I love men. Not in the freaky deaky way you might think upon first glance at that statement, but as a group. They are generally more rugged in appearance than us, they have a different thought process than we do, and they like things that are typically very different from the things women like.

Men have whiskers, they smell like men, they don\’t really like doing their own laundry or ironing, they hunt, fish, watch sports (sometimes obsessively), work on cars (sometimes with great expertise, like my husband), chop wood, love electonics, put up our Christmas lights, mow the grass, paint the fence…heck, sometimes, they even obey their wives, who usually believe they have their men all figured out. Or do we?

Did reading the list above make you say a few things to yourself like, \”Hey, I am the one who does that!\” or, \”Women can do that, too!\” ? Or maybe, \”My husband is the one who does the laundry!\” or, \”My Aunt Una has whiskers!\”

For me, it was my Aunt Gertie, but the reason we notice the exceptions is because we as people like, of course, to categorize others, yet we recognize that there are always individual differences. They stand out to us.

Yes, anyone can surprise us. And men are no exception. I still love their male attributes, and admittedly some of the more traditional ones, but I love that element of surprise that can be found absolutely anywhere. Even in our husbands, boyfriends, sons and dads.

Recently, I found out that a friend\’s husband belongs to a group on Ravelry called S.M.A.C.K. The acronym stands for \”Straight Men Also Crochet and Knit!\” It\’s like a support group for male knitters who have wives, kids and regular lives that may or may not include frequent T.V. sports viewing. They just happen to love wool (and perhaps the precise German engineering in an addi turbo).

These guys say they recognized that the men who were knitters were not really recognized as a legitimate group, yet they do exist. Just like those ROUS\’s in \”Princess Bride.\” (There is a joke to be made here about \”unusual size,\” but I am just not going to do it.)

Further, these men found out that when their wives/significant others/daughters/female friends learned of their knitting, they thought it was great, perhaps even charming and awesome. Their group on Ravelry celebrates their hobby and the bonds they form with others–and fibers–and encourages anyone to join.

And those Ravelry friends are not alone. There are dozens, if not more, groups and websites dedicated to men who knit. There are even exclusive men\’s patterns and entire books dedicated to the cause.  It seems to be spreading like wildfire. Or wool afire.

Now some of you ladies who may have read the historical account in Nancy Bush\’s book, \”Knitting Vintage Socks\” regarding men and knitting, may be feeling threatened. You may be recalling how men were the first ones thought to be the knitters, and that in some regions, these same men had to follow intense knitting apprenticeships, followed by almost walkabout experiences, in which they had to create never before seen stitches to ultimately be included in knitting guilds as \”Master Knitters.\” You may be thinking, hey! it\’s our turn! You may especially feel this way if you are a woman who heard the medieval story of how women were not allowed to knit at home for fear that their brains may catch on fire, but take heart. I say that if we want sexual equality, then let them knit. Or eat cake. Or knit while eating cake. Or knit while eating cake and watching the Bronco\’s beat the Steelers in sudden death overtime…that\’s what I was doing today, and I\’m not even a sports fan.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. I personally love it that men knit and I would be proud if my husband or sons picked up a pair of sticks and went to it. It\’s a good idea.

In fact, knitting is good for everyone. It is being used more and more in schools as therapy for kids who are bullied or feel like they don\’t belong, for kids with learning disabilities like ADD, and in rehab programs for drug and alcohol addiction (see Eunny Jang\’s great personal story in the latest issue of Interweave Knits). I even heard someone say they heard it was being used in prisons as a way to change the mood.

The obvious \”OZ\”-like danger of that last idea aside, we all know that knitting takes you to another place during the actitivity. Further, think about how you feel when you connect with another knitter or when you are in your knitting circle. It can almost become like a religious experience.

So S.M.A.C.K. guys, for all these reasons, I completely, unabashedly, soap-box-style support you in what you are doing. I joined your group. And I love all that you are, yarn porn and all.

Go ahead and saddle up your horses, but don\’t forget your needles.



This is me, imagining I am keeping this scarf. Guess it\’s back to the store!

