The Independent Stitch

Ready for the next cold snap: new mittens

These mittens were initially seen in my December 28 post, very early in their process. The impetus: cold weather and inadequate gloves and mittens; need for travel knitting; a kind gift from LynnH at ColorJoy! of a lovely skein of Araucania kettle-dyed wool and Lynn's own pattern for "toe-up" mittens . . . knitted from the tip, without need for a gauge swatch.

Here's a reprise of their first appearance:

There is a wee bit at the start of the pattern where you can decide whether you're working with the needles you want or not. Then you launch away. I am a TRUE believer in the value of gauge and I knit swatches and swatches and swatches. It's also exquisite, now and then, to make something without swatching. Especially something that (1) needs to fit and (2) does, perfectly, when completed.

Lynn's instructions suit the beginner or the running-out-the-door experienced knitter (I was catching a plane when I started these). I can't think of another project I could have pulled together to my satisfaction in five minutes as I was leaving town.

Because of the wicked wind we'd been facing, I wanted mittens that were as nearly windproof and moisture-resistant as possible. We walk the dogs at least twice a day, and we maybe . . . MAYBE . . . skip one day a year. Our fourteen-year-old Border collie-ish pup insists that only the most dire weather is an excuse not to walk. Even then she is doubtful about the wisdom of staying in. She has pretty serious arthritis. She ADORES snow. Arguing with a Border collie (even one who looks like she has a bit of spaniel blood) does not go well. She looks so cheerfully insistent.

You wouldn't think this would demand walks in sleet and blizzards, would you?

She does.

We put a coat on her, and sometimes try to convince her to wear booties (not a big hit), and out we go.

The Araucania wool in this weight comes with a manufacturer's suggested gauge of 18 stitches/4 inches (10cm), or about 4.5 stitches/inch. I began knitting at a gauge that I thought would fend off the elements. Here's another reminder of mitten-in-progress, from the trip.

The finished mittens measure a remarkable 9 stitches/inch (36/10cm) and I am delighted with them. They are extremely firm but not stiff.

Lynn's pattern includes an easy thumb variation that would work well in most circumstances.

As I knitted along, though, I realized that my fabric was not going to have much give. It would flex, but that was different. So I decided that my thumb needed to be constructed differently.

So when I reached the end of the palm area, I cast on about a third as many stitches as I had in the hand and continued to knit in the round, decreasing out 2 stitches in every 4th round, one on either side of the newly cast-on set, until I was down to 1 stitch at the base of the thumb, which was at the wrist. I could have gotten by with doing the decreases every 3rd round, but this worked. I knitted a round even and then returned to Lynn's instructions: knitted the ribbing, and picked up stitches for the thumb and completed that.

Then, of course, the second mitten.

They look a little long through the hand, don't they? I knitted them for myself, with me personally available to try them on so I could decide when the hand was finished, how long the thumb should be, and so on.

My daughter tried them on. While she can wear them, they don't fit her hands. They do fit mine.

I still don't know how they'll do in the wind and snow, because it hasn't been awful in the few days since I bound off and wove in the ends, but I think they're going to be fantastic. I know they'll be more weather-resistant than any of the hand-wear I had.

Actually, I'm planning to order some of Lynn's hand-dyed sock yarn to make a second pair. I like her Flammegarn especially well. It's fun and interesting to knit (and when knitted) but doesn't try to upstage everything else I'm wearing. I'm going to need another mellow and low-input knitting project because I've got a work in progress for a book for another publisher. It can't really show up here, but it's a lovely color.

A fine memoir: The Geography of Love, by Glenda Burgess

I find it easy to find books that might be interesting to read. I can haul them home from the library or bookstore by the armload. It's only a bit more difficult to find books that are worth the time of a full reading. It's rare, however, to find one that won't let me put it down.

Over the past few days, I've been having that difficulty with Glenda Burgess's The Geography of Love. This morning I awoke at 6:30, intending to read another chapter or two, and ended up postponing everything—yoga, breakfast, the whole shebang (my favorite parts of the day)—until I'd reached the last page.

Having just closed the book, I don't want to summarize or analyze. I do want to remark and recommend, for those who like good writing or who appreciate the process of earning wisdom and sharing it.

Hiding at a spot up the canyon, for a few hours

My brain is somewhat scrambled with work. Jobs are piled up everywhere, and I'm making progress but I still think the overall mass of to-dos is gaining on me.

So it's a good thing that yesterday three of us from my writing group drove up to a cabin in the mountains west of here for an uninterrupted day of work.

