RDF/RSS Feed
Atom Feed
My mother was a terrific knitter (and seamstress, and designer, and needlepointer, and…well just about everything. Engineer, nurse, built some furniture, designed everything from houses to ranch pens to clothes, carved wood, painted pictures…and made biscuits I will never equal.) Watching her pull together a knit-in-the-round sweater with no seams (especially one of the patterned ones) was a visual metaphor for what I do writing books (I realized this years later, after she’d died.) You could talk to her while she was knitting a sleeve. Often you could talk to her while she was knitting the body. But when it came to The Joining, when the two sleeve tubes were mated to the body tube at the correct angle , with her signature little cable running up the join, when there would be enough double-pointed needles in the project for several hours to make it look like a torture device, there was no talking. There was silent removal of empty coffee cup and setting down of a filled one.
I started knitting again last spring, after a 40 year gap. I started with a scarf, as I had when I first learned, only this time I did it in garter stitch the whole way. (My first had a garter stitch border on a stockinette scarf.) I wanted to knit for other people (and several people are wearing my scarves now) and I wanted to knit a few things for myself, including socks. My mother had knit me two pairs of hiking socks, way back when, but those socks were old and had problems. In the course of the year, I’ve knit quite a few scarves and became disenchanted with the blanket I was knitting when I found that the yarn melted in fires–and thus was the wrong yarn to give to a child (its original purpose.) But in spite of practicing some ribbing last fall to remind myself how to do it, I hadn’t started a sock. I’d bought yarn for socks (thick hiking-type socks, what I like to wear) but hadn’t started one.
Friday night I realized why. One of those fascinating tangles humans get themselves into about intrafamilial territory–who is “the cook” or “the knitter” or “the gardener” and how much “turf” can be shared. Who “owns” which roles. My mother knit everything: socks, mittens, hats, sweaters of many kinds, even (for herself) a pair of knit slacks. But. She did not knit scarves. I knit scarves…and except for one baby hat decades ago, nothing BUT scarves. Aha! I had defined her as the person who could do those things, and myself as the person who could only do the leftover bits. Not helpful, especially as she died in 1990 and even if she had been a turf defender, she wasn’t defending it anymore.
So Friday night, in the momentum of that awareness, I started my first sock. And here it is.
The first six/seven rows of ribbing
I did not follow the rules for knitters. For instance, before you start a project you’re supposed to do a gauge (or tension) swatch. You find out your stitches per inch in that yarn on that size needle, and from that you know how many stitches you need for your project. I knew that my momentum for doing socks was unstable, and it was better to start while I felt it. I’ve done gauge swatches before. I will again. But sometimes–and this was a time–what you need to do is just…jump in. Start. You cannot, as one of my riding instructors pointed out, guide a horse that isn’t moving. (Or, as I found out one embarrassing day while out sailing, a boat that isn’t moving: no motion, no rudder effect.)
Was I, looked at analytically, ready to start knitting a sock? Had I mastered all the individual techniques, including turning a heel, picking up stitches? Had I done my gauge swatch in this yarn with these needles, then washed and dried it and pinned it flat? Had I learned the Kitchener stitch, that invisible way of finishing sock toes (and other things?) Had I measured my leg carefully, and done the calculations from the gauge swatch to my leg to know how many stitches to cast on?
Well…no. But the moment had come to start. To take my best guess and learn from the results. To DO and not just fiddle about. (Probably not ever a good idea if you’re building your own airplane, but a bad, funny-looking, non-fitting sock won’t kill you.)
For those of you who have thought about writing, who have thought you’d really like to write a book someday, the metaphor should be obvious. Yes, there are books on writing. On every part of writing. I talk about the craft sometimes. But you’re never going to be as ready to write as after you’ve written the book….just as reading books about knitting (socks or anything) and looking at needles and yarn and listening to other knitters will not get your fingers moving and your own hand-knit something (scarf or sock or knitted doll). After I knit my first scarf I knew some more about knitting. After the second, third, fourth, fifth…I knew quite a bit more.
And what taught me most about writing was…writing itself. So if you’re still sitting there wondering when you’ll be ready to write a book…you’re as ready as you can be without actually writing it. The first one may be lousy. The first two may be lousy (but the second should be better in at least some ways than the first. ) And if what’s holding you back is what held me back with socks–your own internal belief that Someone Else is really a Writer, and you aren’t…yet…then realize that no other writer owns the turf. It’s not like you’re invading my space, or Shakespeare’s space, or any other writer’s space. The space in which you write is YOUR space, just like this sock (should it be a sock and not a mess when I’m done) will be MY sock, not an invasion of, or disrespect of, my mother’s socks.