 My good friend had a birthday this past New Year\’s Eve.  She is a sweet lady–the sort who, at work, might pass you in the hall and say, \”Hey, want me to get you a coffee?\” as she leaves for a quick errand. Then she would return with it and say, \”It\’s on me.\”

In fact, Camille and I have been working together for 3 years. I started at our dental office right out of college and she has been a great help and encouragement to me. Her long, loud joyful laughter can be heard throughout our place of work…and she is the only one I can easily share an off color joke with. Without words. I am glad she is my friend.

For her special day this year, I knitted her Joelle Hoverson\’s \”Big Lace Scarf.\” Camille is the sort of girl who loves cute glam stuff and adores accessories: she has more Brighton, Silpada and Stella and Dot Jewelry than anyone I know. She even has an Ebay account to help \”rotate it.\” And to soften the Cleopatra-esque bling, she loves to wear scarves.

This scarf is knitted in Lion\’s Brand Hometown yarn, extra bulky weight, and is bright turquoise so it will show off any gold or silver jewelry she is wearing. I added some embellishment, too, or it just wouldn\’t be glam enough.

I used Interweave Knits Edgings stitch dictionary for a few of the knitted flowers on the scarf and another stitch dictionary of crochet stitches for the rest.

I used a double crochet to \”wagon wheel\” the center of those flowers, and chained up 4 for the next round, using double crochet again. For the petals on the final round, I chained up 4 more, made a bobble, chained 4 more and finally secured each petal in the next stitch, beginning each consecutive petal in the same spot. Those flowers are the larger pink and green ones on the corners in the pics.

For a final touch, I used some of my grandmothers vintage buttons–VERY heavy compared to today\’s–which I have had in storage for about 25 years, now.

What better use?

Happy Birthday, Camille!



Baked chicken parts smothered in 99cent Kraft BBQ sauce. Convection: 350 uncovered for 1 hour, reapply sauce for final 15 minutes, add chopped green onions for garnish

 Realizing today that the blog is nearing its one year anniversary, it got me thinking. One of the first posts I did was about my grandmother around her birthday, which is at the end of March. As I was thinking about how the time has flown by, I realized that I was really hungry for a Grandma Miller Dinner. (The capitalization of the letters is out of respect.)

What is a GMD? You ask.

My Grandma Miller was an extremely frugal woman. She lived successfully in a pretty swank retirement community for most of my life on an incredibly fixed income. She would supplement her social security by doing things like seamstress work for her wealthier neighbors, wore her clothes for 10 years at least before recycling them into other useful objects, boiled her used plastic bags to \”sterilize\” them and then hang them to dry on a mini makeshift clothesline she put up in her kitchen.

The kitchen itself was cozy and always steaming with activity. It was a galley-style apartment kitchen with an attached eating area, which was complete with four vinyl seated chairs surrounding a plastic-covered (yes, I mean a sheet of plastic to protect the vinyl tablecloth) dining room table with a small plastic flower arrangement in the center. It was light and cheerful, with a large window adjacent the table. It was always ready for company.



The secret to Grandma\’s cornbread: Make the recipe on the box adding double the sugar and one extra egg. Use a 8×8 or 9inch round pan, not muffin tins, 350 for 35 minutes

 My grandmother prided herself on her hostessing skills. Many times she told the years-old story (1945 at least) of the pastor, who came to their farming town for a visit with the pastor of the local baptist church. His reputation for his dislike of rabbit preceded him, and the townspeople whispered about it madly–it was a staple to them, and how could a man who should embody humility be ungrateful for any meal?

Grandma Miller, quiet in her usual way, did not participate much in the gossip. But she was always listening. Upon her first meeting with this man, she invited the new pastor to her home and whipped up her best rabbit dinner for a special welcome to their town, but did not share with him what the meal would be.

\”That was the best chicken I\’ve ever had!\” He exclaimed as he leaned back in his chair after he had eaten three hearty plates of food, picking his teeth, \”Mrs. Miller, you sure are a good cook.\”

\”Oh, good!\” Grandma Miller said, \”That makes me so glad. The ladies of the baptist church will be glad to know that you like rabbit after all.\” She smiled sweetly.

