New Year's Wish

I used to think of myself as an adventurous outdoorswoman, but the older I get, the more girlie my tastes become, and the more I crave the lifestyle of a French Coquette, all Parisian Apartment, little dog (got one!), impractical clothing, and cool shoes. In order to calm myself when faced with another bout of lugging 80 pounds of rock salt out to treat our ice ramp hill in my cruddy jeans and stomping boots, I visualize a nice, safe, warm pink apartment full of old wallpaper and lace and yarn and vintage textiles, a pot of tea at my side as I plan my next project. Somehow my husband is not in this visualization, even though I love him madly. He can come visit later, after the ice melts. My New Year's Wish is to have a place in the city again!

All-Powerful Reeling Machine

Here's a list of "Christmas presents" I've received from Mother-In-Law in the past: pop-up sponges, scouring brushes, micro-fiber dust cloths, silver polish, (plain muslin) dish towels, etc. Do you note the Cinderella theme? I guess I'm getting worse at keeping the sour look off my face when I tear open the tissue paper, because this year she made me pick out my own gifts. And so we come to the All-Powerful Reeling Machine: A swift and yarn winder from my favorite local yarn store, Knitorious. Although she doesn't knit, Mother-In-Law, an artist's daughter, loves this place because of the incredible colors on display. And I love my new yarn winder, though I had to figure out how to use the swift intuitively — just try and get a sensible answer out of those directions! (Click top pic to enlarge.)

The Gift of Smartness

These are the items I would like for Christmas, from the Montgomery Ward & Co. catalog of 1931. Those mesh bags go for about $350 now. Since these Smart Gifts are so expensive, I'll settle for the gift of smartness instead. This next year is the year I want to be smart enough to set in a sweater sleeve. I can do it no problem with fabric, so I don't know why my brain seizes when I try to do it with knitting. Although, I did just get a really cool book, Custom Knits, by Wendy Bernard, which tells one how to achieve the set-in look from the top down, with picked up stitches and short rows. I'll try that way first and if it works, well then, problem solved. I feel smarter already.

Sweetart Knitting

I guess I can too knit when I'm having an anxiety attack, because I managed to finish this Eyelet Candy Shawlet in these last three days. This yarn is Ella Rae Lace Merino in Primary #102 colorway. It really makes me want to eat Sweetarts, bad. I hate wearing colors myself, unless you consider black, grey, khaki, and brown colors, but I sure do love to knit them. This yarn taught me some things: superwash blocks funny and makes yarnovers turn huge, I enjoy knitting laceweight with #5 or #6 but not #7 needles, and I do like variegated yarn, after all.

Turkey Trot

Right after I finished my rant yesterday about how much I hate living outside city limits, I heard a weird squeaking sound coming from somewhere near my office. At first I thought it was my chair, but when I looked over my shoulder and out the window, I saw 7 wild turkeys trotting by. One lagged behind to peer in at me. Ugly little buzzard! I do hate the country, but only because I'm not in the city, if that makes any sense. The Husband and I have been discussing ways to fix our homesickness, and we'll probably end up renting another pied à terre, somewhere cheap but not too dangerous. I'd willingly work 6 back-to-back 12-hour night shifts, even in the dread Neuro ICU, for an urbane place to crash. And then to wake up and inhale the sweet soot of my ancestral town before teaching Bridget how to ice skate at Steinberg! She is such a smart and athletic chihuahua! As per the picture on this post, I assume Rice-Stix was the department store that preceded Stix-Baer & Fuller (which was bought out by Dillard's — I forget when.) I found this sample fabric booklet, and the one from yesterday, at the estate sale of a woman who lived at the end of Kingshighway in South St. Louis, and who, one may deduce by the other cool Little Hippie fashion photos I found there, had once been an instructor at Wash. U.'s Fashion School. I don't feel comfortable at estate sales, because the vulture aspect is highly pronounced. You know you're invading someone else's space and former life at estate sales, whereas the junk found in junk stores has been depersonalized. For the record, I still hate winter.

