I should have put on my thinking face.

 I thought I had it. I was sooooo smart. My hubris was clearly my first mistake.

I have been doing laundry most of my life. I could not have said that at 15 years old, or at 25 or even at 30. But now, at 43 years old, I have had 30 years of total laundering experience; more than 50% of my life has been spent as \”the person who does the laundry.\” Alas, 30 years of washing has not been enough–not enough to save my precious hand knits from certain and unforseen doom.

Amy frolics in the sand, not knowing what it ahead.

In one my more stupider moves, (yes, I said \”more stupider\”) I single-handedly destroyed one of my favorite hand knits: my Petite Facile by Meghan Jones  from the Winter 2011 issue of Interweave Knits, made for Amy Rose.

I made it last spring for our Memorial Day weekend trip to Fort Stevens, which is at the Oregon Coast and can be a cozy, albeit damp and cold place. I used some precious Plymouth Mushishi in wool and silk to knit this adorable (and very warm) sweater. No, my preschooler was not going to suffer the cold and wind as we hiked on this trip!

Making this sweater even more special, was the fact that this was a first: The project turned out with nice, even tension throughout and nice, straight, tidy edges. And I even lengthened the sleeves to accomodate a turned up wrist cuff. I was very proud of it. It was perfect. Until…

Upon returning from camping, the sweater was worn a few more times. Fellow mothers know that, in spite of careful use, there is no such thing as an ever-clean guarantee when it comes to garments worn by very active preschoolers. I had been avoiding it, but the time eventually came when I had to face it:

The Wash.

Felted!

This would have been fine (maybe) had I done the wash on a weekend, in the morning, when my coffee buzz was in full swing and the sun was shining on a day with no soccer practice or dance classes. However, I wisely chose to do the laundry after a hectic workday, at night, in the late summertime dark after dinner, dishes, and a 3-year-old\’s bath time, which falls right before the same 3-year-old\’s bedtime.

We all know that nighttime rituals are carefully orchestrated feats of mental and physical prowess,  requiring delicate balances of love and coercion, care and speed, reward and punishment. There are intricate dances between homework, housework, husbands, children, cats, mealtimes, bathtimes and bedtimes. Each needs attention in its sequence. There can be no slip ups in timing, especially as it relates to preschoolers waiting for their stories before bedtime. It would be better to be a tight rope walker in a large circus who misses a step while working without a net. I was taking a chance sneaking in some laundry.

I had about 30 seconds.

I decided to \”save time,\” and put all the dark clothing in the washing machine together. I even felt that this was an advanced washing technique. After all, don\’t all those commercials for laundry soap brag that in cold water, you can mix the colors in the same load? I further patted myself on the back knowing that (as I tossed the little precious sweater into the front load washer without the agitator) the missing agitation + the cold water=no felting for my sweater. After all, I had washed many a commercial woolen sweater in my day. I knew what I was doing. Right?

WRONG.

Amy can\’t even get her head into the hole now.

As I read once (I wish I could say it was after the ruined sweater, but I am embarrassed to say that it was before the fact) in Clara Parkes\’ Book of Yarn, fibers felt, in part, due to the scales from the fleece. They are separated in the strands of yarn, but when washed, the agitation alone can rub them together and sort of bring them back together, irreparably shrinking the knitted fabric.

Of course, the shrinking depends on other things too. In the presence of heat, for example, the shrinkage is greater. But no matter. In my example, agitation and cold water were enough. Even though I have no center agitator like top load machines, the other clothes in the load were enough to cause enough damage to make the garment unwearable–at least by anyone but an infant (if it has a small head–and fat chance on that.).

Here is what we have learned today:

Precious hand knit+cold water+other clothes (mechanical agitation)=  Mom freaking out (emotional agitation)

We can simplify this formula for future reference:

PHK+H2O+MA=MF

Not even stoichiometry can save this one.

Put another way:

At least I have another skein of Mushishi.

For those who want to do it right…

Now that the new year is in full swing and \”looking back\” is done, it\’s time for me to get back to the business at hand–that is, as it relates to the study of knitting.

I am going to use the blog as a journal for learning, reflecting and recording mistakes. (After all, aren\’t blogs supposed to be online journals anyway?)

To this end, I will divide my posts as follows: Reading Reflections; Minutia; W\’sIP; New Projects;
Eureka!; OOPS!; Blog Stories; Toying with Design; and What I Learned on Ravlery.

Reading Reflections: May contain information about a book/article I have been reading (see list to left). I will talk about why I like a particular book or article, what I learned from it and why it might be a valuable resource going forward. May also just be a reaction to a reading, silly or otherwise. (Can\’t forget to be silly!)

Minutia: The little stuff. Details and very (seemingly) small matters. For example, learning to really SEE what twisted stitches look like and how to fix them if they were unintended.