My Grandmother particularly liked the next part of the story and she stifled giggles as she would tell it.

She said his eye grew wide, then almost wild. He again thanked her for the meal, stood up, looked around and stiffly walked out of the house. He did not eat with her, or any members of the church for the remainder of the visit.

At this final statement, she would allow herself to howl uncontrollably, enjoying the moment each time as if it had just occured.

Grandma Miller may sound like a trickster, but she was not. True, she may have been trying to teach him a lesson in humility as the other ladies probably wished they had been given a chance to do, but she may have merely been testing her skills as a cook: If she could pass off a rabbit dinner to a rabbit dinner hating guest, well, that made her the Iron Chef of Oregon City, OR, South Bend Road. And a for a rabbit dinner to be so satifying was a feat, too, because it was cheap.

Cheap was never a word my grandmother used. Not once. She talked about saving and not wasting–she was a newly married adult during the depression, after all–but she never said \”cheap.\” In fact, she hardly used the word \”money\” either. To her, it was a moral obligation to use things completely, no wasting and no frivolity.

She took this to her kitchen, and seriously, even long after her farming days. Well into her 80\’s she made her own bread. In summer and fall, she used each and every vegetable and fruit that was given to her, either canning green beans (hard to do, but not for her), in making her own jellies and jams for the year, or just serving them fresh.

She purchased only the most inexpensive cuts of meat, too. Ground beef was the only beef she bought–it was less money and went farther in any dish than other type of beef. And chicken was only purchased on the bone and in the thigh and leg variety. For special occasions, she would pick up a turkey loaf, which was made up of various turkey meat, chopped and pressed into a 3-dimensional rectangle and frozen into a mini aluminum bread pan.

From all of these things, my grandmother, like she had done long ago for the visiting Oregon City pastor, could whip up a veritable feast. And she loved to do it. When I was small, we were asked over quite often to her house for dinner, and I antipicated each meal with feverish excitement.

My parents\’ red grapes, picked in their back yard, made into homestyle jelly

She would lay out a plate of homemade bread or her own special cornbread for us on that table by the window. Next to it would be a bowl of homemade jelly and a purple melmac plate with Nucoa on it. She would bake some chicken legs and thighs, boil some frozen or canned vegetables (I particularly liked the mixed ones) and, for a final touch, she might even put a small fresh flower arrangement where the plastic one held the place the rest of the time.

It always tasted so good and I would eat till I was sick. It felt like the food supply was endless.

Tonight, I wanted that experience again, as I do from time to time. I did not make rabbit, or frozen vegetables, but I did make her special sweet cornbread, baked chicken legs and thighs and some sweet frozen corn, all served with my homemade grape jelly (my parents grow and juice the grapes–I am in charge of the jelly now) and real butter.

My four kids thrilled with delight over the meal, and notwithstanding my own feelings, that makes it all more worth the while.

When I began this blog nearly a year ago, I knew there would be things I did not understand. Let\’s face it: my last computer science class was at McLoughlin public middle school, 7th grade, 1980 with Mr. Perkins, who was famous for saying, \”Be alert! Lerts are popular.\”

I never thought I would be on a computer as much as I am in recent memory, but since they have invaded our spaces, personal and private, as though we all lived in a real-life Isaac Asimov story, we must all learn to deal with them in big or small ways.

Until the robots take over our world, we are left to manage them and mine has gone awry.

It came to my attention a few days, no weeks, ago that my email was not receiving my blog entries. I suscribed to my own feed thinking that I could keep an eye on things. I did a rotten job.

Being a neophyte to blogging, I failed to recognize that if the feed does not go to MY email, then it is going to no one else\’s either. Instead, I just went, \”Wow! Something must be wrong with my email.\” And I didn\’t even attempt to trouble shoot that, either.

Today, I asked a friend if she was receiving emails from Through the Knitting Lens and she said, \”No. but it\’s ok. I just catch up on Facebook.\”

I came home from work and immediately got online. It turns out that the feed can get too big. So every entry from the last year, apparently, was being stored in the feed!