Mel-O-Crepe

I hate living in the country, and I especially hate living in the country in the winter when our hill is an ice slick and my husband is recuperating from knee surgery and I'm the chauffeur. I put the pick-up truck in 4 Wheel Low, but we still slide down the slippery slope, visions of an even more fucked-up knee or worse snowing my vision as we go. I hate winter and I hate the country. 40 minutes from Clayton is too far away. I want to live near traffic and salt trucks and pollution and noise. How the fuck did I end up out here? The only thing that chills me out in this miserable cold is looking at old fabric and guzzling hot brandy with lemon. I can't even knit, I'm so jangled. Please God our power doesn't go out as it has every winter since we moved here four years ago. I will be good. Two years ago or whenever that horrendous ice storm was, our power was out forever, and we ended up having to stay a whole week at Flea Bag Motel in Cow Town, so my other half could be near the hospital where he practices. The motel was full of cigarette smoke, pizza crusts, Ameren workers, cracked faux marble sinks, threadbare towels, lumpy mattresses, questionable sheets, 70s furniture, and yucky bedspreads. Then Flea Bag's power went out, too, even though it was full of the sleeping linemen who had just been up 48 hours straight trying to fix it all. The only electricity on in town that night was at a gun, bait, and booze shop. There I bought an LED lantern, beef jerky, and thought about throwing in a gun and some bullets, to put myself out of my misery, but snagged a half pint of Jim Beam instead. That winter really sucked, but at least my husband could walk. If anything happens this year, I guess I'll just drag him into Flea Bag across the ice pond parking lot on a blanket as he clutches our chihuahua. I hate winter.

Textile Treasure

When I'm an old crone living alone with only aches and pains for company, I'll open my trunks full of vintage fabric from time to time and take a deep wheeze of their musty perfume before getting lost in all the false memories the sight of such calico beauty evokes. Farmgirl memories of aprons, pie, and hand-carded cotton quilt batting. Wifely memories of dusty curtains and housedresses. Spinster memories of hope chest needlework that slowly grew hopeless. My addiction to yarn and knitting is physical, but my love for vintage fabric is of the spirit.

Recipe Testing

Knitting something new is so much fun. Something without a pattern, like the Black Forest Hat below. I don't like patterns. Not because they're bad or ugly — I simply find them confining. Even though the designer may have a million more knitterly chops than I do. Patterns make me break out in hives and grab for the nearest bottle of hooch, especially when it comes to armhole shaping. (I really have a complex about armhole shaping!) Although I try not to follow patterns, I always feel compelled to chart out what I've just knit. Why? For posterity? I'll never knit the same thing twice, because I knit for the adventure and joy of seeing nothing but yarn and an idea turn into something, not the final something itself. The exception may be this Black Forest Hat. I love the way it curves around the face, and the undulations of color. I can't say I made up the stitch pattern entirely, but it's enough of a Frankenstein to name it anew: Evergreen Lace. I suppose I like to chart out my designs for the same reason I write down impromptu recipes: a record of a nifty accomplishment. I give projects away as fast as I knit them, so, unlike my stuffed unfinished object bin, the finished object bin is quite bare, and therefore a poor record of skills, etc. learned.

Mark Twain, Birthday Boy

Every November 30 I read from my favorite work by Mark Twain (whose birthday I share): Roughing It — in particular chapters 31, 32, and 33. (Pages 213 - 233 in the fabulous Google Books) It's my one life ritual, and I believe last year I blogged an identical post. I need a big laugh on my birthday, especially as the years pile up! This genius is so damn hilarious, and makes the past seem like now. His focus on the absurdities of human nature are absolutely timeless. I love you, Samuel Langhorne Clemens.