WIP: Projects I am working on, what my learning objectives are, how it is working out–or not working out. Sometimes these are also known as UFO\’s. The difference is that a WIP is a project in your hands, a UFO is a project that has been in your knitting basket for so long that you start to wonder if it ever really existed. Just like an alien.

New Projects: May be simultaneous–new and ongoing projects will overlap. I plan to do a larger project \”in the background\” for a longer time and do a few smaller ones to learn new skills or just take a break!

Eureka!: Reserved for the \”AHA!\” moments, there will likely not be many of these posts.

OOPS!: There will be many more of these.

Blog Stories: I will not forsake the sillies when it comes to sharing my life in the ultimate City of Hipsters, Portland, Oregon.

Toying with Design: These posts will outline my ideas for design, my branching out a bit and then actually stepping out ONTO the branch and hopefully not falling to the ground. (I hope there is soft grass down there and that it will be a sunny day with a prince on a horse nearby to rescue me…and I hope the horse doesn\’t step on my fingers as they approach me as I lay on the ground…)

What I Learned on Ravelry: I have a lot of reading to do. A LOT. There is so much to learn about the knitting business! As much as I have read, I realize keenly that I have not even scratched the surface of the surface of the surface as it relates to the design business, or even the art of knitting for that matter. (Well, maybe I have scratched the surface of the surface on that one.) Ravelry has many forums and groups to help folks like me (and maybe you, too!) in the pursuit of one\’s bliss.

Onward! And may your yarn never slide off your needles…until you want it to.

Not Pictured (given away too soon!):

• A Thousand Splendid Suns Cowl
• Yellow \”Sunny\” Reading Blanket for Marilyn
• 2 Pairs of chunky slippers of my own design for Marilyn and Judy
• Felted men\’s slippers by Bev Galeskas
• Big Button Hat by Amy Duvendack
• A cell phone over-the-shoulder-case for my daughter and her friend, my own design

2012: 36 total projects and an untold sum in yards of yarn. 

Thanks, Jona for the idea 🙂

The start of a love affair with knitting books, circa 2011/

Since I am a college-minded chick (meaning I enjoy school),  I have decided to approach my desire to succeed in knitting (see my terms in previous post) as though I were in college.

I like the way organized classes work: laying out learning objectives; giving students several types of resource options (eg. reference books, websites, textbooks); and finally giving them the chance to try out the knowledge.

I cannot attend the Oregon School of Art and Craft–too expensive and far away from where I live right now. Nor can I flee my family and career to live in New York or another fashion-trendy city and learn Ready to Wear design, considering majors in things like \”fiber\” or textiles. And I have had a difficult time finding online college courses for such things.

I must remain put here in Portlandia/The \’Couve (that\’s Vancouver, Washington, affectionately nicknamed by locals who love to call to mind the old white trash stereotype of Vancouver) and learn on my own, with the help of groups like Ravelry, the library, the local Fort Vancouver Knitting Guild and let\’s not forget all the LYS\’s and my own friends.

In fact, there is so much information available to aspiring knitters and designer wannabes that there is nearly no excuse not to be able to learn.This picture (left) of a stack of books was taken back when I was preparing for Sock Summit 2011. It reflects my \”earlier\” love of knitting books, collected from 2008 to spring 2011. That early love could have easily been a passing fancy as I am one of those people who gets excited–really excited–about new ideas, prospects, projects. And usually, I share the common quality with those other excitable people of very poor follow through. But not this time.

After 4 years of buying yarn, books and classes, of attending events and joining Ravelry, of making new knitterly friends wherever I find them, and even starting a knitting group of my own at work, I think it is safe to say that this is not a passing fancy for me. I love knitting more than ever–and now that I have such an arsenal of personal equipment, I am glad of it when it comes to  the study of knitting.

Since the book stack photo was taken, I have amassed many more, including 9 received as gifts for Christmas in 2012.

As the years have progressed, my book selections have evolved. It used to be that I would buy knitting books based on the lovely cover photos more than on the content. I am not immune to that today, but now I know that the books with the more scholarly approaches tend to be my favorites–and I intend to use them in my quest for more intense learning.

With that in mind, I am creating a booklist for myself. It is comprised of my own collection mostly, and if I do not own one of the books I feel I need as I go along, I will either get a copy from the library or–glee of glees–have an excuse to buy just one more. (Amazon should have me on some sort of gold star customer list)

To the left of the blog, I have listed some books, along with my (initial) intended use for them. Most of the books cross over multiple categories as they each cover a variety of topics from skill expansion to finishing to design to fiber info to just terrific and beautiful patterns and photography.

As I go along in my quest for knitting knowledge and skills, I may add or subtract reading and study materials, but I will start with some basics and go from there. After all, this is not going to be a short ride.