I hope it is fixed, now, and I apologize for any irritation and/or inconvenience!!

Kermit was right: It\’s not easy being green.

Thanks for reading!

Janelle



Only a few gifts this year! There are two pairs of slippers missing…I was also late in taking the photos!!

 Christmas. At work today, my knitterly friends and I were just discussing this knitting-sore topic, meaning this: we are all sort of new-ish knitters (I know I have been at it for 3 years now, but put me up against someone who has been knitting for 40 years and I am like primordial knitting slime) and for the last couple of years, we have been killing ourselves unnecessarily before Christmas with knitting.

Instead of realizing that it takes many months–or at least weeks–to crank out gift-worthy knits, we all seem to continue to operate under the assumption that we should wait till after Thanksgiving every year once the proper holiday season begins, cozy up by a fire on a cool day and knit away for our loved ones. And all of these projects will be, of course, finished completely by Christmas with plenty of time to spare for shopping, card writing and general fun Christmas activities. We had at one point even discussed the idea of throwing in a fun knitting club Christmas party.

Instead of the above peaceful fantasy, here is what really happens around the holidays: Thanksgiving comes seemingly faster with each passing year, then goes as fast as it came. We no sooner pack up the leftover turkey for our parting guests before it is time to look at the calendar. There are only…let\’s see…how to calculate working time…31 days in a month, but Christmas is on the 25th…that only leaves about 25-27 days to complete about 15-20 gifts, 21 if we include the outer circle of friends and the mailman.



It\’s frustrating to not be able to do everything you want.

 We then realize–seemingly afresh each year–that we have to quickly decide on patterns and yarns, shop for these things, order some things online, wait for them to come and when that task is completed, we re-check the calendar for updated working time, only to realize that there might now be a realistic 20 days (at best) to knit. And shop. And decorate. And do cards, visit Christmas light displays, take our kids to Santa, go to church, plan each family gathering, bake treats (which we also must complete as gifts for our neighbors and co-workers) and on and on it goes.

Instead of a cozy warm fireplace on a cool day, I personally end up sweating it out figuratively and literally: the days are usually not cold enough here in early December for a fire, but I am always determined to have one, even in spite of the fact that I am working at mach speed to finish gifts for at least my own children. The very children I neglect for most of December in my rush to finish projects like an underpaid worker in some third world sweat shop with my head perpetually down and my blistered fingers flying. It is not cozy.

This year, I sort of wised up…a little. I realized about midway through the month of December, that some things had to be cut, pushed out, let go. Not everyone was getting a gift this year of dainty woolen fibers lovingly wound with two sticks into magical intricate shapes. Heck, I can hardly do that on a regular day, and no matter how much Christmas magic one sprinkles on a project, some fantasies are not to be.

I stripped my knitted gift list down to a few people: my husband, three sons, three daughters and my boss. That would be manageable enough–maybe. Then I looked again at my feverish list of possible patterns, determined to pick only a few that would leave enough time for eating and sleeping, at the least.

One son loves Oregon State, and one loves UofO. Civil War in our house.

Slippers. There was something I could finish. And hats. Now we were talking. I had a great pattern from Fiber Trends for some felted clogs and another one I had wanted to make for my daughter about two stressful Christmases ago–which I had failed to do. That one was a Paton\’s pattern for sock monkey slippers.

I got out my patterns. The clog pattern was great, and I knew just the yarn for the men in my family–my husband and two of my sons. I also had practiced making a pair a few months back, so there would be no weird surprises. I knew exactly how it would turn out. The sock monkeys were another story.

I bought Patons\’s Family Felting book a couple of years ago and Annie, age 9 at the time, wanted the sock monkey slippers immediately. Back then, I fel that I could not tackle them: they looked too hard for me. I looked at them again this year. What a nice surprise they would make for Christmas. I understood the pattern. No problem after all those socks I have been making–another bonus of Sock Summit! I looked closer. Hmmm….size 8 inch foot length for a 7-8 year old child. Annie was now 11 and had a women\’s size 7.5 foot, about 9 inches long and 8 inches around.