It was bliss.

Productive bliss.

Here are two photos of the place where we holed up for the day. They were both taken at about 4:30 p.m., as we were preparing to leave. We didn't delay any potential writing time by taking photos when we got there, although we did pause to admire the location.

The day was gorgeous. If blocks of writing-and-thinking time weren't so rare, the temptation of spending the day outside would have been irresistible. I had to settle for watching the magpies and crows and other birds dig into the seed and suet in the feeders. I didn't even have time to notice if any less pushy and greedy birds got to do any eating, and we didn't need the bells that are recommended as bear-alerting devices for people who do get to go for walks in the area.

Throughout yesterday, the temperature was in the 50s F (10-15 degrees C) and the sky was clear until we were leaving, when it started to look like a weather change was approaching. Today's report from that part of the world shows 20 degrees F (-6 degrees C) and 60% chance of snow.

The cabin is about 1.5 hours from my home. We got about 6 hours of work done—each, of course. We engaged in maybe ten minutes of conversation, other than the opening-and-closing-the-cabin routines (lights, heat, water pump, water shutoff, fuse box, lock-up). Within the cabin (which I think might incorporate more square feet than my house), we each had our own working area, and could move around if we wanted: table, reading chair, whatever. I stayed put at the kitchen table.

We were testing out the location as a possible site for a several-day writing retreat later in the season. Except that we need to take a few extra warm bits of clothing and some portable, brighter lights, it worked really well. I completed one task (start to finish, 3.5 hours); made good progress on a large job that's been on my plate for months (1.5 hours); and started some reading about publication design templates that could increase my efficiency on future work (.5 hour). (The extra .5 hour was the brief chat, boiling water for tea, and having a bit of lunch.)

I've always wanted to get away to a writing colony for a span of focused creative work. I've never been able to figure out how to handle the financial and practical logistics of doing that. Even shorter blocks of time are really hard to (1) find and (2) protect. This brief escape worked beautifully. Except that I want MORE.

Maybe even a hike or two as well.

Greedy, hunh?

On going to press today: Ethnic Knitting Exploration

I wasn't sure the book in the FedEx package below was ever going to go to press.

Between computer problems and a few other complications, its schedule kept getting hammered. Except for the glitches, and the subsequent financial challenges, it's been ready for the printer since late last summer. 

And now, finally, inside the envelope is the book that will have this cover when it's finished:

Next to the package in the first image is this book's older sibling, Ethnic Knitting Discovery: The Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, and The Andes, which was released in October 2007.

Ethnic Knitting Exploration: Lithuania, Iceland, and Ireland was supposed to have been published in October 2008, but that date had to be set long before the computers started misbehaving (some of them still are). Both books are by Donna Druchunas, who's also written The Knitted Rug, Arctic Lace, and Kitty Knits . . . so far.

I can't wait to see Ethnic Knitting Exploration as a bound and finished book! It'll be about a month. That's the normal turnaround for books that are printed in North America. (It's being printed on Green Press Initiative-qualifying paper, of course.)

You wouldn't think several years' worth of work by a number of people would fit in such a small package (2 pounds 4 ounces, or about 1kg). The package is only as big as it is because I'm a traditionalist and still send a laser-printed copy of the pages to the printer. Now that the workflow is almost entirely PDF-based, the printout is not essential. Yet I never quite trust doing a final check of the PDF files on a screen. I want to know the book prints somewhere, even though the files have been built to work best on the specific printer's equipment. Some printers still appreciate receiving the printouts, too.

This printout doesn't look as good as usual. The printer's specs for the PDFs result in pages that look light when output to my laser. That's because the "real" printer uses different inks and paper, which means the fine lines "grow" a bit when reproduced through their system. Meanwhile, I'm anxious that some of the type won't show up right. My rational mind says it will. My irrational mind is panicking just a bit. You never know what a book will look like until you see the real thing. Especially since, in this case, the laser prints black-and-white only and the real book will print in two colors—K (also known as black) + 1 PMS (a custom-mixed spot color, in this case PMS 299).

In addition, in the long span of months since I sent the previous book to press (in August 2007), I've switched to recycled laser cartridges. For everyday work, they're terrific. However, they don't print as crisply as the brand-name variety, and at this point that matters. However, there's nothing to be done about the printout variability except to note that all the type and illustrations appear to be in the correct locations and to practice yogic breathing.