This is my daughter\’s boyfriend, Andrew (sporting a knitted hat and mitts I made for him). In this pic, he looks like a thoughtful hipster. While he is not really an official \”hipster,\” striking a thoughtful pose may not be a bad idea. Especially if it is only mental.

As each year ends, I ask myself the same question: What do I want to do with knitting? 

Then is starts: What do I want to do this year? For the future? For my family? For my knitterly learning? How many months are in the year again? Do I knit small, faster items to learn more techniques? Or should I take on an epic project in fingering weight yarn that will take a whole year to complete by itself, knowing that I may (or may not) incidentally learn things along the way? 

My questions branch out like that–farther and farther, until they have developed into some kind of giant tree of dichotomous logic in reverse, with the overarching question left behind at the top, and the huge, tangled, expansive root-questions at the bottom.

For those of you who read the blog, you know this is really not only a perennial question for me but an ongoing and irritating one. I will not pretend to be the only irritated person, mind you. You may be irritated along with me, or even at me. I will not blame you.

To solve this irritation requires direction and I think I am ready to take on the daunting task of reigning in my scattered brain for a purpose: a greater knitting purpose that will eventually solve all my dilemmas.

If you will humor me, I will think out loud (in print) and start to sort this out. Maybe others may empathize. Who knows?

Here are some facts:

• I learned to knit later in life, being 43 years old, and having only been a knitter now for 4 years.
• I want to become a stellar knitstress before I die (or become too arthritic to do it)
• I want to build my own personal wardrobe of socks and sweaters, gloves and hats
• I want to provide my family and friends with really cool gifts 
• I understand that these gifts may prompt more orders from the same folks (in fact, they already have)
• In addition to making things for everyone and for myself, I want to become a knitwear designer, even if it is only for fun and part time

Goldenrod Shawlette, pattern by Marilyn Giselle Maupin. Embellished by me.

Perhaps you have been saying, \”Where have you been, Janelle?\” or, \” What the heck am I following this blog for, anyway?\” Or perhaps you are in another camp, saying right now, \”Has it been a while? Funny. I didn\’t notice.\” Or worse yet, \”What is this line of discussion right now even about?\”

Well, whether you care or care not that the blog has been so quiet through the holidays, I am back and ready to rumble. That is, if \”rumbling\” can mean prattling on about anything that momentarily strikes my fancy.

Let\’s begin with what I have been up to–knittily speaking–all this time. After all, that is a lot of the fun to be found in knitting blogs.

Let\’s begin with a shawl. My first real shawl. Not a rectangular shape calling itself a wrap or stole (thought perhaps to be fancy non-shawl words to triangle shawl lovers) but a shawl. It is a crescent in shape and derived from a pattern designed by Marilyn Giselle Maupin, called Goldenrod Shawlette.

One day while trying to figure out how to make a diagonal top for a felted hat (that\’s another story for another time), I became curious about the way half moons and crescents were formed in knitting. I happened upon Miss Maupin\’s blog, KnitKat, where she has a nice post on the mathmatical formula for knitted crescents.

Long story short, I decided to knit one of her shawls to really understand the crescent idea. And it was really fun–except that now I can commiserate with other knitters when I hear them complain about how irritating it is to be doing 300 stitches in a single row and taking forever! (I guess I really am saying that I am now proud of the fact.)

Lucky for me, I went to stay with my daughter in Seattle for a weekend (sans my 3-year-old daughter and distract-er extraordinaire) where we did some serious power knitting into the night. (With the help of several episodes of MST 3000, of course.)

I added some fair isle colorwork from one of my stitch dictionaries, The Knitting Stitch Bible by Maria Parry-Jones (The rose pattern I used is found on page 193).

It was a fun and relatively quick project, in spite of the 300something stitches at one point. I made my shawl a little deeper than the original pattern as I added the rows of fair isle, which I kept even–no increases there–and I love it.

Every time I wear this shawl, (which I usually do with my white cotton, very old-fashioned style, sleeveless nightgown, complete with battenburg lace) I imagine how the women in Jane Eyre\’s (fictional, I know…) or Jane Austen\’s time would have felt on cold winter mornings, waiting to have their fires built in their rooms for them by the housemaids. Many country women probably even tried to balance their shawls on their shoulders while starting morning fires on their own.

This particular shawl would function well for the latter as the shaping in the pattern causes it to sit well on the shoulders; in the morning, I can flip the gas fireplace switch, grind and make the coffee and cut myself a pastry to got with it, all the while just enjoying the sweetness of the shawl and not ever having to readjust it.

I love the earthy colors I chose, too, as they are rustic and somehow (maybe incorrectly) bring to my mind a country maiden, padding across her wide, wooden paneled floors in stocking feet to make her morning fire. I think of this every day as I go through my own modern morning routine. It takes me to a peaceful place with a serene feeling of connectedness to those people of old.

