we've come up with:  longest line, prettiest yarn (Beth being the ultimate judge), cutest animal, and most people actively knitting that can be captured in one photo.  If you have other suggestions for Beth, she really wants to hear them!  You can leave in the comments or over on Numerical Knitting.  I'm sure you creative cats can come up with something!   

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I think this photo adequately sums up the past four days, but of course I can't help but share some more.

Three of my grandparents grew up in the country.  Their parents owned general stores, planted tobacco, sent them running to the well for water.  One was a city girl.  Two married and lived throughout the world: in the shadow of Mt. Fuji, on the beaches of Bermuda, in the officer's clubs of Pretoria.  Two married and settled in the suburbs, raising three daughters just a few miles from where I sit now.  Suburbs, wild places, foreign soil- I think these are all a part of who I am.  And as I checked in on the blog from the farm (farm Internet- enough for email, but for blogging, forget it), I found comments and emails from friends remarking that my posts had either given them the impression that I am a hipster, crunchy granola type, fox (okay, that was my slightly biased dad), or mousy suburban schoolteacher.  After a few giggles, those comments did make me wonder about my Internet presence and how I come across.  I'm always forgetting that people I know in "real life" read this blog.  (Sorry about that pregnancy announcement snafu, guys.)  I want to be straightforward and true to myself here, but of course on a blog you get to edit and shape and frame your life in certain ways that might just polish things up a bit.  Okay, so yes, I am mousy.  That's really the bottom line.

This week I'm celebrating that hippy/crunchy side of me.  The side that would rather be at the farmer's market than anywhere else on the weekend.  The side that buys organic and recycles and doesn't mind the dirt (but has never and will never wear Birkenstocks, no matter how comfy).  But there's also a healthy helping of hipster in Charlottesville.  Hipster crunchy?

I've returned to the suburbs to drop off the Biscuit, but I'm returning today for No Boys Allowed Weekend.  There will be knitting on a project long overdue, and pie, and gardening, and one very fancy dinner for two due-in-September gals who deserve the break.  And maybe we'll just dance naked in the light of the Louisa moon.  Who knows?  There'll only be the deer and bears to know. 

A Toast

It is a tradition that we spend New Year's with our dear friends on The Farm.  In past years we'd watched the ball drop, crafted paper hats, partaken of the delights of the farm kitchen...and fallen asleep at 10.  This tradition, however, had been interrupted by the addition of Biscuit and Farmbaby to our families.  This year, with the Biscuit (largely) sleeping through the night, and a new home built on the property with plenty of room for all, it was time to reclaim The Farm.  How wonderful to slip so easily back into our comfy niche there.  There was music-making:

Time to finish the last knit of '06 (hey, S, check the album- I used the name you suggested):

And to begin the first of '07 which, as is fitting, is the same knit, only in Peace Fleece and in a larger size for the Biscuit to grow into.  Perhaps the Wonderful Wallaby will be my Jaywalker...

Sit and stare time (check out Farmbaby's sweet curls!):

 

Time to marvel at this handknit tablecloth (!) from Bulgaria, and the way that everything is more beautiful in FarmLight:

There was time to chronicle some of the knits of FarmGirl, who is a Manos hat machine (see FarmGuy above and FarmGirl below for hats in action), and to find new artwork for the Biscuit's room:

And at the end of it all, there was time to gather rosemary and lavender:

And to tie them to the Yule Log (which FarmGirl and I, in a grrrrrl moment, split ourselves) on which we'd written our names, and to sit by the woodstove on New Year's Eve and watch the flames and hope for peace, joy, and more time together in the coming year...and then to fall asleep at 10. 

Ah, well.  Mimosas all around.  Happy New Year!