Yup. I had to rework the pattern.

Adding to the difficulty was the fact that is was a felted project. I took a deep breath and thought about all those mathmatical measurements I had learned over the past several months for feet, socks and fit. I made myself sit down calmly with pencil, paper and calculator–sans fire–and figured out how to add stitches for 25% shrinkage that would ultimately fit her foot. I was unsure, but I went for it.

It actually worked. I will never doubt math again. Unless it promises time travel, but that\’s another story. After the monkeys, it was on to the slippers. They really are a fun project and I would recommend the Fiber Trends pattern by Bev Galeskas. They worked up pretty fast and turn out great. I used Cascade 220 wool. A friend recommended Lamb\’s Pride, but I don\’t like it as well. Those things aside, it was time for a couple of hats.

Alex\’s new Duck\’s hat. It was fun to try \”fair isle\” knitting for myself. I used very, very old Red Heart yarn. Boy, it sure feels thicker than the new stuff!

My one son, Alex, did not want slippers. He wanted a new Oregon Ducks hat. I made him one last year and he wears it so much, it can stand alone in a corner. I actually think I heard it demand dinner once. So, in order to wash it so as to prevent it coming completely alive, I agreed. I worked my own checkboard pattern into the one size fits all hats from More Knitted Gifts by Joelle Hoverson. I love that pattern and even made it a second time for my boss, this time with navy yarn and a white stripe for BYU, his favorite school.

Finally, and since I sort of had a small amount of time, I threw in a pair of fingerless mitts for my boss to match his hat. 

That was my checklist: 5 pairs of felted slippers, 2 hats, one pair of fingerless gloves and a partridge in a pear tree.

As for Amy Rose, she did not get any knitted things for Christmas, though I am working on a sweater for her as we speak out of the latest Interweave Knits magazine called Petite Facile Pullover in Plymouth Mushishi. It\’s adorable and fun to make in this breathable time.

That is the story of how I survived Christmas this year. It wasn\’t perfect and I still was late in my knitted start, but we were able to decorate our house and made it to one local light show. Next year is going to be different. I suppose I am making a resolution. In fact, earlier today, I think my work friends and I all did: we are starting now. At least the planning. The knitting, we decided must begin in Spring. Or summer at least.

Only then will the mailman be able to receive his special delivery.

My whole world opened up yesterday. I finally learned the \”new\” meaning of the word \”hipster…\” I think.

\”Hipster\” is one of those vague slang words that could mean any number of things. Usually I don\’t care too much about the true meaning of a slang term (I say \”true\” loosely). I just hear new phrases, sometimes adopt them for my own and then throw them around for my own amusement.

This usually works for me–except that one time in 6th grade when I went around my classroom with a tea cup hook, hooking people\’s jean belt loops and crying out, \”I\’m a hooker!\” to gales of classroom laughter. The more the class laughed, the more I did it. Mrs. Stanton, 6th grade teacher and understander of the term \”hooker,\” put a quick and hard end to my fun.

I have since learned to be more discerning in my use of new, hip, urban vernacular…at least that which is new to me…and my days of hooking are over. But, in general, I still lean at least a little on the fast and loose side: if the words aren\’t filthy or gang terms that might get me beat up in a mall parking lot, well, they are fair game. Until recently.

Something has been really bugging me about this newish word, \”hipster.\” Upon first hearing it a few years ago, it had the usual vauge charm and a lack of potentially ensuing violence required for my personal use, but I just couldn\’t throw it around.

My 18 and 20 year old sons were saying it, and I heard it from younger friends, but it was just too mysterious to use. For me, it would conjur up images of Austin Powers and the 60\’s swinging single crowd, or even actual jeans that fit on the hips, but these definitions didn\’t fit the contexts I was hearing it in. It was always used, well, sarcastically, as if it were a sort of insult. It was hardly a natural retort to someone\’s casual description of their Old Navy\’s.

Enter Nicole.