Too much imagination? I think not. My imagination is a fabulous place to visit. Someday I may just stay there.

My latest project/design. Now that I like the design, who do I make it for?

Many years ago, I became pregnant with my fourth child. Of course, no matter how many children you may have, they are all special; I was excited. At that time, I was doing a lot of cross stitch, so I promptly went to the craft store to play out my excitement.

I selected for my baby an adorable cross stitch kit in sex-indiscriminate colors that pictured of a toy shelf complete with several adorable, old-fashioned toys, lined up in a purposefully tousled row. It had a place on the scrolled shelf for a name, birthdate, baby\’s weight… some of the more fun things you dream about during pregnancy.

I promptly brought it home and began to work voraciously on it. It was complex and large, and I knew that I would normally spend about a year and a half working on a project like that, but this time I wanted to finish it in less than 9 months in order to have it stretched, framed, hanging and ready in the baby\’s room.

Back then, I had this friend. We\’ll call her \”Jane,\” since I call all the disguised people in these stories \”Jane.\”

Shortly into my own pregnancy, Jane called. She was pregnant too, she announced, and our babies were due only a couple of weeks apart. This of course added to the excitement. I had never been able to share pregnancy alongside a friend. I was elated.

As I hung up the phone with Jane, I began to think. She and her husband had expected to have no children at all. They had been married for 17 years. They had tried many things–and had failed–to have a child. Just when she had given up, she became pregnant.

I looked at my cross stitch, which was laying on the couch near the phone. Sure, it was special to me, but oh how much more special it would be to my friend! I became giddy with the thought of such a surprise and got to work even harder on the project.

Driven by friendship and excitement, I completed the project with time to spare. I headed to the local frame shop and had the piece professionally stretched. I selected an exquisite birch frame that would match my friend\’s baby room, with a pale matte to match. It was beautiful.

I admired it at home for only a short time as I lived 3,000 miles from Jane at the time. Because I wanted it to arrive in time for her baby, time was of the essence. I packed it carefully to be sure it was safe in the mail, and I sent it.

I hadn\’t heard anything from Jane by the time our babies were born. They were both girls, born 3 weeks apart. I assumed of course, that she was busy–maybe too busy for thank you cards. I was busy, too, and in the excitement of a new baby in my own house, I forgot about the gift. For a time.

When the girls were nearly one, I hopped on a plane with my daughter (the other 3 kids stayed home with their dad for ease of travel, and, I thought, to emphasize the meaningful nature of the visit) and headed to Jane\’s house. Several times during my trip, I imagined the toy shelf cross stitch hanging on her baby\’s wall in tasteful arrangement.  I had also purchased another kit for myself, so the girls could have matching wall hangings and I imagined how special it would be to have them hanging 3,000 miles apart in different homes.

Once we arrived at Jane\’s house, she showed me the baby\’s room right away. No lovely cross stitched picture. There was another one, done by a woman at her husband\’s office, a small, lovely angel, but not mine. There was a quilt on the wall, too, on a wooden bar, that a mutual friend had made. I thought my gift was of higher quality. Tossing that last, catty, thought aside, we moved on.

She showed me gifts and toys, bedding and cards, but not once time did she mention my gift. I knew she had received it as I sent it through UPS and had a signature for it. It was certain after several days together: she was not going to even mention it.

In fact, she never did. Now, several years later, our daughters are still friends, but Jane and I have become distant and I never did quite finish my own daughter\’s wall hanging. Perhaps I misread the friendship. Perhaps a lot of things were misunderstood, but one thing stands out to this day: how do you know who you can trust with your handmade treasures?

In this season of gift making, it is hard to know. Most of us crafters have stories of gifts given and never seen again–hats never worn, scarves given away to third parties (or even fourth parties), even perhaps cookies never even tried, let alone eaten.

What is the best course of action?

There are of course, a few rules for these dilemmas, such as: never knit a man socks till you have a ring, lest he walk away from you while wearing them. Same goes for the more complex \”boyfriend sweater.\” (I would even say that last one requires an actual wedding.) Some say never give knitted to anyone but knitters. Maybe you have developed a few rules of your own. But no matter how many rules we come up with, it still can end in disappointment that feels like disaster.  Unless…

Do we knit for the praise, or do we knit for others because we love them? Do we give gifts to get back or out of the goodness of our hearts and the sheer joy of making the item? I do still have the memories of all those good feelings I experienced while making Jane the cross stitch, after all.

Part of me wants to say that we should give freely because we want to, because we live knowing we are inserting art into the world, because we are really saying \”I love you,\” to someone when we hand them that pair of lace anklets. That same part of me wants to rally around the obscure aunts living in distant lands, saying, \”Obscure Auntie, you make Ralphie that giant bunny suit!! And if he doesn\’t like it, make him another one!\” Maybe this is what the world needs!

