Knitting on Impulse

Incremental Anxiety

I struggle from time to time with an unfortunate tendency to perfectionist anxiety - worrying, checking, fretting over the things I can't control to the detriment of getting on with the things I can.  Therefore, I normally try to avoid knitting on a deadline, as it rather defeats the soothing, meditative rhythm. (That Christmas-gift-a-month resolution?  Not even started.  Oops.)  Somehow though, I have contrived to have two major DIPs (deadlines in progress) this month, and it is sucking the serenity out of my needles.

Exhibit A: the red birthday sweater. 

(Presently well in hand for its deadline thanks to other variables I couldn't control. Fret fret fret.  Never satisfied.) 

I am pleased with the bobbly flower border, and I think my daughter will be, too.  If I finish in time.

Exhibit B: the Lopi cabled sweater.

   

I am in love with the process of this knit - the tactile satisfaction of the hefty round cables, the adventure of watching them meander absentmindedly to the very edge of the panel before careening back all in a rush to tangle with their partner. 

The spoiler in all this process-laden bliss is my (somewhat arbitrary) agenda: I want (no, need) to wear the finished sweater before the weather gets Too Warm.  But unlike the birthday, I have no idea precisely when that will be (nor could I knit any faster if I did know.)  So despite being quite keen on Spring, I fret as the snow disappears, knowing that if I don't finish the project this season, I will lose momentum, and it will be in terrible danger of languishing forever as a WIP-in-a-bag.  (I'm not, however, quite so far gone as my daughter, who collapsed sobbing mid-trail the other day upon discovering that the path from our condo to the lift had melted sufficiently to be unskiable. All those years we lived on the prairies, I never ever imagined hearing the lament, "I don't want winter to be over yet!")

So.  Deep breaths.  Serenity.  Knit faster.

Restless

I have ordered the Addis.  (Thanks for all the recommendations.)  I went through a number of online stores before finding my size in stock (apparently 5.0mm 32 inch circulars are coveted above all others.  Who knew?) In the meantime, I feel bereft, so I started my very first toe-up sock:

I have two full balls and several partials of Noro Kureyon leftover from the cardigan - really though, I think I am just wishing to have the cardigan to knit all over again.  It made me happy.  It didn't fight me, or go horribly wrong, or break anything and then sit on the end of the couch mocking me and heightening the nagging feeling of disquiet and Not Getting Anywhere that has plagued me for the last couple of weeks.

One of my favorite aspects of the blog community is how normalizing it is for me.  I have always been an introvert looking on from well outside the boundaries of all things popular and mainstream, and as such,tended to measure my inner self according to the outer facades of others.  I believed, for example, that my seasonal moodiness was a dysfunction, a personal inferiority compared to the perpetual perkiness of the popular set.  As I read entry after entry in the blog community over the last month though, I see themes of restlessness and unease everywhere, and I choose to believe that this is not a coincidence. 

I am increasingly convinced that our lives are more cyclical than modern culture would like us to believe.  As much as technology buffers us from natural variations in light, temperature and precipitation, we remain deeply affected by the seasons, the weather, the moon, and our own internal biological cycles.  Somehow though, we have come to believe that functioning at maximal capacity and feeling maximally happy at all times is the standard for Normal Healthy People, and everything else needs to be corrected.  That is not to say that mood disorders are not a very real phenomenon requiring treatment, but I suspect they might get out of hand less frequently if we respected our natural rhythms rather than fighting them.

I for one, will feel much better once I am back in the rhythm of the sweater.  And when more of these show up:

   

Too Much March

Grey. Grey grey grey grey grey.  Ashen, murky, somber, dusky, leaden, dusty, mousy, mushy, nebulous, lackluster, monotone, indistinct, flat, fuzzy, lightless, bleary, overcast, misty, dour, vague, vaporous.

It's enough to make you crazy for a little orange.

