Ply and Burl

Hey knitting blog-o-verse, you may be the only one that can share my unbridled, adrenalin soaked excitement. I just NABBED a skein of sock yarn on YARNTINI! Anyone who’s tried this before knows it’s an incredible feat. I got one of the last two skeins posted on the site, and I bought it only 23 minutes after the owner mentioned on her blog that she was adding products to the store.

It was Sandra and Domesticat’s incredible socks that gave me the Yarntini bug, and I’ve been trying to get a skein for months, always missing the tiny windows of opportunity when she updates the site. It’s so discouraging to scroll down her pages and see giant red “OUT OF STOCK”s after every item.

But no more! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaa! Cosmopolitan flavored sock yarny goodness is coming my way.

Finally, the in-betweens are over! We left Ithaca a last Tuesday and have been in Ann Arbor for one week as of today. Recycling night was Sunday, so were finally able to clear the boxes and newspapers out of the living room. I took a load to Salvation Army yesterday, and have been posting the things on Craigslist that I should have sold before the move rather than after. The house is slowly getting organized and is starting to feel like home.

Our new place is essentially a cottage in the city, and is just a hair less funky than I can take, which is perfect. It’s at the back of another lot, meaning our front door opens onto one street, and our back door opens onto the driveway of a house on another. We have a perimeter of about three feet of yard on two sides of the house, one of which is shady, and one of which is overgrown with burdock. Where our front yard would be, there is poured cement.

As you can imagine, this is putting an interesting twist on my gardening. I’ve arrived in A2 too late to start a veggie plot at a community garden site. However, in anticipation of needing to scratch my gardening itch, I planted some basil, peppers, and geraniums in pots early in the summer, which I then transported out here during the move. Since arriving, we’ve picked up a few herbs and put those in pots, and I’ve also planted some Scarlet Runner Beans in hopes that they’ll bolt up and obscure the not-so-classy posts for the porch that overhangs our front door. It’s no gardener’s paradise, but it’s something!

Knitting has been, well, neglected. There, I admit it. That’s part of the reason I haven’t blogged in so long! I had no time for it, with the work and the travel and the move and all the heart-wrenching goodbye dates before we left. I was working through the spring on the Airy Cardigan, and made a lot of progress. All that remains to finish it is a single sleeve, but I’m finding the kid mohair so irritating to knit that I can barely look at the thing. Not to mention that it fits like a mumu… not my sartorial favorite.

Weirdly, a few days ago, as I was unpacking, I picked up a crochet hook. I ran across my copy of Stitch and Bitch Crochet: The Happy Hooker, which a friend gave me for my birthday last year. Now, let me not mince words: I hate crocheting! I hate how it looks, I am a klutz with the hook, and it just generally bugs me.

But guess what? I’m actually enjoying it! Gah — Internet, don’t repeat that to anyone. I can’t believe I actually let it out of my mouth. But there it is, the truth laid bare, probably destined to alienate all my knitter friends. Oh well, try to still love me, OK? I can’t help that I’m open-minded, and crocheting just walked right in the door.

My house right now is littered with little purple crochet bits — my practice swatches. I’ve learned single crochet, double crochet, triple crochet, the shell stitch, and the fishnet stitch. My mind is full of the tackiest ideas, too: I’ll crochet plant hangers for the house! I’ll make a purse out of the shell stitch! I’ll crochet the cowboy hat pattern from the book!

Look, knitters, I know this is a dangerous path I’m going down. But hear me out, ’cause I’m one of you: a knitter through and through. At the same time, I’m thinking that there are several instances of crochet that aren’t tacky! Think beautiful crocheted lace our foremothers made from fine thread. Or the afghans that keep us warm in the winter! My grandmother and her mother both crocheted afghans for all their kids and grandkids. Mine, which I got to pick out the yarn for, is one of my most treasured possessions. My grandma passed away 11 years ago, and I still love and guard that blanket like a mama bear guards her cubs. It’s got my gram’s touch in every stitch, and her hands, which look like my hands, held every thread in it. It revives her in my mind, and brings her closer to me. (That could make a good advertisement no? “Crochet: It brings people back from the dead!”)