The other–jaded–part of me says, \”Yeah, right, and maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt.\”

Where is the balance? I say craft carefully. Craftily, if you like. Do it with joy, do it in the spirit of giving while trying to discover who in your life is truly \”knitworthy,\” keeping in mind the receiver. Do it with love, plus a grain of truth and through reality-colored glasses. But do it.

Make no mistake, knitters, sewers and purveyors of shell art, you truly are adding to the joy and beauty in the world, big picture-wise, no matter what. I truly believe that and I will be thinking of how much I personally appreciate all of you during this approaching holiday season.

And I still say: happy knitting. Because you want to.

There is hope for us yet, ye fellow late gift makers

I am late.

Christmas is only a few (a couple?) months away and here I am, so far, with NO completed handcrafted gifts. Nothing sewn, cooked or knitted. This happens every year and, while I will never get \”used to it,\” I usually accept this unfortunate truth is as part of my life right now, along with a full time job, several kids, and one of those being 3 years old, and a very active non-napper.

While I will be likely struggling through this personal problem again this year (last year I made 6 pairs of felted clog slippers, a couple of hats and slippers, and several dozen Christmas cookies over only a few weeks containing many, many sleep deprived nights…it seems like the Christmas season also provides the chance to remember that same sleepless feeling one gets from having a newborn baby in the house), I will forever admire those folks who work away–more happily than I–and all year long at making their gifts.

When I worked at a local \”variety\” store here in town several years ago (Fred Meyer\’s, for you folks \”in the know\”), I ran the Domestics department, and that included Crafts. (I capitalize the words \”Domestics\” and \”Crafts\” because they were proper nouns at the time of my employment, and I can\’t shake the nagging fear of getting into trouble with management lest they see my blog) I used to marvel and muse at the Christmas Crafts and the huge amounts of \”value\” yarn, sewing items and stitchery kits that would come in the store freight around July. We\’d put them out on the shelves–as strange as it seemed to me at the time–and people would come and buy them. Right away.

I was not much of a crafty chick then, and didn\’t really see the reason for the urgency in these folks\’ shopping. Oh, I had the underpinnings; I knew my way around a sewing machine and some DMC floss, and I was learning to cook, but I wasn\’t applying any of those budding skills to my life.

All these years (and several more hobbies) later I finally \”get it.\” I may not apply the time management principles I witnessed all those years ago, but I get it.

For those of you who are procrastinators (and masters of your own justification) like me, I have discovered something: There is still hope for us. Not just because it is only the beginning of September and we have about 15 weeks (give or take) to go before Christmas is upon us, which means about 105 days and 2,520 hours to go (if you don\’t count sleeping) but because there are others like us. And many of those others are supporting each other in a pretty cool way this year.

I came upon a group discussion on Ravelry the other day that let me dare to dream. There is a group of folks who have created a discussion thread specifically dedicated to completing holiday gifts on time: The Holiday Stash Down Challenge.

Even if you do not knit or crochet, the discussion thread is still a fun and challenging read. (Who knows? You may turn from reading and decide to participate, silently or not!) As the title implies, part of the challenge is to use up your existing yarn and other supplies to create and finish your holiday gifts in time.

There is another facet: if you are a blogger, you are encouraged to blog about your progress. There are prompts for weekly blog post ideas if you like more structure. If you are not a blogger, it is still fun to read what others are doing and feel encouraged.

Let\’s see: encouragement from others, a structured approach to gift completion and the accountability (even if only perceived) of writing about your progress? Sounds like Weight Watchers for Christmas gift makers!

I encourage you to check it out! Not a member of Ravelry? If you are a knitter or crocheter, you may find this to be your #1 resource for just about everything fiber-ey.

Let\’s see what we can do! And don\’t feel badly right off the bat when you see that the Stash Down Challenge was started in May.

Happy knitting, happy everything.

Janelle of The Knitting Muse

Notice there are no Christmas pics in this post? As excited as I can get about certain things, well, there are limits. : )

I don\’t really like T.V. all that much. I mean, I like it fine, but I usually would rather be doing something else. That is why, if my husband would like to relax in front of the television on any given evening, I can usually be found knitting madly next to him on the couch (or eating a really huge peanut butter chocolate ice cream sundae); I get really itchy sometimes if I am trying to sit still and watch a show. Unless the show is good. Really good. Grimm good.

There is no question: I am a fantasy lover. Any other story genre offered to me gets left behind when given a choice (except for those fabulous British dramas…if they are in the mix, I may have to flip a coin…to the death) I love the romance of fantasy. The creative characters (from childhood I have wished I was an elf), the often gothic, life and death love stories, the \”old-fashioned\” battles (swords and arrows are sexy…let\’s face it), and the excitement of imagining other-worldly abstracts–what could be. What may be.