Filling Up

Funny how exhausting it can be just sitting around radiating happy artist energy to strangers for 8 or 9 hours at a stretch.  Thankfully it's not the angst-ridden exhaustion of my former life, but I do feel... spent.  Emptied of a whole lot of something that I seriously need in order to get on with this week's agenda. 

I suppose the whole February thing isn't helping.  In years gone by, I used to get a deep clinical depression every February, which would often last all the way to June.  The university years were particularly nasty and dark, and though I now have an array of coping skills and lifestyle antidotes to keep it at bay, I still see the black cloud gathering at the edges of my space each February - waiting to swallow me up if forget to pay attention.

So this morning I pulled out the camera, because it is a wonderfully intentional way of seeing.

Even the camera is afflicted with February - the autofocus absolutely refused to deal with the low light and lack of contrast, insisting that I do the whole business manually.

I went to the stash for some colour, and we were both much happier.

Mexican fire opal - definitely coming out to play this week.

Intensely apple-green chrysoprase.

I've been hoarding this spectacular bit of rhodocrosite because the idea of a candy-pink fang appeals to me in a sort of feminist warrior way that is still too vague to proceed with.  For now, I am content simply to absorb its spiky pink energy.

The sleeves of my no-brainer Noro cardigan - looking Close Enough to matching.  With any luck, I'll finish it up this week.

Shades of prehnite, looking very much like the spring we should just get on with.

And last of all, a little treat I've been saving up: a cone of Jagger Spun wool in a nice heathery blue-green which Robin assures me will bloom and soften beautifully with washing, two skeins of Lorna's laces in Baltic Sea, and a single luscious skein of Fleece Artist Peter Rabbit (angora) in ivory.  For a circular yoke cardigan inspired by, but not the least bit slavishly adherent to, the Bohus tradition.

Happy Monday!

I Do Still Knit....

Thank-you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who commented so kindly and thoughtfully yesterday. It helped a great deal to see the issue with fresh eyes. My initial misgivings centred around the belief that giving is best done with "no strings attached." (That and the whole discomfort with money thing - I suspect that women's relationship with money and (under)valuing their work would be great material for a blog essay.... but I digress).

I can however, wrap my mind around the concept of story. It seems to have considerable commonality with blogging - putting oneself out there in narrative form - saying, "this is me - read me.... or not". Blogging too, must strike that delicate balance between authenticity and TMI. And as Rachel said so eloquently, a small business has a story, which is an integral part of the product, and if told with authenticity and integrity, need not be manipulative.

Now for a bit of knitting. My knitting mojo has been discombobulated this week. The Silk Garden Clapotis is halfway through the second ball, waiting for the third to arrive in the mail, in case the colours at the transition are too wildly contrasting and require creative splicing.
(The yarn does splice beautifully, and I can see it would be fabulous for felting - I have to pry the dropped stitches apart to get them to unravel.)

The mohair/silk scarf is pretty, but definitely a product, rather than a process knit. (I bet it would be a lovely process knit in the recommended Icelandic wool, though.) I have set myself the task of finishing one repeat a day in order to stifle the urge to chuck it to the bottom of the WIP pile. (There are 37 repeats, not counting the borders, so the idea of wearing it to a show this month is pretty much out.)

The grey sweater with the mathematical sleeves has stalled at the 2/3 point in the face of a recent epiphany: I hardly ever wear wool pullovers. Indoors, I invariably grab a cardigan for warmth - because I like to take it on and off throughout the day - I get a little chilled sitting still at the bench or the computer, and then when I hustle around cooking or chasing kids, I get too warm.... And an outerwear pullover needs to be a bit on the roomy side for layering. Therefore, I am debating whether it is remotely possible to reinforce and cut a hemmed border. Would the added bulk of picking up stitches along the double thickness be unsightly? I suppose I may have to knit a little test hem and try it.