So this crochet phase? I think it’s kind of sweet, don’t you? I know it’s illogical, sentimental, and entirely misguided, but still, don’t deny it: crochet just melted a little bit of your sappy heart.

p.s. As a cure for my homesickness (and wet feet in the rain) I bought these new stylin’ shoes!

p.p.s. Also, even better news: the boy and I got engaged on July 2!

Yay! I finally got my invitation to Ravelry! If only I wasn’t in a knitting slump due to the heat — I’d have more than just frogging to report. Alas.

Stephen J. Dubner and Steven D. Levitt, the guys behind Freakonomics, wrote a column in last week’s New York Times Magazine about the modern practice of doing “menial labor” as leisure activity. Gardening, knitting, and cooking were at the top of their list of examples. Clearly, by the subject of this blog, I’m one of these fun-laboring people they’re talking about. They say that middle-class people engaging in these activities is a paradox: the cost of growing your own food or knitting yourself a scarf, when you include the labor as well as the supplies, often far exceeds the cost of simply buying the the same items in a store.

One example they give is the $140 dollar scarf — that’s $40 in supplies, plus 10 hours of knitting at $10 per hour. True, that’s a pricey scarf. Nevertheless, I think their math, as calculated, is meaningless. Nay, I’ll add to that: it’s dehumanizing. By this equation only, the logic would say, why knit or garden, when you could work more hours in front of the computer/at the counter/in the factory and just buy the items instead?

The answer seems so obvious, doesn’t it?

The authors discuss the economic reasoning at length, but only briefly touch on the psychological, ecological, and sociological reasons behind the phenomenon. Now, I don’t claim to have expertise in any of the above areas, but I do have a gestalt opinion:

Freakonomics guys, we knit and garden and cook for ourselves because we’d be drones if we didn’t. Our lives would be devoid of self-sufficiency, devoid of the gratification of caring, feeding and clothing ourselves and our loved ones. We express creativity when we do these tasks in a way that would not be accessible to us if creativity was only limited to fine art and music. We share an irrepressible desire to engage the world in a physical way, to alter the landscape and surroundings we occupy, and these tasks provide us that outlet. When we do them together, or for each other, we are able to connect and build communities to boot. Money aside, statistics aside, “pure leisure” vs. “home production” aside, these tasks have value in much deeper and wider ways than traditional economics would allow to enter the calculation. To me, the explanation just seems a matter of common sense. We all do it, so why is it remarkable at all?

The past month has been the harbinger of a boat-load of inner turmoil and endless off-hours slogging as a result. The big change (gulp)? Ply and Burl is moving to Ann Arbor, MI! Me, the boy, the kitties, the G5, my wheelbarrow and my yarn.

The emotional end of move is proving more grueling than anticipated. Twelve years in a place can make some roots run very deep.

But still, I’m determined. It’s now or never for grad school, and I’m excited to become a bigger part of the digital revolution. So instead of trying to tackle all of the deep sadness, I’m going for the superficial stuff that’s been nagging at me.

Calling anyone who’s every been to / lived in / or left Ann Arbor, MI, I’ve got questions!

1. Where is the absolute best place to get an incredible haircut in Ann Arbor, and who should I get it from?
I’m the biggest whiner when it comes to my hair. I want it great, and I’ll pay a lot for it. Speaking of, I chopped off nine inches last week. Wahoo!

2. Where can I buy Noro yarn in lots of shapes and sizes in Ann Arbor?
I’ve got that Clapotis itch to scratch, and Lion Brand just ain’t gonna cut it.

3. Where can I do some ass-kicking yoga in a mostly non-competitive atmosphere in Ann Arbor?
I want to sweat buckets without feeling judged by my mat-mates.

4. Where can I find a lap pool that is not full of boogers and bandaids in Ann Arbor?
One thing I won’t be missing is the cesspool at the local Y.

Thanks in advance for the answers — more questions coming soon, along with a knitting update, including the long overdue shot of my finished sunrise circle jacket!