Realizing that you have such a space–a virtual space, in that it’s in your head–in which you can define yourself as Writer and start writing–may help those of you who’ve been stuck on the edges for awhile. It certainly helped me with this sock project.
Comment by Ruth — January 29, 2012 @ 3:05 am
Thank you for this introspective advice. I find that it applies to several things that I have been putting off in my life, writing being one. When it is something I dread I am more likely to start it to get it over with than when it is something I want to do but fear that I will not do it well. For you it was your internal comparison to your mother that made you not start. I am taking your advice and starting my projects and constantly reminding myself that only by doing will I improve.
Comment by Ken — January 29, 2012 @ 5:25 am
As much as I love the books you write, these little short pieces are the gold gems of everyday living and the struggle of life. It reminds me that nothing gets done unless you do it yourself. I know the writing challenge as I am in the middle of doing a dissertation for a Ph.D. Degree. We often judge ourselves by the images and perceptions of others when compared to our self even though neither may be reality.
I look forward to these pieces regardless of whether they are Paksworld fiction or experience from everyday life. Keep them coming so we can also be motivated to knit and weave in our own way as well.
Comment by Kelley Petkun — January 29, 2012 @ 6:15 am
Don’t worry about gauge with your socks. If they don’t fit, consider it a learning experience and give them to a friend. It can backfire on you because your friend will ask for another pair. That’s why I now have such a long sock-gift list! 🙂
You will eventually get a sock that fits you perfectly. You may want to try knitting socks from the toe up. Then you can try on the first one as you knit.
Comment by Rolv Olsen — January 29, 2012 @ 9:36 am
Yes. Once more, your words resound in my mind, confirming my experiences. Over and over again, it seems, I have to remind myself that the only way to get anything done, is – to do it. And, although I’ve so often told students that it deosn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be finished, how difficult it is to apply one’s own advice on myself.
Comment by Jenn — January 29, 2012 @ 11:37 am
Welcome to seamless knitting!!!! (My very favorite type (I hate seams)). I have come to discover in knitting that you have to be ready to rip, frog, tink etc. But never give up and always learn what went wrong and how to prevent it. I am currently on a “fingerless” glove kick. You can to so much with those (ribs, lace, cable, colors) and they are a nice supplement to mittens when the -20 degree cold starts up. Toques will be next. Eventually, I will start up another multicolored yoke sweater. Maybe this summer.
Please post the completed sock.
Comment by Jenn — January 29, 2012 @ 11:41 am
One more thing…
If your sock is wool and too big you can always felt it.
Comment by Cricket — January 29, 2012 @ 1:20 pm
Just in case you made the same mistake I did with my first pair and long-tail cast-on (which is evil), know that tearing out the first row and doing something interesting to make a looser top-edge is less heart-breaking that tossing an entire pair of knee-highs. Catch the loops that threaten to ladder, and enough others to reach the original stitch-count, knit a round or two, then do a loose bind-off. Or catch them with a crocheted edge. Or be inventive.
With long-tail cast-on, the needle size affects the yarn that goes around the needle, but not tail. I held the tail too tight. It looks very tidy that way, but leads to heart-break.
I love the knitting and writing analogy. It extends beautifully. There are always more ways to do socks. Different heels, toes, colours, patterns, recipients, weather, shoes. They’re also addictive.
Comment by noallatin — January 29, 2012 @ 3:38 pm
I made my first pair of socks not knowing how difficult sock knitting was supposed to be. I hadn’t’t knit anything in 17 or so years, much less anything as complicated as the heel turn on a sock. My first pair didn’t fit me but fitmy middle son.
Just jumping in was a wonderful teacher. I learned, I got better, and I’ve moved on to bigger things and have discovered a whole new world–the fellowship of knitters.
Good luck.
Comment by june Mattes — January 29, 2012 @ 8:31 pm
Just think, if its too big, just crochet some lacing at the top and call it a christmas stocking. Thats what I did years ago and everyone in the family wanted one. LOL you even picked the right color
Comment by tuppence — January 29, 2012 @ 9:15 pm
A friend tells me that her grandmother who was blind most of her life was a champion knitter – had the patterns memorized and could knit and talk at the same time.
I thought about it and decided that I’d take up fondling marbles were I in that situation.
Comment by Kip Colegrove — January 29, 2012 @ 9:16 pm
I don’t consider this topic all the way off the Paksworld map. My mother was a knitter, and I remember how it caught my attention when I read about Paks having new socks knitted in Brewersbridge. The story went on to take note of the fact that those socks proved durable.