While pondering that dilemma, I did the only sensible thing, and started another cardigan.This is Noro Kureyon, purchased at the same time as the Silk Garden, when Ram Wools had their anniversary sale. I'm not entirely sure how long it's going to be, since I have 1000 yards of Aran weight yarn, and I'm knitting it at a tighter-than-ball-band gauge (inspired by personal experience and the Catherine Lowe philosophy of knitting - tighter gauge really does yield a more shapely result.) It will be a simple stockinette cardigan, with slightly fancy ribbing at the borders. I think I will go with circular raglan shaping, so as to keep the striping consistent across the upper body and shoulders, and then steek down the middle. (The body ribbing is, of course, knit back and forth, since I am actually planning ahead this time).

And a little crochet project from this week, which is coming with me to the Fairmont:

So I've Been Thinking

I've been thinking for some time about the idea of "giving back". One of my remaining moral misgivings about this big life change is the fact that I have left a fundamentally humanitarian profession (and one within which I invariably gravitated to caring for the neediest and least privileged segments of humanity) for something that consists, on the face of it, of making pretty baubles for folks with a decent disposable income.

In all fairness, the Other profession was also a large bureaucratic machine, in which the opportunities for individual difference-making were far more limited than one might imagine. (Not to mention the fact that it was not-so-slowly destroying my health.) And I have been pleasantly surprised, and at times even astonished, by the degree to which the love and passion and meaning which I pour into the things I make transfers to and affects the people who purchase and receive them. But I also cannot escape the fact that the ability to choose to do something I love, and be paid for that, is a rare privilege, and one that depends on circumstances largely not of my own making.

The majority of the world is concerned with basic survival - finding food and water for themselves and their children, avoiding armed conflict. They can't afford to be choosy about "fulfilling work" - they struggle to find anything at all that will generate enough to barter for their next meal. I think I have learned enough rudimentary economics to let go of the belief that hanging onto my own misery would somehow atone for theirs, but I absolutely cannot accept this happy life as though it were somehow all mine to keep.

So, starting now, 10% of all my net sales profits will go to Medecins Sans Frontieres. (And of course, as a knitter, I will send the numbers to Stephanie for Tricoteuses Sans Frontieres.) I suppose it might be prudent to wait for the end of the year, tot up the numbers, see if my business is in the black overall, etc. etc. but I feel a sense of urgency to just get on with it.

Which brings me to one other small ethical dilemma: should I advertise that fact? I see folks advertising that "a percentage of all.... goes to...... charity" all the time, but to do it myself feels uncomfortably like a marketing ploy. I'm not even sure if it is truely an ethical issue, or perhaps simply reflects my innate discomfort with self-promotion.

Weekend Recap

The weekend was a resounding success - so much so that I don't have any knitting to show you! Not only were sales good, but I had some lovely serendipitous conversations that were validating and encouraging in areas where I had harbored deep self-doubt. As for my "high end" worries - the hotel staff could not have been more gracious and welcoming, and I felt completely at home in that environment. Odd in a way, and reassuring - because I have never partaken of social elitism or its trappings - even the forms normally taken for granted in my former profession - and I half feared I would be out of my depth in an environment with such extreme wealth. It appears that professionalism and people skills will carry the day.

I am exhilarated and exhausted, and have a large "to do" list to tackle before next weekend - but there will be knitting. Because hotel lobbies are exceedingly drafty in winter - and an artist who knits really ought to have a selection of stunning cardigans and scarves with which to warm her shivery self.

Silent Poetry

I do not partake of poetry nearly as often as I intend to. While that would be fine stuff for a resolution, this day of silent poetry reading is also a way to remember.

Initial

Out of infinite longings rise
finite deeds like weak fountains,
falling back just in time and trembling.
And yet, what otherwise remains silent,
our happy energies—show themselves
in these dancing tears.

Rainer Maria Rilke, via

Weirdness

The Silk Garden Clapotis is indeed knitting up in addictive fashion.It is actually about twice this big now, but there is no point in photographing it in the wee dark hours. I'll shoot it again around noonish today.

I adore the subtlety of the colour changes.

Since Sherri tagged me a few days ago, I suppose the time has come to step up to the plate and confess Six Weird Things About Me. (My darling husband's reaction was "only six?")

