dpn count

I need size 7 double pointed needles, which should not be a problem.  I made my first hat on size 7 dpns.  I’ve made scarves on them.  I definitely made the sleeves of the sweater I made Sadie a few months ago with them.

And yet, when I go look through my trusty needle mug, the result is this:

Size 5′s: 8, 4 metal and 4 wooden, neither a usable set.  Yay.

Size 6′s:  I suspect I have more size 6 dpns than god.  4 six inchers, 4 seven inch ones, and 5 (yes, 5!) of the eight inch variety.

Size 8′s: 5.  Just 5.  They’re even all the same brand.

Size 9′s: All plastic.  I must have a “broke when I need size 9 needles” curse.  3 grey, 3 orange, and (the most recent) 5 white.

But, size 7′s?  One.  One measly needle.

There’s a really good reason to have one dpn of a size in my mug.  Usually it means I cast on something random, worked on it for a while, then got bored and stuck it in the bottom of my wip basket or between my bed and the wall or in my underwear drawer.  Ok, I’m exaggerating on the last one, but I wouldn’t put it past me.   The spare needle sits behind my ear until I brush my hair or something, then I stick it in the mug to make sure I can find it later.  I forget all about said WIP until I need the dpns for something else, then I go find it.

It’s chaos, but I know the system.  It’s like public university, and most of us made it through that OK.

But I can’t for the life of me think of when in god’s name I used that set of needles.  Sleeves, yes.  Possibly for closing the top of Jen’s hat a while ago, but I think I used 8′s and in any case, the hats been done for ages.  The needles would have wandered back to the mug by now.

I’m flummoxed.  And dpn-less.  Although I do have an extra size 7 circular so if it comes down to it, I can do the sleeves that way. Hmm.  I’ll go rummage some more before I truly say uncle.

PS– God does knit.  And I’m sure s/he has size 6 dpns.  But s/he probably doesn’t lose one of each set and have to buy new ones every five minutes.

 

Yarn sadness

I should have posted last night, because I was *so* piqued, but I was way too exhausted from a day of hopeless yarn battle.

You see, I bought a skein of Tofutsies a few days ago, because socks are the most practical project to take to Burning Man and I’ve been excited to try out this yarn. Not only that, but in my extreme financial difficulties, it’s the *only* skein of yarn I’m letting myself buy before I move and get a job. I love the feel of it–wool-sensitive folks need sock yarn too, and the cotton and soysilk in these seems like just the ticket! I haven’t been that excited about a yarn purchase since my first skein of Malabrigo.

I’ve never seen pooling quite like this. I didn’t manage to take any pictures, because knitting and then ripping 3-4 inches of sock all day made me kinda insane. However, I found a pic from someone who had similar problems with the same color:

I actually spent all day trying to make mine look like this–the magenta and black were pooling on one side, and the lavendar and pink on the other, going straight down. I spent all day trying to make them swirl like the knitter above, and failed for the most part. My sock continued to look like a 6 year old girl’s on one side and a goth’s on the other side.

Yesterday in brief:

I start with the intention of making knitty’s Hedera. 4 inches of that on size 1 needles, and gee, I have a problem. No matter, the pattern’s roomy and the yarn is quite fine, I’ll switch it down to size 0′s. Hmm, moving slightly to the left, but still pretty much the same. I adjust the entire pattern down to 54 stitches and put it back on size 1′s. No go. Zeros? No. Ok, ok, maybe this particular lace isn’t happening. Let’s just put plain old women’s medium 56 stitches on size 1 needles and work the leg in a plain old boring rib. No. Size 0 needles? No. (By now you can see that my choices are more about desperation and frustration than logic, which would have made me put these aside halfway through the day.) Ok, I’m desperate. The ball says size 2 needles, and while I’d normally consider that too open for a sock, perhaps the dyers had some plan that will only be revealed to me on size 2 needles. I try basic ribbing on 52 and 48 stitches. Nope, same plan. I then cast on an unprecedented 64 stitches on size 1′s, planning to cable and rib the hell out of them. To be fair, the last one most resembles the pic above, but it still just didn’t *work* and I didn’t really want cabled socks anyway.