Meanwhile, I have (as is traditional for print runs) drained my bank account in yet another act of faith. I trust that this publishing stuff is worthwhile and that people will buy the books and the author and I will be able to continue to buy groceries and have places to live. In this case, the rational mind (which says "WHAT am I doing with my life?") needs to take a back seat to the irrational one (which says "keeping important knowledge from dying, and empowering contemporary knitters").

The day before yesterday, I had to use the power button to stop the computer from hanging while I was working on generating the book's printer-quality files and burning them to CD. I didn't do this just once. In fact, I lost track of how many times . . . probably five or six, maybe more. There comes a time when I choose not to keep the count going. Then, of course, I had to wait while it rebooted, and then check the job's progress and start over. . . . This is the "old" system (the one I bought last March, because I was having so many problems with the previous system). I hope and trust that the next book will come off the "new" system (the one I bought in November and am still learning how to use).

Inside the pack:

• CD with files for cover and text
• printout of all text pages
• signed contract, with quantities circled and initialed, and special carton packing and labeling requirements highlighted
• check for a significant chunk of money; unlike authors and publishers, printers get paid up front
• instructions for how many books to ship to what locations when the job's done
• copies of the distributor's requirements for carton labeling, pallet construction and packing, and shipment notification 

The next step is proofs, in about ten days. I could cut a week off the production cycle by forgoing proofs, but they're important to review. Problems do show up that can be fixed before thousands of copies are manufactured.

And then I've got four more books backed up behind this one, wanting my attention, wanting to get out into the world.

One at a time. That's what I can do. One at a time.

Upcoming blog tour for Ethnic Knitting Exploration

There will be a blog tour for Ethnic Knitting Exploration, likely in March. Want to be involved? Get in touch with me or Donna by February 8!

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Working to save our neighborhood coffee house (great tea and chai, too)

Our neighborhood coffee shop, Catalyst Coffee, is most likely going out of business. We've watched the business go through a series of events that would have been possible to weather in almost any other economy. The amount of money the staff needs to stay open isn't even all that much; it's just not available right now.

The owners and staff are facing the possibility/probability of closing with grace, and the regulars are hoping that a pile of small miracles will save Catalyst at the last minute (similar to the series of miracles that are sending Ethnic Knitting Exploration to press).

There's a celebration/fundraiser on Saturday. WIth luck, there'll be enough money by Monday to keep our home-away-from-home operating as usual. In any case, there'll be a party. 

I usually meet authors and illustrators at Catalyst, because with all the cartons of books my house isn't big enough for even a two-person meeting. My knitting group meets at Catalyst. My daughter and I frequently either walk the dogs or bike over there for a cup of tea or chai. We hope we continue to have our Catalyst. There are substitutes, but they are not nearby or adequate.

If you live locally and don't know about this and want to make a difference, there's a donation button on the Catalyst Coffee page. If you don't live locally but have a bit of spare change, this is the sort of place that you'd like to be able to visit when you're in our area and they'd appreciate your help in staying open so you can.

Having just sent a bunch of money to the printer, I'll be turning my pockets inside out and shaking out the couch cushions and looking under the seats in the car and finding out how much is in the piggy bank, and then taking a trip to Catalyst tomorrow to add my two bits (or more) to the collection.

It sort of feels like "put on our own oxygen mask before helping others." Then help others.

Last week's Boulder wildfires: the spinning/knitting connection

On Wednesday, January 7, the Colorado Front Range experienced remarkably strong, sustained winds. In the vicinity of Boulder and Longmont, about an hour from where I live, those winds knocked over a power line very close to Bobra Goldsmith's Rocky Mountain Llamas. The resulting fire, wind-driven, quickly destroyed Bobra's home.

The good news is that Bobra's farm manager alerted Bobra in time. All people and, miraculously, all of the llamas at the ranch were unharmed.

The bad news is that Bobra didn't even have time to grab her purse. She escaped with the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet. Bobra's mother was an artist and handspinner, and the fire consumed Bobra's collection of her mother's work (as well as an inherited Picasso).

Yet on the television news reports, Bobra used her time before the cameras to tell viewers how wonderful and smart llamas are. She also immediately moved a fifth-wheel onto the property so she can stay close to her animals. 

The Rocky Mountain llama community is providing lots of practical, animal-related support to one of its pioneering members. People showed up immediately to round up animals and reconstruct fencing. Yet Bobra needs clothes—especially cosy (and work-ready) ones. She's someone who appreciates, and has lived her life around, handspinning and hand knitting.

