#I am a slow knitter ok

[forbidden-spaghetti]

Geogradient Shawl is complete! I slowed down a lot at the end, but I accidentally added two extra rows between dip rows on clue 4. Looks like it blocked out alright and I honestly don’t mind how it looks so I’ve decided to keep it. I’ll add fringe once it’s dry and call it complete!

Anyway, more thoughts about this project under the cut

SO!

The pattern is.. not my favourite from Westknits, but definitely not a bad one. The pattern itself was decently written but there was a discrepancy between clues 1 and 2 regarding which colours to use. I’m not too upset about that because of the shitshow that was clue 1 but I do hope it gets updated eventually. Subsequent clues were updated, but I mostly went by the pattern and didn’t check the ravelry group all that much so I ended up using less colour C and D in the design as a result. Another part of the pattern that irked me somewhat was the right handed language used. This is pretty standard for knitting patterns but idk I was hoping a big designer like Stephen West would at least be able to use more neutral language so as to not confuse me lol. The original clue 1 was especially confusing as I had to construct it in the opposite direction.

The first two clues were a bit boring tbh. Westknits MKAL patterns always seem to be full of wacky stitches and cool colour play but this one felt like a slog until I got to clue 3. Again, I blame the part 1 shitshow for this and I do understand that it’d be a huge pain to have to rewrite an entire part of your pattern in a few hours. I adore the Granny Square alternative clue 1 and honestly wish I had seen it before deciding what to do with mine but oh well lol. Overall, pattern is ok. I already have a triangular shawl so I was hoping the would be a different shape, so clue 4 was a pleasant surprise!

Now when I got up to the horizontal floats and dip stitches, I was a bit wary because while they look pretty, I feel like this shawl is going to catch on eeeeeveeything. I don’t know how much I’ll wear it, it might be a special occasion kinda shawl.

The yarn I used was too thin. The result was nice and airy with a good drape, but it does make the floats and dips a little less impactful than I’ve seen on other finished geogradients. I didn’t buy a kit from my lys but my lys was selling kits of this yarn. Otherwise the yarn is lovely and soft. I have about 150g leftover (not including the scraps I plan to turn into fringe) so I’ll have to think of something to do with them. I don’t think they’re going to play ball with my other fingering weight scraps. It was also a bitch to frog and would get fuzzy at the drop of a hat thanks to the alpaca content.

Overall I enjoyed this project though. Would I do another MKAL? Probably not. At least not for a while. I think I’d rather wait for the design to be released first. But who knows? I am a slave to my FOMO and there was a lot of that in my geogradient shawl.

Would I make this pattern again? Honestly? Yeah. I think I’d do it with a thicker fingering weight yarn and probably with a proper merino (or merino/nylon at the very least) I’d also do the granny square variant clue 1 and probably the optional mohair part in clue 2 as well. I was a little peeved that optional mohair wasn’t listed in the initial materials but apparently that a weird unwritten rule of an MKAL- Stephen is just happy to drop this info mid project and assumes that every knitter has an extensive stash of yarn they can pull from. Especially mohair, which isn’t something that’s regularly produced in Australia (except for one farm in QLD) so it’s all imported and all expensive.

It’s a pity, because the mohair dares I saw looked gorgeous.

Anyway, I’ll add the fringe once it’s dry and probably won’t touch it again for 6 months. That’s another lesson learned: all the trendy patterns on ravelry are seasonal for the northern hemisphere so it’s not worth keeping up with them.

[little-miss-raven]

Something short i wrote based on this, and a few ideas in the comments, such as her name. i hope you like it >:D

You might wonder, what does The Spider-Punk do on his day off? When he’s not saving people, battling fascists, or taking down a totalitarian government, what does he do? It changes day to day, no surprise there, but today he’s doing something very punk: Shopping at a few small local stores.

Hobie wanders the side streets, eyeing the various thrift stores and second hand shops in between the big brand companies. He doesn’t have any favorites, just whatever catches his eye or any places he hasn’t visited yet. Maybe he’ll stop by a friend’s stall and pick up some food while he’s out.

While pondering his next move, he spots someone familiar. Up ahead of him is a head of grey, coily hair with a pink wrap. She’s so short he would’ve missed her if it weren't for his own height. Well, maybe he would’ve heard the clacking of her thick jewelry pieces. Her granddaughter made them, as he’s been told a few times.