By my (not scientific) calculation, I knit somewhere between 17 and 25 inches of sock yesterday. ::Pokes own eye out with size 2 knitting needles::

I wrote a letter to SWTC–which I’ve never done before, and I don’t intend to get in the habit of being one of those annoying people who blames the yarn for all her misfortunes. I used to absolutely hate it when people came into the yarn store and complained about pooling, saying things like, “This yarn isn’t well-made!” Pooling happens. No dyer can anticipate each and every gauge, width, and stitch that you might want to make the yarn into.

But it’s a sock yarn. And I wanted to make a women’s medium sock. It didn’t have to resemble the one on the band or the one on the website exactly(example below), and pools of colors or swirls would have been ok. I sometimes even like pools. They’re like the Rorschach test of the knitting world. I wouldn’t have minded changing needles or the number of stitches a few times to get something that looked good. I’m very forgiving. But this was… new. Is it so wrong to expect that a manufacturer would take the time to at least make sure that a sock yarn would work for a sock? It’s not like I can expect my yarn to come with a warranty (too many variables)–but in my opinion, this skein of yarn is “broken.” If my microwave comes broken, I get a new one. If my yarn comes broken (and this is the first time I’ve ever considered that to be the case), nothing happens unless I bring it back to the very small business I purchased it from and ask them to eat the cost, which I refuse to do. That sucks.

Anyways, we’ll see how they respond to the letter. In the past, I’ve really loved their products, and they were great to deal with as vendors when I was working at TGF. Whatever this post might sound like, I still love SWTC. It just might be a while before I trust their sock yarn.

Late late last night, I cast on “Hedera” again, this time in and old ball of Cherry Tree Hill’s Supersock. This yarn was too fluffy for the pattern and resulted in an enormous cuff. Perhaps I’m just not meant to have those!

 

Dearest Sock,

I know you must be wondering what made me end our relationship so suddenly and violently. I selected your yarns with care, spent good money securing your freedom from the lonely shelves of the store, cast you on lovingly. You were beautiful hand-dyed merino, in two colorways that I hoped would spend many happy years together. And if Basic Black was machine-dyed, who could blame him? He was solid, dependable, and just as necessary as your wild splashings of color. I spent hours and hours with you, trying you on every few rows to ensure that you would be spacious enough for every part of my leg. Your stitches were even and perfect as I worked hundreds of rows of mindless stockinette, switching to a lattice lace that would show oh so enticingly above my Doc Martens. I spoke to you in whispers about what would happen when you reached my thighs; you would be united with two of my other lovers– Doc and Garter Belt. We would be inseparable.

Thus, I can easily understand your surprise and betrayal when, after a moment of silence, I ripped you out entirely. You, once on your way to being a mighty thigh-high, reduced to lowly hand-wound balls! It must have been excruciating, stitch by stitch, stripe by stripe. I can only offer an apology for the pain I’ve caused and my firm belief that I have acted for the well-being of all concerned.

As much as I loved you, I was afraid from the start that Jewel and Brights didn’t complement each other as lovingly as they had seemed to in the hank. Unwilling to give up my dream, I tried to press you into a shape that you never were supposed to inhabit. It was foolish, it was hubris, and ultimately, it was human. I hope you can forgive me.

This whole ordeal has led me to make some uncomfortable admissions about myself. I have very sensitive skin, and wool can be a problem. There, I said it. Living among so many wool-happy knitters, I led myself believe that the tiny scratches I felt when I held your hank to my neck were immaterial. After all, you were no Cascade 220! You are gorgeous, superwash merino! I promised myself it would be ok, that I would get over it, and that once you were as beautiful as I imagined you would be, it would all be forgotten. I was wrong. As you grew ever taller, creeping up the back of my knee, reaching for my thigh, I had to face the fact that the itch was not going to go away. I am so sorry.