If anyone feels inspired to provide help, she could use socks (size 8), a couple of hats, some mittens, whatever else fiber folk might feel inspired to make from their stashes. Let me know in the comments if you're interested and I can give you an address to send items to. (Farm manager L'illette Vasquez did not lose her home, but is working even harder than usual because the farm got partially burned and she and Bobra lost some of their llama-care facilities. L'illette would likely welcome warm socks, too, and wears a size 12.)

Llama owner, spinner, and knitter Kris Paige is coordinating this effort. Kris has donated to Bobra one of the sweaters Kris knitted to test the concepts in Donna Druchunas' Ethnic Knitting Discovery, shown here being modeled by my daughter:

That's the motif sweater from The Netherlands section. The garment's a little big for Bobra, but we hear she likes her clothes that way—maybe so she can pull the sleeves down to keep her hands warm! Yes, of course, it's wool! (Thanks to Plymouth for the yarn donation.)

Let us know any time in the next several months if you've come up with a source of any extra heart- and person-warming items for Bobra. I'm sure she'll have the basics covered pretty soon because of local support. It's the spinning/knitting piece (one or both) that it would be nice to be able to offer.

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Worksheets for the sweater are available in Ethnic Knitting Discovery, of course, and as an individual download in Donna Druchunas' store on Ravelry. It just occurs to me that there are some charted llama motifs in Priscilla Gibson-Roberts' Knitting in the Old Way, revised (2004) edition. Both books are available in many libraries.

"Unrealistic optimism"

Last week, while I was away from home, I envisioned having some time to catch up with a few things that would make my life easier when I got back . . . not completing any work, but accomplishing several small items that keep getting bumped to the bottom of my to-do list.

Before I left, I started reading Sam Gosling's Snoop: What Your Stuff Says About You. Gosling is a psychologist who uses the "traces" of people's lives to see what can be learned about them. Snoop is an extremely well written recounting of observations derived from Gosling's, and others', academic work. I read almost none of Snoop while I was on the ground in Washington. I read it on the plane to Seattle and on the return trip, and finished it after I got home—in close proximity to my intentions.

Among other things, Gosling lists an array of reasons why people might live in cluttered spaces. One of them he called "unrealistic optimism": the belief that it's possible to get more done than can actually be accomplished. Whammo. Nailed me.

Over the two travel days and six Seattle days, I hoped to read chunks of six books (two about Mac computers, two novels, and two nonfiction), clear out my e-mail inbox (which was empty in October, and now is clogged with 417 messages, despite daily, diligent effort), visit Elliott Bay Bookstore and Dusty Strings music shop, catch up on my sleep, reformat the files for one of the books I'm writing and move them into the software program called Scrivener, and knit a pair of mittens. In my world, these are pretty limited expectations, things that could be fitted into odd moments around the primary purpose of the trip, spending time with my family.

I did read one whole book. I got to Dusty Strings. I slept between 1.5 and 3.5 hours more a day than I do at home (taking the edge off semi-chronic fatigue). And I knitted half a mitten. Snoop counts as an accomplishment, too, because I completed it within twenty-four hours of returning home.

And yes, I did a lot of visiting, although there's never quite enough of that, either.

The book I read all the way through seems related to "unrealistic optimism," another take on the idea that we can reach farther than we think we can: Barack Obama's The Audacity of Hope. 

Both "unrealistic optimism" and "audacity of hope" sound to me like reasons to wake up in the morning, shuck off as many lingering shadows of depression as possible, and head out to do a little more than is rationally possible with our quotas of time and energy.

I really would like to vacuum the carpet and get the (clean, folded) laundry put away, instead of just grabbing it to wear again.

But the following are some of the items that are higher on my priority list: write part of one section of a book, send another book to press, make progress on a freelance editing job, do editing or layout on the next Nomad Press title, figure out whether I'm likely to have enough income this month and how to rearrange jobs or expenses if necessary (usually is), ship cartons of books in response to a purchase order, inventory the fonts I can move to the Mac and those I'll have to replace and the ones I'll need to live without, do the end-of-year physical inventory, walk the dogs or do some physical therapy with the older one, and maybe squeeze in time to meet a friend for a cup of tea.

Oh, and file or delete a bunch of e-mails—and put some more rows into that mitten so maybe I can have warm hands the next time we get a big snow.

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Quote from the Wild Words from Wild Women daily calendar, December 25, 2008:

"There can be no happiness if the things we believe in are different from the things we do." —Freya Stark