Grimm fits this bill.

Perfectly.

Not only does Grimm fit my need for television fantasy shows that don\’t suck (this need has been largely looked over in the past by T.V. producers), it is just a great show. It is filmed here in Oregon–and mostly in Portland–but enjoying seeing familiar places and names (most of the time…there is no Portland Harbor, and that scene was filmed under the Astoria bridge in Astoria…) is not all there is to love.

A few of you may remember me talking about my fairy tale escapades, during which I checked out the \”real\” fairy tale stories from the local library as though I were Sandy Duncan eating them like Wheat Thins \”right out of the box, one after the other!\” I just had to know what really happened in those stories; after all many of them were written during some very dark times in history. This turned out to be a very enjoyable experience. In fact, I loved some of the stories so much that I purchased several books for my own library, including Rumpelstiltskin, Cinderella, and a large volume of the complete works of Grimm.

The fairy tale aspect of the television show of the same name might be even more icing on the cake for me, but there is more to love than the icing on the gingerbread house.

Even if you don\’t love the imaginary the way I do, Grimm is still a great show. For me, the series started out as simply a clever, novel idea. But the feeling of the show changes as it goes along, until it becomes a rich, multi-layered story with great character development and many foreseeable opportunities to open new, smaller storylines and subplots. There are also many secrets and hints to a greater, overarching plot that I believe could culminate in an ultimate, great ending someday (not too soon I hope).

Grimm brings suspense, uncertainty, a little dose of reality (after all, what would you do if you could suddenly see \”monsters\” and you were forced to continue living as if things were normal while you came to grips with it, and able to tell no one?) and great intrigue–especially those of us who get into the peculiarly fantastic.

While at the height of the enthralling throes of joy brought on by catching up on this fabulous show, my daughter came to me and requested a red poncho to wear to school for the fall weather. Something not too long and loose enough to move around in to be able to hold her school bag.

This was the opportunity I could not pass up. I happily knitted Annie a Red Riding Hood Poncho while watching my newest fav series, using as a base a pattern from The Knitters Bible: Knitted Accessories  by Claire Crompton. She has a lovely poncho which I added a garter stitch trim to, and a braided detail at the shoulder. I also did not shape the hat, so it would slouch in the back. After all, W.W.L.R.R.H. do? She\’d slouch it–adds drama.

So, while enjoying the truth about the \”big bad wolf\” on T.V., I was knitting a protective article of outerwear for my small 12-year-old girl.

Now I feel like I am part of it. Cast of Grimm, I\’m right there with you guys. Of course I promise not to become one of those weird fans who sees you in town and walks up to you like I know you. At least I think I won\’t.

One thing is for sure: You can count on me for Friday nights at 9p.m. Of course, I will always have my yarn and needles in hand. After all, old habits–er, addictions–die hard. But the only thing I will be itching for is the sound of the clock striking 9.

Picture: my Blue Bird embroidery project from 1st and 2nd grade, and one of two matching cutie sheep wall hangings done much later.

Some time ago, I was at a party at a friend\’s house. I was actually separated from this friend by one more degree: it was really a friend of a friend\’s house. I didn\’t know most of the guests at this party and of the guests I was acquainted with, I was not really very acquainted.

The party was in a very up and coming, very hip, part of southeast Portland. There were increasing numbers of tidy Tudors and Portland foursquares coming back to life in a massive–and beautiful–rejuvenating effort.

The neighbors (and consequently, many of the guests) were hip to match. Many educated, socially aware and, let\’s face it: too cool for school people were at this party. Of course, this also means that many of them were clever–be it contrived cleverness or not–and that made for great conversation and usually lots of laughs.

For the most part, I am one of those semi-chameleonic folks who really has no bones to pick with anyone and I can have a great time anywhere. I enjoy meeting all sorts of people and always love to hear what new acquaintances might have to say; after all, what\’s wrong with learning new things?

The flip side of my \”love to learn\” coin, is that I also love to share. I love to tell others about new things that I have learned so much, that I have made an art (and a personality flaw) out of turning any conversation into one about myself or my own learnings. I don\’t mean to do it, but it is hard to contain my excitement about awesome new information. I am very aware of this annoying feature of my character repertoire and try pretty hard to keep it at bay, though I am not always successful.

Back at the time of this party, I had not been an official knitter for long. In fact, it was a New Year\’s Eve party, which means that I had only been knitting for about 7 weeks–since the second week of that November. This was very exciting to me and I wanted to share my newly found, magical fiber discovery with anyone who would listen.

