January 16: Begin again (again)

It seems like everyone is talking about colouring books. They are vaunted as a way to slow down, a way to refocus, a way to be more mindful, whatever. I was never good at colouring, even as a child; I wasn't great at colouring inside the lines and I was completely unable to see the utility of the process. A book of coloured-in pictures is still just a book of pictures. Why bother colouring-in when you could read? I wanted words. I still do.

But sometimes it is good to slow down, to play with colour, to immerse yourself in another realm. Much beleaguered by a week of non-stop editing (file under: be careful what you wish for) and bitterly cold, snowy weather, I turned my thoughts to the rug-hooking project that I started last fall.

The process is basic: use a tiny hook to pull loops through gaps in the linen – heaven forbid you should call it burlap – until you've drawn the outlines, then repeat the process to fill in the spaces with blobs of colour. As you can see, I got tired of the lines. It's cold and grey outside; I needed some red. 

It's a simple process, using simple materials; one of those crafts that obviously had its origins in necessity and thrift. (I wouldn't want to explain to a local grandmother how much I spent on the class, or the materials.) These days, of course, the rugs are more likely to be made from new materials, some quite expensive; rather than workaday floor coverings, they're works of art. 

Sitting on the couch after dinner last week, tensioning the wool strips with one hand while the other hand guided the hook through the linen, trying and failing to catch the strip, trying again, and again, I thought about that cold fall day that we sat in the rug-hooking class. There was a fire in the wood stove; the trees were just past peak colour, but bright reds and oranges were still visible through windows rimmed with the first of the year's frost. We ate trail mix and drank tea in mugs with the bag still in, and we worked mostly in silence, except when the teacher regaled us with tales of her former life as a fabric buyer for fashion houses in England, and during the short pauses we took to look up, flex our fingers and stretch our necks, and trade some gentle gossip. 

It's challenging to learn something new as an adult; mentally and physically exhausting. Sitting at that table, I was so frustrated: I can knit and crochet and sew and embroider, I kept thinking, why can't I do this? I kept shaking out my hands, as though that would help get the knowledge from my brain down into my fingertips. 

Thinking back on it now, it occurs to me that the tiring part of learning something new, at least for me, might not be in the assimilation of new information, but in quieting the critical voice and replacing it with the voice that I try to use around new knitters, the one that is patient and encouraging, that says, When's the last time you learned a brand-new physical skill? Driving a car, right? Be easy on yourself. Don't give up yet. 

(That, of course, is one of the secrets of life. Find the balance between being easy on yourself and not giving up: it works for more than learning rug-hooking.)

So here we are. I've got the basics down now, and it's getting easier, but it still requires me to sit, head down, brow furrowed, in concentration for half an hour at a time. As I do, the cares of the day fall away; by the time I'm on my third or fourth strip of wool I've mostly forgotten the emails that didn't arrive; the meetings that took too long; that errant semi-colon and the perfidy of spell-check. That doesn't happen for me with knitting any more; one day it won't happen with rug-hooking, either. Maybe then I'll have to take up tatting...

Crafty meanderings

April lived up to its reputation: cold, dark, rainy. Not pleasant, but the rain did the trick, and aside from a few crudbergs that remain in shady places, the only sign of the enormous snowbanks that lined the streets all winter is the gravel in the gutters and on the sidewalks – grit from days when salting wasn't enough, bits of asphalt from where the blades of the plows dug too deep into the roads. 

Now the grass is beginning to green, the lichen on the maple trees glows chartreuse in the sun, and brave crocuses and daffodils turn their faces to the light, all purple and yellow. Up the hill on Tulip Street, the boulevards are planted with hundreds of bulbs; I've changed my route to work in the hopes of seeing the first blooms someday soon. Maybe by Victoria Day.

What's to be done when it seems like the grey, rainy days will never end? Hunker down with the pinkest knitting project you can find, of course. This is a February baby sweater for a March baby. She might turn out to be a tomboy, who knows, but she's the first girl baby in my circle in a few years, and I couldn't resist the pink yarn, the lace, the mother-of-pearl buttons. 

In other news, I signed up for a weaving class. It's a step (or three) up from my little rigid heddle loom: a four-heddle floor loom, big enough to make a blanket on, if I really wanted to. Tomorrow we warp our looms, which might take the entire three-hour class; then we start our samplers. If we get far enough, there's a scarf in the offing. (The first project always seems to be a scarf. I get it, but...a lady can only make so many scarves she'll never wear. Maybe I'll magic the finished object into a pencil case or something.)