She is my twenty something, cool, young friend in the know. She has her intellectual finger on the pulse of all things urban, fresh, socially new, young and colloquial. Nicole is one of those people with not only a commanding knowledge of all things social, but one with an uncanny ability to read situations and people with freakish accuracy. In short, she should probably be a lawyer…or one to start a social revolution for the greater good. Whether she uses her powers for good or evil was never my concern. She is my avatar, my social guide to all things current. And she enlightened me yesterday like no other day.

We work together in the same dental office and yesterday we were cleaning instruments together and popping them into the sterilizer like some great sanitizing oven and I said, quite out of the blue, \”Nicole, I saw this Youtube video yesterday. I was looking for the \’Vancouvria\’ video, which was hilarious, but then I saw this other one that caught my attention.\” I felt sheepish. I was either about to be so right or embarrassingly wrong.

She waited for me to go on. She stopped stuffing the sterilizer and put down a stainless steel cassette wrapped in blue paper. The instruments clinked inside.

She just looked at me. Crap. There was that reading people thing again.

\”It was called, \’Confessions of a Hipster.\’ And it was really funny, I think.\” I felt unsure if I should laugh at it.

\”Oh?\” She was sort of smiling. Of course, she knew where this was going. She probably assumed that at my age, I had stopped learning new slang after \”radical\” and \”awesome.\” She might have been right.

\”Yeah. You know, I always thought of a hipster like Austin Powers, you know? Like a swinging single. But it\’s more like someone who thinks they are intellectually superior, isn\’t it?\”

Nicole\’s smile broadened. She was reading my mind and she knew she was about to blow it apart. \”You didn\’t know that?\” Bigger smile–she was proud of me, I could tell. \”Yeah that\’s like those people you know who talk about things they know you don\’t know enough of to respond or engage. And if you try, they just talk over you. I have friends like that.\” She went on, \”I say, \’hey, I heard this great new band!\’ and they say, \’that is so over! Now it\’s this other band!\’ They work really hard at being able to show off.\”

Not just one light bulb went on over my head, but 10,000 gleaming beacons. I had just been given a category for the people I never previously had the words to describe.

I thought of a friend I saw recently at a party who exclaimed, \”You know, I used to think, now why would anyone waste their time reading fiction, you know?\” when someone brought up how much they liked their book club. She said it in a tone that said, \”I am trying to make this sound like many of you will agree with me, but secretly I know that you will all instead really be feeling stupid for reading Little House on the Prairie and Harry Potter, and I will be the intellectual superior. Round one: me.\” She\’s a hipster!

I mentioned to another friend once that I enjoyed my church and she not only tsk tsk\’d the idea, but gave me a Dark Ages lecture on the church followed by a very long story about how Christianity rose out of eastern Europe with the Zoroastrians and didn\’t I know how convoluted, yet quaint it all was? It was sooooo manmade. She is one who pulls out very specific information on classes from college that she knows you have not taken and talks louder and faster over you until you stop trying to respond and sit silently. She sits back, thinking she has outdone you. Round two? The hipster.

These thoughts all flew through my mind as I talked to Nicole that fateful day of sterilization in the dental office. How freeing. I used the word at least 6 times that day, thinking of sketch comedy from Portlandia that now had even funnier content. I wanted to run home and rewatch every episode. I thought of example after example in my own life…and how these people have been around for some time.

They are not usually the true nerdy folks (though they are certainly not exempt from the temptation to rule the world, or at least the conversation), no. The true hipsters are the ones who simply proclaim they are nerdy and oh, so proud of it. In short, they talk the talk, but don\’t walk the nerdy walk. Really, they are the overeducated–even if on the asinine–the socially too-aware and perhaps even the intellectually vain among us who seek to overpower others with information that makes no sense or that most of us do not use.

So the next time I am tempted to announce to my friends that I got a scalene triangle tattoo because equilateral triangle tattoos are simply not chaotic enough, I will think twice. About getting the tattoo in the first place.

Everyone knows that isosceles are the way to go. Two equal angles with only one odd man out are just enough chaos to maintain singularity. That makes me more ironic.

Doesn\’t it?

My father used to call me a \”frustrated perfectionist.\” He would say this as he watched me practicing my piano lessons and trying so hard to make each piece right–no mistakes. I was motivated  by a desire to jump on to harder things. I thought that the harder pieces would sound better and more like \”real\” music than scales, arpeggios and simple tunes.