As we drove down the street to the gathering, I tried to remember that, even though knitting may be almost cult-like to many of us, declaring you are a knitter to certain others may conjure up visions of the Amish or the 50\’s. And unless those latter people enjoy Mad Men or Pennsylvania, well, they may just not be interested in what you have to say. My social faux pas radar was up–or so I thought–and I was ready to dive into conversation as my husband and I stepped into the soiree that icy December night.

As we passed through the solid wood, hand-carved front door with its tiny square peephole complete with tiny, scrolled, wrought iron bars, I began to have a look around. There was laughter, conversation and food. Someone put a glass of Merlot in my hand. There were folks standing around the now-hip-but-formerly-antiquated old fireplace, with it\’s graceful Art Deco arch. Some people were standing in the kitchen near the vast wine selection, while others were seated on the trendy, sparsely stuffed, wood framed furniture. And they were all wearing sweaters.

I gripped the slender stem of my delicate wine glass, remembering the ones that were on my wedding registry–that cost $12 a piece. These were much nicer than those. I loosened my grip and instead put my energy into controlling my Chatty Cathy nature. Purposefully, I strode to the food table to stuff my mouth so it could make less noise.

After several minutes, I believed that I was okay. My husband and I had meshed into the larger group. To the onlooker, I had no undue excitement in me; no one would even have known that I was a knitter. Since I was really new to the art of knitting, I didn\’t even have a headband to signify my status. I was in stealth mode.

An hour passed, we had more wine, relaxed further and were all just having a great time. I was getting to know some of my acquaintances a bit better and we were all laughing and eating…everything was fine.  I had almost forgotten my earlier concerns. Then a group of three women came my way. Most people there were new and emerging friends of mine, but these ladies were strangers.

Two of them were very friendly and introduced themselves as a friend of yet another friend who was also in attendance (don\’t worry, I couldn\’t follow it, either). They were pleasant and we jumped right into a conversation about their hometowns and how they used to live in Portland, but no longer do, etc. It was normal, tangential conversation that happens when people meet as they search for ways to connect.

I kept looking at the third woman in the group. She was distracting. She just stood there, too quietly, with her drink in her hand. She looked sullen. She stared out from under a shock of short, frosted hair (Yes, I went there. To 1975.) with starkly contrasting browns and blondes, at others, at me. She didn\’t speak. Maybe she was trying to shoot lasers at us with her eyes.

She reminded me of one of those women (or men) who, upon reaching 45, had never quite achieved the life she had hoped that enough time would simply bring. And, after many years had actually passed, she had realized that time alone would not change her life. Men in these scenarios stereotypically might buy a sportscar, but women in these scenarios sometimes just become bitter toward other women.

The bitter looking, fortysomething woman had a sweater on, like so many others in the room. It was a store bought, short sleeved, oversized knitted lace top. For some reason, there was something about it that just said, \”I couldn\’t find anything else that fit me tonight and I wore this because it was the loosest thing I had.\”

In spite of these peculiar warning signs, I couldn\’t stand her silence anymore. It was too uncomfortable and she was making me really nervous. I had to act. I shot out my hand at a sort of inappropriate moment during someone else\’s sentence.

\”Hi, I\’m Janelle.\” I smiled the most genuine, friendly smile I could muster. Maybe I was wrong about her. After all, people have bad days. Or years.

She smiled back. It was hollow, void. Thin. \”Hi, I\’m Jane.\” Her hand was clammy. And limp.

Her two friends jumped right in for her. \”Jane still lives here in Portland. We have been friends for, oh, about 30 years!\” The two friends laughed heartily, as though all their memories from childhood had flooded back anew with the statement. They looked knowingly at each other, the way old friends do. Jane forced a chuckle, dry and unconvinced.

I took this as a challenge. Here we were at a fun party, it was New Year\’s Even and this woman had just been reunited with her old girlfriends. What was up? Did one of them steal a high school boyfriend of hers and now she was still mad? Or mad afresh?

I launched into several questions. Where did she live? Go to high school? I told her where I went and that my parents still lived nearby in my childhood home. Did she have kids? No? A cat? A boyfriend? I got a little information about her divorce several years ago, no kids, thank you, just a job.

\”Where do you work?\” I asked innocently.

\”At this shop in Beaverton. We sell cross-stitch supplies exclusively.\”

I could feel my excitement suppression lifting–like when your Advil wears off and you feel your headache returning because you forgot to take your ibuprofen on time. When was the last time I stuffed food in my mouth? 

I thought this briefly, but I couldn\’t stand the enthusiasm rising in my body. I had been a sewer, cross-stitcher and embroiderer for all of my life. Not seriously, but I enjoyed those activities. I had not met someone else who knew about cross-stitch for a long time, let alone someone who worked in a whole store of it! Who even knew that existed?!