She’s carrying a bag almost as big as her, leaning back a bit to accommodate the weight of it. He scans around her. No one offers the old woman any help, of course. He scoffs. Hobie mumbles about disrespect and lack of basic kindness as he makes his way towards her.

“Mornin’, Miss June. Wanna hand with tha’?” He leans down a bit as he slows to her speed, stopping when she does. He takes his hands out of his vest pockets and offers them to her.

“Oh, ‘ello dear! Well, aren’t you just the swee’est thing,” she hands the bag over to him. He sweeps it up into one arm, putting the other hand back in the pocket. June pats his arm, “Such a strong boy. So kind too. Don’t see much of that today! ’S nice to see it’s still out there.”

Hobie shrugs, “Least I can do considerin’ all your hard work.”

She laughs, “My hard work?”

“Hard to hide all the yarn y’have to make those sweaters. Or the food y’buy to-”

“Alright, alright, you’ve made your point.” She swipes her bag at him but he only chuckles, “No need to yell it from the rooftops. I jus’ keep myself busy, that’s all.”

The two walk towards June’s home. On the way, she tells him all about what her plans are for those groceries, her book club and the book they're reading, her lovely grandchildren, things like that. Hobie listens all the while, occasionally piping up to answer a question or two.

It’s hard to miss her house. Small, homey, clearly built decades ago. What really makes it stand out, however, is its comparison to all the large apartment buildings surrounding it on all sides. Hobie always liked the look of her house more.

At the top of the creaky steps, June pulls out a big set of jangly keys and unlocks 3 locks. “Come in, come in!” She beckons him inside with a wave of her hand. He ducks under the doorway and follows after her.

He’s coaxed in by the scent of lavender and vanilla. Her house is covered in memories; faded photos on the wall, used books, vintage furniture, homemade nick nacks, either she made or gifts from her family. A few small plants sit next to picture frames on various tables.

He peers into her living room to the right and- yup- sees the mountain of yarn partially hidden behind her rocking chair. It could be excused as just the yarn collection every knitter has. But with how quickly she goes through it, that’s hard to defend. He smirks to himself.

“Where y’want this bag?” He calls out from the hallway.

“Just in the kitchen, dear!” She’s somewhere in the back of the house. He walks into the kitchen, filled with old appliances that have been repaired again and again, sometimes by himself. Hobie can’t help but check the fridge door he fixed up a month ago; yup, still opens evenly. Inside, there's a few cardboard boxes ready to be filled and donated. He closes it and puts the bag on the counter.

“Ok, here I am.” She joins him in the kitchen, her hands clasping around something. “I wanted to give you something for your help. Y’see, my grandson makes pins, very nice ones. He said this one should go to the Spider-Man if I ever met him but, well. He’s a busy man, I’m sure. Not like he’ll help an old lady carry some groceries home, hm?” She gives him a mirthful smile. 

Opening her hands, she reveals a pin about the size of her palm. The letters ‘F N S M’ are printed on it in comic lettering with different colored borders. She continues, “So, in case you see him any time soon, I’d like to give it to you.”

“I’ve heard Spider-Man’s a right prick. ‘M not sure he deserves somethin’ like tha’,” he says with a grin.

“Oh, but you do, honey.” His grin slowly fades, “Perhaps more than he does.”

Hobie… never really thought of that. Sure, Spider-Man does all sorts of good things to help people but Hobie Brown? Doing good just as himself? Doing enough good to get something in return?

“Doing small things to help others is just as important as saving the city, dear.” She pins the piece of tin to his vest, giving it a small pat. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s that.”

He gives her a small but genuine smile this time. “Thank you, Miss June.”

She lightly smacks his arm, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me auntie?”

Hobie should have a little old lady who adores him

[dclevinson]

7/9/21: my talk

Vanity, yes, but I am putting my service eulogy here:

I used to annoy Cindy making flippant comments about aging and death. Like wishing we came with a self destruct button that would sense when to activate. And then the love of my life became a getting older, cognitively and physically impaired person. And every flicker of her enjoyed life became precious beyond words. To filch a line from HBO’s Deadwood: some things are easier told than saddled and rode.