It is definitely hard as a beginner to hear others so much more practiced–so much more talented, maybe, too–than you are and know it is going to take a very long while to reach your lofty goals, if you ever do. So instead of playing where others will hear you, you keep your music to yourself, working on your own until such a time as you feel you might be \”worthy\” to be heard by others. In knitting, there is a similar feeling sometimes among beginners: they feel shy about their skills and don\’t feel worthy of knitting with more experienced people or giving knitted gifts.

We get down on ourselves. We do things like compare knitted retail items to what we could make, for example, and tell ourselves it isn\’t worth it to make an inferior product that will surely cost us more in yarn and time than the store bought knitwear. Maybe we also think about the things we are good at, and feel like knitting, too, should be at the level of our other talents before we share it. After all, only kids can get away with being beginners, right? Adult women and men should have learned those skills long ago, right? Wrong.

A friend of mine emailed me a story out of the December 2011 issue of Guideposts Magazine about this very thing.

In the very short story on page 16 of the issue, a woman tells of not only her novice knitting skills, but of how she has never really improved them. As she says, \”I only know one stitch.\” \”Know.\” Present tense. And I must assume she means garter stitch since there is no mention of others.

This woman wanted to make scarves for Christmas for 22 people. 22! That is daunting for anyone. I would have to start in spring to finish a goal like that by Christmas. She goes on to say that since she can only knit in \”one stitch,\” she understands that there will be no variation in the scarves. They will all be garter.

Her idea was this: she very carefully considered every person on her list. Were they artistic? She bought them more avant garde colors, and bolder combinations than most might wear. One friend was a cook at a camp. Colors of veggies for her. Another was someone she admired for her insight and wisdom. That friend received a scarf reflecting those personal qualitied in jewel tones and richness of color.

This list of painstaking detail goes on 22 times. The knitter was poetic, insightful and showed that she really, truly knew her friends. It was not on her mind that the scarves would be the same, or people might feel like she \”cheaped\” out making a beginner\’s pattern. Rather, she poured her heart into every gift, and I see no way they could have been received with anything but astonished gratitude.

So to you knitters who feel you little or nothing to offer your family and friends (myself included in that), you are wrong. A little love and attention to detail can go a long way. A really long way.

Are you secretly asking yourself what this woman must have done with all the left over yarn?

She knitted herself a scarf, matching in stitch, with every single color she used for her friends. That way, every time she wears it, she thinks of each of them.

How\’s that for a Merry Christmas?

Want to create that feeling with your own friends? Here is a quick, loosely retold guide to a \”friendship scarf,\” borrowwed from \”Knit it Together\” by Suzyn Jackson.

Gather several friends and be sure you have a nice block of time, say 3 hours.

Each person brings a new skein of yarn to the party in matching size/approx gauge. Bulky might be good for speed.

The yarn is to share and each participant uses their own needles.

Sit in a circle and begin knitting a scarf, any pattern, any width. Just keep in mind that you will want to have a scarf when you are done, so maybe not too complicated.

Begin with your own yarn and knit away (try garter!) until a signal occurs. This is agreed upon before the game begins–we have one gal who likes to mention her cats, for example, this might be a signal. When the signal occurs, cut your yarn and pass it to your left.

Do this until the alloted time has passed, then everyone has essentially the same scarf, but different, too!

The holidays.

How many heartwarming, heartwrenching or simply corny stories have been told about them? How many times have we all read about the trials and tribulations of shoppers, hostesses and planners everywhere? How many times have we wanted to scream or barf at the redundancy of these writings–or just recycled them on sight with no thought at all? And yet, here we all are: Time marches and on we must wade through one more season of Christmas in our shared tribulations. 

Don\’t misunderstand me. I adore the Christmas season. I really do believe that, no matter how old one becomes, there is magic and wonder to be found. I even work diligently to perpetuate this idea in my children. But something seems to be happening to me as I age. 