\”You are kidding!\” I said, \”What is the store? Where is it? I must check it out!\”

She told me briefly–only the necessary information, it seemed–what I wanted to know, gave me brief directions and went back to staring. Was she even drinking that drink in her hand?

I dismissed the last thought and went on. After all, maybe my good feelings were enough for the both of us. Maybe I could bring her up a little. I was starting to feel a kind of sorry for her.

I ranted on. \”You know, I never meet people who know about cross-stitch. I used to do a lot more of it, but lately I have been doing a lot of knitting! I love it!\” That was it. The flood gate had opened. On the worst possible person in the room.

My favorite one. This admittedly took over a year to do, but it has a nice mat and mahogany frame and will forever hang in my kitchen!

I went on and on. And on. About how neat all the yarns were and the patterns and all the great stuff on Ravelry and the internet. I told her what I was making for my baby girl and how much fun all the learning had been.

If it were possible, she stiffened even more. Her body had been rising during my rant. Had I been paying attention to her body language, she might have seemed like a 10 foot tall and angry troll by now. Dark storm clouds could have been imagined gathering around her frosty hair, casting shadows and light like white and black clouds mixing up in an impending storm.

I was oblivious.

It was like she was waiting for me to be done. On purpose. Like she was using all my energy to gather her own, looking for a reason to be angrier than she clearly already was.

Upon my taking a pause mid story while talking about a new knitting shop in Portland called Twisted (new to me at the time), she struck.

\”We HATE knitters!!\”

I stopped, surprised. \”WE?\” Why would trolls hate knitters?

She went on, \”At work, we are always, always talking about knitters and how they are always stealing away all the cross-stitchers! Then, once they get a taste of knitting, they always leave us!! They all say that knitting is faster!\” She punctuated that last word with a bitter, drippy tone of slimy sarcasm. Then decided she would put the final touch on it all, repeating, \”We HATE knitters!\”

Stunned, I stared. She stared back. Her friends had abandoned her during the curious tirade. She and I were left. Standing in a tunnel. A tunnel of blackness. I thought I heard Deatheaters screaming in the distance.

She now towered over me. She was only about an inch taller, but somehow she was glaring down at me over her straight, pointy nose, and the hate was sliding off of it rapidly and onto me.

Hate. Strong word, I thought. Isn\’t hate one of those words reserved for only very special persons? I mean, for those enemies who you have known for years. Those people who you have fostered an extreme distaste for, slowly convincing yourself that they never have your best interest in mind, that their every deed is a misdeed, intended to slight you. That sort of animosity is very rare and can only come with the very careful crafting of those evil feelings, then linking them together bit by bit, and yard by yard until they become a tangled chain; such a complex entity in their own right that they are alive and begin to control the builder.

Apparently this woman had thought that all out. Carefully.

Knitters, as a group, were thieves, kidnappers even, perhaps even stealing away cross-stitchers in the night! Maybe even from the comfort of their own beds, only to leave their samplers behind them. Knitters were then outfitting these abductees with weapons, needles of a different sort. Needles, medieval and made of wood and steel–in her eyes to resist the existing and dying regime.

Yes, knitters were heading a resistance and committing guerrilla warfare to do so.  In her view, knitters thought of themselves as freedom fighters, deceiving the innocent cross-stitchers into thinking that they could have a better time–and a faster one–creating items not only for show but to wear and to keep their grandchildren warm in the winter.

And I had apparently converted to be a part of this evil group.

Of course, this is all silly. Perhaps in this woman\’s own little world, she really felt this way. I am not sure if her business was struggling, if her living was in danger or if she was just displacing her anger onto me from another source.

I do know this: I still love cross-stitch. It is a beautiful art and I have several pieces in my mental queue, alongside my knitting and sewing projects. And I love it on Antiques Roadshow when you see things like embroidery samplers from 8-year-old school girls from many, many years ago that are beyond the pale in intricacy and perfect detail. It strikes awe into one\’s soul to think what people can accomplish when they turn off the computer and television (after checking out Youtube for instructions, of course!). I wish I could have told this woman those things and that just because I had started knitting did not mean I would forsake my stitchery forever.

Alas, in those situations, one cannot say much of anything. We have to let it go. As for the angry woman, no skin off my nose. I have never seen her again. And though I would still like to go to her shop, I have been afraid to encounter her.

One thing is for sure: we are all crafters, no matter what our art. And I know that almost all of us admire one another and really enjoy learning from each other, even oftentimes crossing over our skills or learning new ones.

As my teenage boys say, \”Don\’t be a hater!\” And really, almost all of us are not. Aren\’t you glad? Like my friend Robyn has said when adults behave this way, \”How old are we again?\”

Happy cross-stitch, knitting, crocheting, embroidering, sewing….even shell art-ing to all of you! Keep our world creative–in every possible way!

Done for my daughter, Jo. I have a matching one for one of my boys.