Jewel, you will stand so much better on your own. With as much depth and complexity as you already possess, I was wrong to force you into an orgy of color and pattern that you weren’t ready for. When I decide that I have a project worthy of you–your own pair of socks, or perhaps even a lovely scarf or hat– we will be reunited.

Brights and Basic Black, you have already been refashioned into the beginnings of lovely flame-patterned, striped socks. While I’ve made only the cuff and leg, I truly believe that you are better off now than you ever were in my ill-advised thigh highs. I think we will be much happier together this way.

I hope this brief explanation will help you gain some closure, and that we can still be friends. Your memory will always be dear to me, and it is my fervent wish that we find true love again as you take your new shapes.

Yours always,

Jess

 

Sleeves.

Are big.  They really, really are.  This is hard to remember when the front and back of a sweater, visually, are the large expanses of knitted material.  It is even harder to remember when one is knitting a pullover that was originally intended to be a shrug, such that it is designed to fall just below the bust.  In this case, that “I’m done!” feeling that accompanies finishing off the front and back of a sweater is especially foolhardy.

This is the case with the sweater I am working on now, using SWTC’s Optimum DK in silver that was originally intended to be a wrap.  Recipe for craziness: take discontinued yarn that was intended for a wrap and make a sweater out of it.  I started the first sleeve yesterday, having used only a bit more than 2 skeins for the front and back.   With three skeins in front of me, I was really quite unconcerned about making two three-quarter length sleeves.  I happily cast on and began to knit, only after a few inches, when I could wrap the cuff around my arm comfortably, I decided the lace and cable pattern was unsuited for either elbow-length or 3/4 sleeves.  No matter.  Full sleeves are just fine, aren’t they?

Yesterday evening, most of the way through the first sleeve (and making a good dent in the second skein), I had my first attack of real doubt.  I may not make it.  75 grams does not a sleeve yield.  At this point, I begin looking through the drawers where I put the skeins when I first bought them, to see if the mythical sixth skein existed.  I did this casually, once every hour or so, as if I didn’t care whether or not the yarn was there.  I then began looking through the other boxes where I keep WIP this morning, since I didn’t want to order an extra ball of the yarn if I already had one–it’s lovely, lovely yarn, but I’m unemployed.

Shaping the cap this afternoon, reality set in.  I was definitely not going to make it.  And when I bought this yarn, months ago, it was already discontinued.  The worldwide availability of it must be dwindling.  As we speak.  I rushed to my computer, Googling as if my life depended on it.  The only local store that carried it sold its very last ball to me, so the internet was my last best hope for yarn salvation.

It was too late.  I was able to find one store that still had the DK weight, and they didn’t have color 541-Silver.  Ebay, nothing.  I even started to search blogs in the rabid hope of an “I hate this yarn and I have six skeins of it!” or a “The pattern called for 15 skeins, and I used 10!” post.  I’m not above begging.  But it was no use.

In desperation, I pulled the lid off my biggest yarn bin, the one I touch the least.  I only keep orphan yarn in there–yarn with no project or plans.  Since I had cast on the minute I got home with this yarn, it had no business being in that bin.

And yet, at the very bottom, 50 grams of silver joy.  Victory!

Sleeves are big.  Don’t forget that.  And always check the orphan bin.

 

swatch, baby, swatch!

While I always swatch for my own designs, when I’m working from a pattern, I often don’t.  This isn’t general advice (I always tell TGF customers that they should), but I have my reasons.  A) My gauge is almost always dead-on (within about a quarter stitch per inch–usually I knit slightly tighter than pattern gauge).  B) Most of the things I make aren’t things that need to be precisely sized–bags, accessories, etc.  Who feels the need to get gauge on a scarf?  C) I’m usually knitting in the round, and so the gauge would be different than a flat swatch anyway– instead, I usually just work 2-3 inches and then take a look at what I’m getting.

Famous.  Last.  Words.