And thus, as we tell tales and respond to them, we honor the masters of various crafts in our lives. My mother never knitted socks, but she took great satisfaction in learning to set sleeves well and knit the crucial neckband.
Comment by elizabeth — January 29, 2012 @ 10:17 pm
Tuppence: When I decided to go back to knitting, last spring, I bought a special knitting magazine that gave some history I didn’t know. In some countries all the poor–children, adult men and women–knitted, and often knitted in the dark because they had no light. In northern England, people would dry a goose windpipe, tie off one end, use it to center a ball of yarn, drop a few dries peas in it, then tie off the other end. So if a ball of yarn dropped on the floor in the dark, someone could find it by the sound. Now if you drop your fondled marbles on the floor in the dark, you might step on one and fall. But a ball of yarn with a rattle–you could find.
Kip: There’s a bit of knitting in Echoes of Betrayal, possibly because I’d already been thinking of knitting as a possible help for my hands, though I hadn’t yet started again when I turned that book in.
June: A measure today says I lucked out and it’s not going to be too big at the top. But now I get to guess how long is long enough.
noallatin: Wow…congratulations.
Cricket: I thought long-tail cast-on was supposed to be a stretchy form of cast on. But I think I got lucky and it’s going to be big enough at the top. Now to figure out how to decrease without completely messing up the ribbing.
Jenn: My mother did mostly seamless knitting as she also didn’t like seaming up (odd, as she loved sewing otherwise.) That’s how I was introduced early to double-pointed needles. I’m hoping to learn to do fingerless gloves, but will start with one of those “wrist warmers” where I have to negotiate only one hole, for the thumb.
Comment by ellen — January 29, 2012 @ 10:22 pm
My mother in law has knitted her way around the world. Well, Australia anyway, the instant she gets in a car, out comes the knitting! She even taught my son to knit on our trip around Australia 15 years ago. And she kniited while supposedly supervising her sons’s driving lessons, (presumably because she found it too scary to watch).
Comment by Jenn — January 30, 2012 @ 9:24 am
Elizabeth here is how I decrease on a rib:
If it is a 2X2 or higher multiple rib, I usually decrease the purls evenly and then move to the knits if I have to. I do the opposite for increases.
If it is a 1X1 I decrease to side by side to keep continuity. This also works for me on the moss/seed stitch.
Hope that it is helpful
Comment by elizabeth — January 30, 2012 @ 9:43 am
Jenn: Thanks. That’s very helpful.
Comment by Cricket — February 2, 2012 @ 5:32 pm
Long-tail can be stretchy, but it can also be tight. It all depends on the tail. I had smooth yarn. When tight, it looked tidy and even. When loose, it looked baggy. With thick, squishy yarn it would probably be the opposite. Lucy Neatby’s DVDs show how to keep it loose.
Funny-looking decreases become a feature if it’s the same on both socks. I use 2 sets of needles and do the socks at the same time. Both cuffs, then both legs, etc. That way I don’t have to take notes.
Comment by Daniel Glover — February 3, 2012 @ 6:50 pm
Hope the next round with that sock turns out better for you!
Comment by elizabeth — February 3, 2012 @ 7:03 pm
SockOne is making progress. After the hilarious error of knitting myself into a literal “bind”, it’s back on the right number of needles with the right number of stitches on each, and the cuff is three times longer than a week ago.
I knit less on SockOne today because some new yarn arrived (handspun natural color wool from Cotswold sheep, sort of a mottled taupe color) and I couldn’t keep from playing with the new wool for a half hour. Pictures of both yesterday’s “bind-up” and today’s new wool are up at http://e-moon60.livejournal.com/
In Paksworld, there are of course sheep of different colors, and the wool may be used either in that natural color or dyed. Dyeing is a skilled craft, and most people have access to natural-color yarn or yarn dyed with a few local dyes (think the ubiquitous “butternut” of the colonial frontier.) Cotswold sheep have multicolored wool–even on one sheep it may be many different shades–and some people will choose to separate the different colors on the fleece and spin them separately. I can easily imagine wool this color being woven and knitted in Paksworld.
I have a natural-color knitted hat I bought in New Zealand that’s almost the same color as the yarn that came today, but from a different breed of sheep (or else the wool was treated differently)–it’s softer. This wool is a little “hairier”. I like them both.
Comment by Jenn — February 4, 2012 @ 3:39 pm
I was given and old knitting magazine from ’88. It was talking about the history of knitting. I am amazed at how young it is in textile history. Now I am off to try some new/old patterns and knitting styles from Scandinavia.