1) I am an autodidact. (I discovered that term recently, and I think it sounds vastly more sophisticated than "self-taught".) I taught myself to knit around age 10, and have learned the craft entirely from books, trial-and-error, and now blogs. Though I KIP freely, I have never had the experience of knitting in the company of other knitters. I never felt wistful about that until I entered the blog world; however, with small children and a limited budget, I'm not likely to go jetting off to fibre festivals any time soon, so blogging will do for a while yet.

2) I am phone phobic. (Though after reading other memes, I was gratified to see that many admirable, high functioning folk share this weirdness.) I have no difficulty once I am actually engaged in conversation, but I will procrastinate and strategize endlessly to avoid making the call. DH generously gifted me a long-coveted dressform for my birthday last November, but the company does not fill online orders, and I will have to call their 1-800 number. I still don't have my birthday gift.

3) The texture of baked-in raisins makes me queasy.

4) Despite spending a decade and a half mucking about with human bodily functions, I find loose moustache hairs to be stomach-churningly gross. (My Beloved has a moustache.)

5) My upbringing was almost entirely cut off from Western pop culture. I have therefore spent my adult life acquiring musical tastes in highly eclectic fashion, but with the rare privilege of "discovering" the greats with fresh ears. My husband finds this amusing:
Me: "Ooh - that's a catchy tune."
Rob: "It's the Rolling Stones, dear..."

6) I have one far-sighted and one near-sighted eye. This was not discovered until around age 12, at which point I began a long and painful journey of wearing bizarre looking glasses which gave me chronic headaches. I finally bought contact lenses once I had my own money - which solved the headache problem, but still did battle with the accomodation process my brain had developed. I settled in my late 20's on wearing just the left lens because it was more comfortable that way, and last year, through some quirk of the aging process, discovered that I no longer needed them at all. So at an age when other folks (hi K!) are acquiesing to bifocals, I am at long last, correction free. This pleases me no end.

That's that. I am not tagging anyone, because I am acutely shy and anyone I know well enough to tag has already done it.

It's snowing hard again today - though hard is hardly the word for it - enormous toonie-sized flakes twirl down to smooth and soften all over again the tracks of boots and plows. The igloo we built yesterday will soon be a deliciously secret cave under a swooping curve of snowdrift. The close, gray clouds and soft snow absorb sound and light, making for a slow, pensive sort of day. Thoughts half-formed for weeks have space to take shape - like this:

Since leaving the Other profession, my senses are heightened, and I can see my children in ways that were previously obscured by anxiety and busyness and struggle. I look directly in their eyes, and watch the exquisite passage of delight, curiosity, opposition, comprehension - and they see that I see. I smell their hair, trace the curve of little necks bent intently over projects, linger over extra-tight hugs and the perfect fit of a small head under the hollow of my clavicle at storytime. There were many days Before when I would feel frighteningly disconnected, as though a dark veil hung between me and my family. The veil is gone now, and though I still do not fully understand who and what I am, I know with certainty that this is better.

Pensive

It's snowing hard again today - though hard is hardly the word for it - enormous toonie-sized flakes twirl down to smooth and soften all over again the tracks of boots and plows. The igloo we built yesterday will soon be a deliciously secret cave under a swooping curve of snowdrift. The close, gray clouds and soft snow absorb sound and light, making for a slow, pensive sort of day. Thoughts half-formed for weeks have space to take shape - like this:

Since leaving the Other profession, my senses are heightened, and I can see my children in ways that were previously obscured by anxiety and busyness and struggle. I look directly in their eyes, and watch the exquisite passage of delight, curiosity, opposition, comprehension - and they see that I see. I smell their hair, trace the curve of little necks bent intently over projects, linger over extra-tight hugs and the perfect fit of a small head under the hollow of my clavicle at storytime. There were many days Before when I would feel frighteningly disconnected, as though a dark veil hung between me and my family. The veil is gone now, and though I still do not fully understand who and what I am, I know with certainty that this is better.