When we met she fancied herself a bit of a tragic romantic heroine, but she always had too much common sense for that. She had many practical talents; she could knit, crochet, sew (though never really used that expensive new sewing machine), remember and follow directions, cook meals difficult to time, write psychologically sensitive and acute torah interpretations, keep clear lists and neatly ordered files, soothe ruffled feelings and keep hers in check. She was Rich’s rudder, Emily’s anchor and the center of my world. She could tactfully hold her tongue, but she was remarkably guileless, straightforward, honest and honorable. Ok. Stubborn too. She saw herself as a worker bee, not the queen. Her sister was always the queen. She hated even the idea of downhill skiing, but snowshoeing crossed the earth’s terrain at a speed she could savor. When her fitbit said she hadn’t yet hit 10,000 steps that day, she would circle our living room through the dining room and kitchen until she got there. That was Cindy.

 It would have been better if she were the caretaker and I the neurologically impaired patient, since she was the neuropsychologist. She was so much the better, more useful person. The one advantage I had for this task was physical strength.

 I knew, very quickly, I loved her more than anyone I’d ever met. She said she was taken by my ability to explain Hegel. Of course, no one can explain Hegel. It would have been 50 years this Thanksgiving (oh, David --- and Ruthie ---, how can I thank you) that we met and swooned. And 49 years and whatever days later I still marvel that she loved me. Did I say that another one of her virtues was steadfast loyalty?

When she had her sub arachnoid bleed, most likely a ruptured aneurysm, that was a shock no life partner is ready for. But I saw enough of her remaining always, as did many of you, and hoped for more. Wanted to make however much time she had left the best it could be. I vowed to make up for all the times I felt I had failed her over the years (that’s a pretty universal life disaster type pledge I imagine). Impossible, of course. Towards what turned out to be the end, I had fleeting worries that I was pushing her ---  to get up, to exercise, to do various therapies --- for me more than her. The bleed had stolen so many things, including energy, strength and motivation. But I wanted to keep her here, despite what was for her a nearly unimaginably difficult life.

 I delighted in the smallest gains she might make, from being able to sit without falling back, to assisted steps, to brushing her own teeth. Was grateful to watch her swallow water without coughing. (SwalIowing is an underappreciated miracle. ) Could still marvel and delight watching the slow steady path of spoon to mouth when she ate cereal or soup. She just assumed she’d always done these things. Our pleasures were simpler, more elemental.

A walk with friends. Sitting in the kitchen watching tree branches  blowing in a breeze. Her days were very uneven. What she could and couldn’t do was frustrating and fascinating. Some of it was heart breaking, some wonderful beyond words, But she was still Cindy. One day she calmly stated that she had lots of Yucks in her life. We talked about what she wanted. More Un-Yucks, she said.

In the end, as physically ravaged as she was, I did not want to let her go. I did not know how I could live in a world that she was not in. She wasn’t the same Cindy these last three plus years, but she was still Cindy. The knitting fell mostly along the wayside (despite incredibly kind and patient help from Temple knitters). She kept no more impeccable records, journals and lists. But…she was still able to sing along to countless show tunes. Still able to finish Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me limerick quizzes before contestants. … Her life and my life became almost indistinguishable. Like all of this, a curse and a blessing.

I wake up and hear the birds still, somehow, chirping. I cannot imagine that when I go downstairs I will not see her sleeping. I will not be waiting to see her wake and smile and nod her head when I ask if she wants a hot drink. So many times in the last 3 and a half years I’ve thought: I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I felt fear, agony or despair. She was too often confused, frustrated or in pain. But I never wanted life to go on without her. I couldn’t imagine life without her. I can’t imagine life without her.

These last years have been very hard and unbelievably rewarding as only the very hardest things can be. At high holiday services a couple years back Rabbi Gardenswartz’s theme was “don’t let your troubles be your story.” Let your story be --- that you didn’t let your troubles be your story. I tried. Cindy, of course, would have done it better.

[momofthreesillyboys]

I am a slow knitter some people would have finished a sweater and 3 shawls in the time it’s taking me to knit these socks. That’s ok these sock I grab when I feel I am falling apart and need something tangible to hold on to. I am knitting my sadness and grief into these socks. #momof3sillyboys #knittersofinstagram #blackgirlsknit #blackknittersofinstagram #knittingthroughmygrief https://www.instagram.com/p/CG7TfbsJCJK/?igshid=1w16gl5h1vk27