My Craft Familiars

These two adorable creatures are my constant companions when I knit. I love my other two cats, but they're not as interested in the process as Bigfoot (top photo) and Bridget (below). Biggie finds Ziplock bags full of yarn and UFOs to be the ideal resting spot, and Bridget likes to nap with a skein or two of fuzzy yarn draped over her back. She hates clothes, but likes coverage. I'm planning a new line of doggie blankets for her: they'll be a good way to practice various laces. Below are two recent hats, Flaming ZiggleZag Hat and Flaming Man Hat. This Flaming Chevron stitch pattern taught me a lot about knitting lace circularly. For this particular stitch pattern, the round always has to start just before the first ssk, and just after the first k2tog, so the marker has to be slipped two stitches before changing direction. If I could articulate why, I'd be a brilliant genius on track for some sort of world-saving prize. The why may even be in a book somewhere, but I'm proud of myself for figuring out the wherefores blind. I really do love knitting! It's even more fun than chain-smoking. I just saw a documentary on disturbed movie star Joan Crawford: she was an obsessive knitter. That'd make a good book: famous freaky knitters of yore.

Mirror Ghosts

Just when I think I'm impervious to the charms of one single more piece of junk, I find something I have to buy. Of course, given my acquisitive nature, I shouldn't be going anywhere near a junk store. Ever. Period. But sometimes I just like to dream about The Past, and junk is my portal. This gorgeous celluloid mirror was selling for $3! Alton has some great old junk, because like St. Louis it's a great old river town. One of my friends believes you can see the ghosts of former gazers in old mirrors. I bet the ghost in this mirror will have big fluffy hair, and a Merry Widow hat the size of a Ferris Wheel. Below are some hats I just knit. I like the wiggling zig-zag stitch pattern. The top design is available free on ravelry. The one on the bottom is the warmest version: instead of yarnovers, I used make one increases (right when paired with ssk, left with k2tog). Work from the same chart on ravelry but using #13 needles, CO 49 stitches for women, 56 for men (this hat grows when blocked!) and only knit 24 rows (1 lace repeat) before beginning crown shaping. I finally got the sheepy stink out of Rowan Country yarn effectively: two shampoos at blocking time.

Wow Factor

I've never had the slightest desire to learn how to knit Intarsia — until I came across this old magazine from 1971 while "organizing" my work room. I wonder if I have time to make this by New Year's Eve? The perfect gown to party in: no one could ever tell if you spill (or worse) on this baby! And the lurid Lurex yarn looks fairly impervious to any environmental influences. Wow! On a housekeeping note: I bought two more filing carts to help me get "organized." But as you see, they're still empty. I seem to have a deep-rooted subconscious belief that if I just buy enough containers put things in, the junk will sort itself out, by magic. I even said an affirmation yesterday, to try to "get with the program" (how I loathe that fascistic phrase): I choose activities that keep me organized and energized. But I must not have put much conviction into the saying of it, because here's what I did: knit and nap. Yawn! Or maybe you have to say these things more than once, and without giggling. I have an excuse for the knitting: my friend Mary came in from Maine, and took every hat I've made this season back with her. Well. It's cold up there. And now it's cold here, too, and the only hats in the house are acrylic watch caps from Wal-Mart!

Vintage Gourmet

The other day, after actually working hard for 8+ hours, I flopped in our attic den with two gingersnaps, a cup of tea, and some vintage issues of Gourmet, The Magazine of Good Living. A feeling of well-being seeped into my bones as I read letters from long dead foodies requesting recipes from various exotic and domestic locales they had visited, such as Corned Beef Hash from St. Louis's own Chase-Park Plaza. And in the late 60s issues, a column by my hero James A. Beard taught me how to cook standard favorites with flair, like oven roasted spareribs seasoned only with salt and pepper. I explored French Chateaux after touring the attached vineyards and getting slightly giddy in the tasting room. I chatted racing form with barons over Turf Cocktails and fashion with contessas over dainty aperitifs. It was one of the most fun hours I've spent in a long while! As the sheep above shows, there is more to life than yarn. There is also food.