In knitting news, I did a bit of stash diving yesterday. I have enough yarn to make three weeks' worth of socks, four sweaters, one toy rabbit, a fair-size afghan and any number of shawl-type accessories, which I should probably try to remember next time I start fantasizing about spending an entire paycheque on yarn when I'm in Toronto at the end of the month. A fond hope but true.

I'm working on a hap as part of the Knit British hapalong. I love just about everything about this project – the history behind the garment, the organic construction, the endless possibilities for colour combinations, the versatility of the finished object. I've wanted to make one for myself for ages, and I know I'll get a lot of wear out of this one.

Given how long its taken spring to arrive, I'm not sure how much wear I'll get out of this dress (erm, maybe that should be, "given that it's still just yardage.."). But hope springs eternal! And so today I've got some cutting-out to do, and a bit of practising to get my French seams back up to snuff.

Hmmm, and what's this? Plans are afoot. More later this week!

March 29 – Craft scenes

I'm still not used to having a space that's dedicated to crafting. Sitting down at my desk to sew still seems really novel; it's best in the morning, when the light streams in.

Took a class in paper-template patchwork. Very interesting; lots of potential.

I've been thinking big thoughts about levels of skill, experience and experimentation, tools and materials, how we signal that we belong in a community, how those communities form and shift and change. I've got pages of scribbled notes all over my desk, but I'm having trouble getting the thoughts to coalesce.

Meanwhile, my mind has turned to sewing, as sure a sign as any that spring is on its way. 

I pulled out some springy skeins to inspire me. They last longer and require less upkeep than tulips.

Spring cleaned my knitting notions box. Doing that always makes me think of Amélie.

Needed a bit of whimsy in my knitting, so I'm making a sheep. Didn't encourage the month to go out like a lamb, though; I woke up to another 20 cm of snow on the ground this morning.

Took my table runner off the loom. Should have ironed it pre-photography, obviously. Pleased with my progress. Next up, a Noro scarf.

Took a look at the classics on my bookshelf.

What have you been up to?

February 13: Baking in the dead of winter

We're in the thick of it here, winter-wise, and I'm obsessed with hygge.

So far, this has translated into lighting lots of candles, having drinks in cozy pubs...and making bread. It's just basic sandwich bread – but oh, it's good.

I let the mixer do most of the hard work.

A few good turns on the countertop...

And into the pan it goes.

Success!

Jan 11 – The other side

Well. That was a whirlwind.

Since last we met I've packed, moved, unpacked, started my job, flown home for Christmas, flown back to Halifax, gone back to work and unpacked a bit more. I've been the lucky recipient of endless amounts of hospitality as my belongings wended their way cross-country in the back of a moving van. I'm lucky to have many kind and generous friends who've made the transition easier than I'd imagined it could be. 

In between all the travel and packing and unpacking, I marked sixty final exams and forty portfolios, enjoyed multiple goodbye parties, knitted a few tiny Christmas socks, watched a friend's son take his first steps, and ate the best part of a tin of Quality Street. Somewhere in there I ate turkey; had trifle for breakfast; soaked up as much time with friends as I could (never enough, but still: we tried).

Now I'm here, settled in to my new home, getting into the swing of a new routine. I'm mastering the hills (oh my goodness, the hills), have located the yarn shops and a knitting group (though I've barely knit a stitch – too distracted), and I hosted my first dinner party last night. My first visitor from Upper Canada is due to arrive in less than a month. It's coming together.

Today I picked up the camera and followed the sun around the apartment. Some scenes...

This bowl just glows in the right light.

A housewarming gift from my sister. Everyone needs a wiener dog to guard their keys!

These are going to be a pair of long johns, eventually. Hopefully sooner rather than later: it's COLD here! (I know, I know, it's winter in Canada. But still.)

They renovated my building but left the original ceiling in the entryway.

La plus ça change...made these cookies and felt right at home.

A stool for perching on at breakfast time. It needs a cushion. I've got the fabric – just need to get my hands on a pillow form.

I filled the spare room with craft supplies. Naturally.

I've got a window over the sink! The perfect home for some of my favourite things.

I can watch the sun set while I wash the dishes. The skies here are spectacular – a by-product of the frigid temperatures.

Old friends.

Fresh flowers – I'm so happy that it's tulip time again.

I've always thought of clear skies like this as "Nova Scotia blue."

