DPNs or WMDS?

DPNs

Dpn is knitting lingo for "double-pointed needle." And they terrify me. In my clumsy hands, dpns become wmds (weapons of mass dropped stitches). I don't blow up cities, but I can certainly create gaping holes in little knitted hats. In the microcosm of my inner perfectionist world, that counts for a vast majority of the population destroyed by dropped stitches.

Two days ago I cast on some leftover yarn to make one of designer Susan B. Anderson's "Itty-Bitty Hats." Susie whips them up in minutes. (I guess I make mine in minutes, too—just a whole lot MORE minutes.) I started with 24-inch circular needles—that's knitspeak for a pair of needles attached by varying lengths of tubing—but they were too long. So I resorted to using my dpns. On a "Knitting Daily" YouTube video, expert speed-knitter Eunny Jang asserts how she loves using dpns. (She says this while looking at the camera as she zips around her 45-stitch sample sock in less time than I take to put on my socks.)

The dreaded dpns lie in wait atop my copy of Susan B. Anderson's
Itty-Bitty Hats (above). Susie's Pastel Marley hat is modeled by an
adorable baby in the book (right).

So okay, I built up my confidence and tackled Susie's itty-bitty Pastel Marley pattern, dpns and all. Not so bad for a few agonizingly slow and cautious rounds. And then it happened—the dreaded dropped stitch.

The problem with dpns, you see, is that their singular quality of allowing the knitter to work from both ends of the needle also allows stitches to fall off either end of the needle. So while I'm knitting away at one end, thinking I'm making great progress, stitches are dropping faster than the stock market from all the other exposed tips. This in spite of my vigilance and care. 

I have rubber tips I can fasten on the ends, like little drain stoppers, and my friend Kristina wraps rubber bands at the tips. I know these knitting aids exist, but I don't want to use them because they take time to put on and remove, and this was supposed to be a quick little project I was whipping up in my spare time. 

Yesterday I took my itty-bitty mess of a baby hat to Kristina's house. We knit together on a regular basis. That is, I usually knit while she sews one of her glorious quilts. Actually, we talk a lot, she sews a lot, and I knit a little because I can't talk and knit at the same time. But yesterday Kristina was knitting, too. And after I squawked about dropping my fourth or fifth stitch, she rummaged through her knitting bag and presented me with her 16-inch circular needles. 

So I have no more excuses for dropping stitches. Now I have to learn how to keep all my yarn colors from getting tangled. 

I know I could just go out and buy an itty-bitty hat, but where would be the fun in that?

Victory Over Patch-aphobia

My Grandma Elsie knitted this sweater and gave it to me for my 15th birthday — the only surprise party my mother ever planned for me. As a knitter myself, I admire Grandma's small, even stitches and the huge amount of work that went into creating this garment. She told me it was "a labor of love." And I believe it!

After (ahem) years of wear, the sweater still looks practically like new, and even fits! But a moth must have found a tasty spot, and a small hole was developing near the right shoulder. The yarns Grandma used would be impossible to match exactly, and I know my poor, uneven stockinette cannot approach the perfection of her stitches. Any repair work I attempted would be a visible affront to Elsie's handiwork. 

What to do? I asked my knitting group for suggestions, and they gave me the following suggestion: Find a wool yarn that would go well with the sweater's palette, knit a swatch, wash it, and tumble it in the clothes dryer to "felt" it. That process would shrink the fibers and cause them to draw together in a tightly woven fabric that I could then cut into any shape patch I desired. I could add my own flavor and pizzazz to Grandma's patchwork polo.

So I bought the yarn, knitted the swatch and felted it.

That was in 2008. Fearing Grandma's judgment if I made a mistake — kind of silly since she died in 1994 — I did what all good perfectionists do. I procrastinated ... for five years.

A couple days ago, I completed my most recent knitting project. Emboldened by the new skills I acquired during that process, I finally grabbed the sweater, the felted swatch and my embroidery scissors, and cut out a heart shape. I went on YouTube to refresh my "how-to" regarding blanket stitch then dove in.

I wasn't even afraid ... and I didn't have to whistle a happy tune! The entire project took me something like a half hour. And doesn't it look cute? 

Once again I have realized the extreme silliness of procrastination. I wonder what else I can finish while I'm in the mood?

Windows to My World

Windows to My World

Last night, I attended my first-ever book club meeting. I'd been invited by my friend Pam, who consistently refers me to great reads, and I was delighted when she asked if I wanted to join her group. I pulled up to Pam's house shortly after dark and was enchanted by the sight of her curtain-less windows inviting passersby to peek into her beautifully appointed home. Her house blossoms with rich colors and textures, artwork and orchids everywhere—truly a voyeur's delight!

No kidding, I am a shameless peeping Tom. I love passing through residential areas in the evening, before folks have drawn their blinds, catching sight of a burgundy accent wall, arched doorway, or lace-covered antique table. My creative mind scuttles around inside like Arietty, borrowing romance from the imagined lives of those who live within.

I derive glum pleasure and perverse satisfaction from peering into another person's home and comparing it to my relatively "dismal" reality. Where's the color and warmth in MY life? Why doesn't my home interior appear as inviting as Pam's?

It's a funny thing what envy will do. The imagined joys of the lives of others can make me extremely dissatisfied with the very real joys of my own. I used to read through home decorating magazines, becoming increasingly agitated by the costs of all the improvements and products Alan and I couldn't afford, a dark cloud hovering over my head growing larger and more storm-laden with each turned page. 

My Dream House

A dozen or so years ago, we purchased our "dream" home on the fairway of a golf course. Well, its location was dreamy, but before long I'd compiled a long list of "necessary" improvements to diminish my happiness in living there. 

One of the perks to living along a fairway was the easy access to the cart path that we strolled on at dusk as the final foursomes of the day completed their rounds. The path led us down the seventh fairway past the tee box then crossed a private residential street by the sixth green into an adjacent neighborhood, where the homes were valued a notch higher than ours. I admired their custom shutters, their enticing courtyards, their interesting architectural details, their tennis courts. 


One evening we meandered through that neighborhood and worked our way back along the ninth and eighth fairways to the seventh green and headed down the seventh fairway toward home. Up ahead brightly lit two-story windows beckoned me. White twinkling lights threaded through the wrought-iron fence bespoke the elegant lives of those who lived within. Why hadn't I noticed this gorgeous residence earlier? Then Alan turned toward it, and I realized it was ours!

Feel Free to Look Around

Who's sneaking peeks into MY house and comparing her perceptions of my happy life with her own? I know my life is far from perfect, and I don't mind admitting it. In fact, I think part of the call on my life and my pen is to let others know that none of us is alone in our imperfection. No weakness or failing overtakes any one of us but such as is common to people everywhere.


So here I am throwing open the windows of my soul. Feel free to peek inside. You may see a lot of dust and dog hair. (I admit to being a lousy housekeeper.) But I hope you'll feel right at home.

Blessings,
Pauly

P.S. Alan and I had to sell our dream home in order to make ends meet, so now we're living another dream. But that will require a peek through another window, another day.