Time truly does march on, but it marches faster and faster as more of it passes. It is as though I am part of a vast hourglass, and, like any hourglass, the fewer sands there are, the faster they seem to fall. (For you Wizard of Oz fans, you may now imagine the Wicked Witch cackling as the sands run dangerously to their end).

I can remember what my Christmas season was like as a much younger woman working at a local retail store–Fred Meyer, for those of you familiar with the western half of the United States. I keenly recall the start of it all: Black Friday.

We would prepare from July to November, receiving boxes and boxes of special sale freight just for that day. All us girls in the Ready-to-Wear department had to wear nylons and skirts while we whiled away the hours cutting cardboard, sorting product and labeling it all. Just so it could be destroyed by the crazed early morning shoppers insanely wild about getting a 50% off deal on socks–socks that we knew had about a 300% markup in the first place.

On \”BF\” (not to be confused with today\’s acronym \”BFF\”), all was ready. We store employees would dress way up, wearing suits and dresses, and stand back–WAY back–to watch the shoppers enter the store at o\’dark thirty.

I ran the \”Domestics\” department, which included pillows, bedding, towels, curtains, lamps and crafts. The department was in the back of the store, but we weren\’t completely hidden from the world. There was one very long aisle that led from outside the building and all the way back to Domestics.

I had a special BF vantage point that included this entire aisle, and enjoyed watching the variety of customers entering the store and heading my way. Some would be reserved, almost as though they were there to people-watch, too, while others were like some women who would burst through the door right at 7am, dragging still-pj-clad toddlers all the way down the long aisle to the towels. Some took it a bit further and even pressed through the ever-growing crowd all the way to the bowels of Domestics until they reached the ceiling displays.

These were boxes displayed over rows and rows of towels stacked on glass shelves. The four boxes in my towel section each contained a form shaped to hold a single towel, while giving the illusion of several towels stacked in a shelf, like you might see in your perfectly imagined linen closet. The most desperate of shoppers would occasionally climb the glass shelving and try to tear down the \”multiple\” towels in the display boxes very high up on the walls, just to get what they thought were those last few towels to complete their mauve set of eight.

We had to rescue many a shopper from potentially shattered glass and certain disappointment.

Those were the days. The long, long days.

Following BF was what seemed an eternity stretching out before the actual day of Christmas. Every day I would enter the store with Christmas music playing, more stock for putting out, cleaning, and selling. I loved helping the customers–especially the crafters who started their special holiday work in July.

We had special sales just for them, year-round. I couldn\’t believe their foresight, dedication and…paranoia. Why did these people start so early? As an early twenty something, I marveled. There was so much time, even time after Thanksgiving! Were they really so worried about being ready for December 25th that they headed out shopping in July?

This puzzlement has given way to understanding over these past 20 years. I have 6 children to prepare for, a college degree complete with matching profession, a husband, home, church membership and oh, so many more responsibilities. I have also slowly added interests one at a time: cooking, gardening, cross-stitch, sewing, scrap booking, photography….and now knitting. And I simply cannot bring myself to leave any of them behind. I love them all so dearly.

Perhaps I have always assumed that this was what all people did. Maybe I am right. Is this is one of the things driving the time crunch that seems to go with age? Maybe so.

In addition to learning new skills, I really find myself wanting to use them in making things for people: calendars complete with photos of my kids taken by me; slippers and mittens and hats; felted clog slippers (I have 3 done, need 2 more!); home-sewn jammies for Christmas morning; loving decorations in our home that mean something from year to year for my family.

As another December goes hurtling by at an even faster rate, I am, in spite of my industry, aching for time to enjoy it. I love going to mass on Christmas, participating in the drives for warm things for the homeless, helping fill our church food bank, even in a small way. But it feels impossible to do those things effectively, contemplatively, if I wait till after Thanksgiving to start making gifts.

Now I understand: those July crafters may have been getting it right. Perhaps they have discovered the secret to enjoying Christmas: Enjoy it year-round by doing secret thoughtful things for others all the time, only to reveal them at Christmas.

I might never get back that feeling of the vastness of time I had years ago, but perhaps I can make the time that I have richer than ever.