I started making the Rockstar Cardigan from Alchemy Yarns yesterday, using Malabrigo worsted in Olive.  While the yarn I’m using is quite a bit fluffier than the Alchemy yarn the pattern was designed for, I figured I could use a couple inches on the large size anyway, and the design *really* doesn’t look like it needs to be precisely sized.  So I just jumped in.

Big mistake.  I’ve never worked from a chart before, and I was chatting with Miss Lila May, so I did some awkward things to the lace pattern– 19 rows in, frogged that one.  Knitted a swatch so that I could get a feel for the lace pattern, but didn’t measure my gauge on it– why, why would I do such a thing? 21 rows into my second attempt, realized that it looked more like I was working on a throw blanket than the back of the sweater.

Back to the swatch.  The pattern gauge is 4.75 stitches/inch.  I am apparently getting a whopping 3.86 stitches to the inch.  At Lily’s suggestion, I blocked the swatch to see how much the lace opens up, bringing me to a final gauge of 3.33 stitches to the inch. Luckily, a little bit of math revealed that following the directions for the small size would yield an appropriately big sweater for my big ass in my big gauge.  I’m now on the right track.

I just lost all the time I’ve ever saved from not knitting a swatch first.  Just one more situation where the sage (and somewhat pretentious) advice of books turns out to be more than fluff.

I, Jessica, vow to always knit a swatch first.  Except for bags.  And scarves.  And most hats.

 

Froggy doesn't like me…

As a quick project to distract me from the backgammon board, I attempted to frog and restart a rag scarf that I designed a couple weeks ago.

The concept was this: I wanted dropped stitches and a sort of “destroyed” look, but I didn’t want to just wait until the end and drop straight little ladders of stitches. I wanted the ladders to be randomly distributed and not all the same length. So I designed a “roadblock” stitch that would stop a dropped stitch in its tracks. And it worked! The effect was fun, and dropping a stitch every 3 rows was entertaining.

However, I mistakenly thought that a 1-1 ratio of roadblocks to dropped stitches would work. In reality, too many of the holes were too big, leading to the scarf looking a little *too* destroyed and snagging on anything within five feet of me.

So, I tried to frog it. And guess what? The same stitches that keep dropped stitches from unraveling from above turn into little knots when you try to frog them from below. So I have to trash the whole thing. It was $2 Bernat Satin acrylic, and the whole scarf took me maybe 2 hours, so I’m not too torn up about it (so to speak), but it’s still a little bit annoying.

Oh well.

 

Depressing

This backgammon board that I’m making for my dad’s birthday is just wigging me out! It’s probably the ugliest thing I’ve knit in a long time– some of the short row transitions left big ugly holes despite my best efforts, and I decided to learn to knit continental right in the middle of it, so the gauge is kinda wonky (although, given that I see beginner projects every day at work, not *that* bad). I lost a stitch somewhere in the last set of triangles and, since I couldn’t figure out *where,* just made one and kept going. There’s no ladder, so it’s not a dropped stitch– I think I might have grabbed one extra when working wrap(s) together with a wrapped stitch. Bah!

My goal in picking it up this morning was to knit one more set of triangles before doing some housework. I knit two rows and then came here.

You wanna know where I’m at in the pattern if I finish that next set of triangles??? “Knit rows 3-82 three more times…” Granted, the pattern uses short rows, so that’s a little misleading, but still! Then after that I need to knit the pieces and a little bag to hold them. Talk about demoralizing. I’m at that point where I can only think bad thoughts about it– “He won’t like it anyway;” “These colors are horrid together; “I’ll probably fuck up the felting part and then what good is this?” etc.

Le sigh.

Edit–why doesn’t LJ want to link to picasaweb? I hate uploading pics directly to LJ (I don’t know why, I just do.) Whatever.
Edit2– I also love how uploading a photo automatically switches one into Rich Text mode, but then ignores your html tags so your formerly bold text just looks like <b>this</b>. Dumb, dumb, dumb.