Thinking, no big deal, I’ll just up and design a baby bootie on the fly? Think again, young Jedi.

I am embarrassed to admit that these booties gave me a serious run for my money. I tried to stripe them around the gusset, resulting in about sixty thousand straggly end pieces everywhere. Then, when I finally settled on a simpler pattern, I kept getting messed up turning the heel, which is ridiculous, considering the heel had, oh, 12 stitches to turn. Twelve measly stitches, and I was on the mat, begging for mercy. I was heel impaired for just that one weekend — yesterday I turned 32 heel stitches and didn’t blink an eye.

In the end, I think I won. The second one was a breeze, and the pair came out super cute. They finally went off to the new guy in Boston last week.

On another note, can I go crazy and link to some non-knitting stuff? It’s been interesting out there lately!

Women of Our Time from the Smithsonian is a photo gallery of influential women of the 20th century. Click on the photos for a biography. Inspiring!

NPR is blogging the Most Promising Musicians from SXSW this year. My favorite? Amy Winehouse, whose killer song “Rehab” will have you singing for hours.

Oh, Yoga Today, how I adore you. You rock so hard. Free one-hour yoga classes from three great instructors in Jackson Hole, WY. (Mostly Ashtanga, but I just did a really interesting Kundalini one last night.) You can view them on the website, or subscribe to the podcast and get a new one every day. From a long time yoga practitioner, I can say confidently that these are great classes, and are not too easy.

The Speech Accent Archive has people from all over the US and the world reading the same quote in small audio files. It’s fascinating to listen to the differences in accent.

Ironwood Designs is an Etsy shop that my woodworker boyfriend recently opened. Cute stuff and getting cuter.

Actually, my heart is balmy and temperate. But outside during this Valentine’s week? Truly arctic conditions!

On Valentine’s Day, 16 inches of snow fell through ferocious winds and single-digit temperatures. I loved it! Blizzards make me feel so hardy and intrepid. My sweetie, after being couch-bound with a cold for two days, made a grand romantic overture by shoveling 25 feet of driveway so he could unearth my car and drive out to buy me flowers. Of course, as a result, he got even sicker. But seriously, after that gesture, could he not be my knight in shining snowpants?

Here’s our house that night with said driveway, buffeted by a giant berm of snow:

The morning after the storm was sunnier than a mid-summer day. Rarely do we get anything but overcast skies here, so between the cheeky elation from the rush of vitamin D, and the kaleidoscope vision from the snow blindness, I got a little high on life. Then I got out the camera!

Here are some different snow textures I found:

And here are some bikes abandoned outside the coffee shop:

Can you see the car in this picture? I’ll give you a hint — look for the driver’s side mirror:

Here’s my one go at playing with the macro on my crapola camera. Hemlock pinecones:

Anyone up for a cookout?

A lovely snow path:

And finally, a self-portrait. Being drunk on all the sun, I had to take a picture of my shadow in the tire tracks:

The Embossed Leaves Socks are finished! I made these in Knit Picks Essential in Grass on size 1 needles.

A few notes:

• The pattern called for #2 needles, but I felt that the socks were looking too big and dropped to #1 needles. BAD IDEA. These socks are tiny. When in doubt, go with the larger needles.

• As I mentioned before, the toe is very elegant, with its implied swirling decreases. The cinched stiches at the end are invisible, and they don’t rub against your toes.

• This is a fairly simple pattern — if you pay attention at first, it becomes pretty easy to memorize.

• The yarn turned out to work really well, with a nice bloom, but it tended to be a little splity.

In other news, Yarn-a-go-go got a Uke! Lucky gal. Here’s the object of my musical lustings (aside from a big hug and private concert from Elvis Perkins):

A Banjo Uke! Sweet instrument of my heart. Got one you want to sell?

Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins, from Sailing Alone Around the Room, 2002

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

I love poetry. All through high school, I planned to live my life as a poet. My first love was a poet.

So, in honor of all this poetification, I’ll be participating in the second annual Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Day tomorrow, February 2, 2007. Join in! Just select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - and post it to your blog tomorrow.

Kylie, this means you!