So that's that. Home. Hooray!

October 20: Story of a Rhinebeck sweater

Rhinebeck was great. There were sheep, goats, llamas, alpacas and rabbits; just about every kind of fibre you can imagine; nifty little (and big!) trinkets; treats of every description, including apple cider donuts; trees aflame with fall colour.

 

I loved seeing my knitting friends – many of whom I only know via Twitter, or who I get to see once a year at Squam – in person. I loved seeing so many people I didn't know parading around in their knitted finery. It was a true feast for the eyes.

I didn't do much parading around in my knitted finery, because I spent the weekend trying to finish my finery. The first clue that I wasn't going to be wearing my sweater was when one of my non-knitter friends looked at my knitting last Monday and said, "Hey, nice scarf."

Hm. She had a point.

Try as I might, I didn't think I'd be able to pull off the "knitted cummerbund with matching arm warmers" look. Thus ensued much fevered knitting, but by Thursday night I had yet to join the sleeves to the body. I stitched and stitched and stitched...and I carried that WIP with me all weekend.

I finally cast off in the car on the way home, about 65 miles from the US-Canada border. At the next rest stop, I changed clothes at the gas station for a quick victory photo. It was supremely, sublimely itchy, but oh boy: I am in love with this sweater.

It's blocking now and I can't wait to wear it. Maybe I'm being silly, but I'm actually a little bit happy that it worked out the way it did. Now it's more than a sweater; it's a sweater with a story. My favourite kind.

(Details on my version of Strokkur here. Next up: Carpino.)

October 5 – Bits and pieces: changes and the gathering in

Not much new these days really: reading, walking, stitching, cooking. Perhaps not revolutionary, but still things to be savoured in the early, not-too-cold days of early autumn.

I finished the afghan at long last. The seaming was a bit of a chore, but the final border – a round of double crochet in navy – went on without much fuss. It's not a huge blanket, but it'll be just the thing for a baby at some point or other. I'm glad to be retiring the crochet hook for a little while.

My Rhinebeck sweater is coming along. The sleeves are done and I cast on the body today. I'll be pushing it to get finished in time, but when it comes to me and knitting deadlines, what else is new?

I read the profile of Marilynne Robinson in the New York Times last week on the subway as I made my way home from school, and when I got to my stop I walked directly to the bookstore to buy a copy of Gilead. It has captured me in a way that books seldom do these days. I'm savouring it.

Two weeks ago I finished my job at the yarn store. It was a difficult decision, but after working 30 days straight in August/September, I knew I needed to make a change. I celebrated my first real weekend off in more than a year by heading to the farmer's market yesterday, which is where I found the dahlias.

After the farmer's market I walked down to the Distillery District. I like it there, like the glimpses of the city's industrial past and the reassuring hum of highway traffic in the near distance. I poked around, took some pictures, bought some fancy chocolate and drank a chai latte while I watched little kids chase pigeons and sparrows chase crumbs. The sun was in and out; the rain was on and off. There was a teasing breeze.

 

On the way home I walked through back streets, deliberately choosing unfamiliar routes. It was refreshing to see the familiar skyline from an unfamiliar perspective; almost as good as being out of town. (Almost.) When I stay away from the thoroughfares I can feel my pace slow and my head come up – more time for sauntering, more time for looking and wondering. I need to do that more often.

At home, the nights draw in and the lights go on earlier day by day. My mind is turning to roasted meats and veg, puddings that simmer in the oven. I brew mug after mug of tea. I pulled an old favourite pullover out of the drawer today; it's not one of my fancier sweaters, but putting it on felt like being reunited with an old friend.

I do love the fall.

September 24 – Lately

Here we are and somehow September's almost over. Last week there was a definite chill in the air; this week the warmth has returned, albeit for a limited engagement. I've been busy with all manner of work, which hasn't left much time for the fun stuff...but here are a few things from the in-between times.

The deadline for the crochet blanket CAL came and went and I'm still the proud owner of a bunch of piles of granny squares. Oh well – you win some, you lose some, I guess.

There were no hot dogs to be found.

My neighbour's copper beech has turned, and so has the oak just up the street. I love walking along the street in the morning and watching the way the early sun turns the leaves into stained glass.

I made a hat. If you're looking for a quick-and-easy FO hit, Jared Flood's Turn-a-Square has got to be it. Apple optional but highly recommended.

From this morning's walk to school.

Anyway, miles to go before I sleep. More soon.