Crinoline Lady

This should not have been a mere $5, hanging on the same thrift store rack as chewed-up terry cloth guest towels and Made In China doilies. This lovely lady is a work of art, and I was super-lucky to score it before some other vulture swooped in. Crinoline Ladies were popular embroidery motifs in the 30s and 40s. The craft and time that went into this is amazing. It needs to be framed. I have severely cut back on my junking sprees, because I just have too much. In fact, I am planning to sort it out and sell most of it at a flea market come Spring. Lately I've been craving a clean, minimalist space to think in. I feel a fairy tale brewing, and when I write a long piece, my brain needs emptiness to sound through, not clutter. But this gal stays!

Overwhelmed by Housework

Have you ever studied old Gothic Romance covers? I'd like to write a thesis on their deep symbolism. Every one of them features a scared and overwhelmed woman fleeing a giant pile of house. Why? Probably because it's really dirty, and she doesn't want to clean it. That reason will do for now: I don't want to give away a perfectly good Ph.D. for free! It's amazing how all the painful parts of existence can overwhelm a vital spirit at times. Sickness, ruin, despair... all the black cares of this world can't get you if you're willing to run away. I run from black care by A] knitting, and B} contemplating the Life and Works of Ludwig von Beethoven, stone-deaf genius. Just dial up Symphony No.7 in A Major, Opus 92, Allegretto on the iPod and glory in the triumph of the dancing spirit over this vale of tears. Wagner says it best about this piece: "All tumult, all yearning and storming of the heart, become here the blissful insolence of joy, which carries us away with bacchanalian power through the roomy space of nature, through all the streams and seas of life, shouting in glad self-consciousness as we sound throughout the universe the daring strains of this human sphere — dance."

Halloween Costumes

Anyone born too late to directly experience the 70s missed a good laugh. I was 9 in 1970, so my impressionable puberty was spent in this hideously hilarious decade. How well I remember the thrill of visiting Famous-Barr's version of the "Lemon Frog Shop": discothèque balls and psychedelic strobe lights crazed the midnight blue walls as groovy music thumped shoppers into a state submissive enough to crave the ugliest of fashions. I had a zodiac poncho similar to this one from Montgomery-Ward. Here's the 1970 catalog blurb for this style statement: "Poncho power makes itself known, swinging out free 'n wide above teamable pants. Up-dated poncho is circled by horoscope symbols — you're sure to find your own — and deep fringe for finish. New idea is in the sleeves with trumpet flare." Nothing like an early blast of weird to twist you for life!

Gingersnaps

I can't eat gluten without dire physical consequences, and since gluten is found in wheat, oats, barley, and rye, baking is a challenge. I won't buy those nasty gluten-free mixes full of weird stripped starches, so I'm always experimenting with different whole grain flours and recipes. My latest experiment has been an unqualified success! I took my favorite gingersnap recipe from this old cookbooklet and substituted brown rice flour and flax meal. Delicious. Here's the recipe:
2 cups brown rice flour
3 tblsp. flax seed, ground in a spice grinder
2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/4 tsp. cloves
1/4 tsp. allspice
Mix these dry ingredients together with a whisk and set aside.
Cream 3/4 cup butter and 1 cup packed brown sugar until fluffy. Add one egg and 1/4 cup molasses, cream till fluffy. Add dry ingredients in batches, mixing well. Chill overnight. Form dough into 1 inch balls and bake at 350°F for 15 minutes. Cool before moving.

I used the spice mix from the gingerbread recipe in this same booklet for added oomph. You really can't tell these aren't made with wheat flour, which is the whole point of gluten-free baking. For those who have no gluten issues, simply use regular flour and omit the flax meal. But whole grain and flax is healthier, if a cookie with this much butter and sugar can be called healthy!