Ruffled
A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the craft store (no idea how I got there - must've blacked out from the wool fumes). Naturally I went over to the yarn area. My fascination with cheap and widely-available yarns must be fed from time to time, after all. On a table next to the Cascade yarns was this little gem:
Always a sucker for the Smally Clothes, I casually snatched it up. I flipped all the way to project number 7 before remembering that I MADE A DESIGN FOR THIS BOOK:
Talk about surreal! This publisher is really great about sending copies of the book to all its contributors, but this time I hadn't received mine before it hit stores. In the mayhem surrounding publication of my own book, I completely forgot having a design in this one. It was such a strange sensation to be standing in the craft store, holding a copy of the design, with near total amnesia surrounding it. I always laugh when people ask me how I get so many pieces knit. I never feel all that productive, never mind prolific. But this hinted to me about what those people must mean: It was like forgetting exactly how many children you have. Not a little disturbing. I felt, well, ruffled.
Smally clothes are the most fun to design, because I can be as silly and whimsical as I want. You can make babies wear anything, because they have trouble getting away.
When Lindsay was little (you know, like 11 minutes ago?), Phillip and I used to dress her in those tights with the lace ruffles on the butt under her little baby dresses. We would put her down and let her crawl around every chance we got when she was dressed like that, so we could wink at each other and say "Bottoms Up!". It was our sleep-deprivation-induced hilarious inside joke. "Ha-Ha'" we would say, "Ruffle-Butt!" It tickled us to death. Getting to watch baby LuLu scoot around with her ruffles akimbo was adequate payback for the sleepless nights and days of exhaustion (punctuated by moments of panic) that was new parenthood.
I wish Lindsay had had these pants. Hell, I might make her some yet. Bottoms Up!
Tell Me a Story
A few posts back, I hinted that a contest was coming. Today's the day, Gentle Readers! First, The Prize:
Your very own autographed copy of my big fat new book: 304 pages of colorful goodness; All for You.
Now, The Contest:
Make up a story containing references to these 5 objects: A paperweight, A sock-in-progress, a pink rose, a bottle of purple fountain pen ink, and a set of 10 sparkly antique buttons.
Your story can be any length, in any format (Limerick? Mystery Thriller? Romance? Haiku?).
Only 2 rules apply:
1. You must reference all 5 of the objects pictured above.
2. You have to send me your story by 12:00 Noon PST on Tuesday, May 29, 2012.
Please put "Tell Me A Story" in the subject line of your entry, and e-mail it to me at mary@maryscotthuff.com.
With permission of the author, the winning story will be a featured Post, right here on this very Blog! I can't wait to see what you Clever Beasties come up with...
Aptly Named
This week I had the great good fortune to play with Scrumptious, a super-dreamy yarn which is being distributed in the USA by Lantern Moon.
Scrumptious is an unusual blend of 45% Silk and 55% Superwash Merino. As you might expect with that fiber content, this yarn has an extraordinary sheen and luster. It's available in a nice range of different weights, so it was hard to pick my favorite. I chose a gorgeous, ropy Aran, and my favorite weight for almost everything in knitting, Sport.
I made some swatches and some sketches (I still cannot believe I get to do this for my JOB!), and then went back to Lantern Moon with my ideas.
Would you believe it? Lantern Moon has trusted me with the first-ever American designs for Scrumptious! The first samples will debut at TNNA in June, with availability of the whole mini-collection coming to you this fall.
If loving string is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
You Cannot Make This Stuff Up
So there I was, knocked unconscious by a dose of Ny-Quil. The nasty cold I've been trying not to get finally sucker-punched me, and the medicine was my last resort. I was sleeping. In my bed. Which is how I know that none of what happened was my fault. Oh sure, it could be argued that some of my past behavior could warrant a backlash from the Knitting Gods (Smugly challenging them to come and get me during a Steeks class? Guilty.), but this was beyond even their capacity.
Around 3AM Phillip woke me up and asked if I knew where the dogs were. Yes. Of course I know where the dogs are; it's 3AM and I've been in an antihistamine coma for 4 hours. Pretty sure I don't even know where I am. For that matter, you aren't looking especially familiar.
Phillip crossed the hall to Lindsay's room. "Baby, are the dogs in here with you?" Still-sleeping Lindsay replied "There are no dogs in here and you are annoying." Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I heard Phillip go downstairs and open the front door. I heard two dogs come inside. Phillip plopped them, one by one, onto our bed, where they usually sleep. Through the dull fog I registered that something was Not Quite Right, before the cold medicine dragged me under again. I went down like a prizefighter.
Flash forward to 7:30 that morning. The fog in my head had been replaced by the shrieking pain of the sinus infection. One Scottish Terrier was next to me, curled up serenely on Phillip's pillow. The other one was sacked out on his back, adjacent to my thigh. And the something that was Not Quite Right several hours ago now came sharply into focus: Both dogs were covered with mud. And they were sleeping on my white, monogrammed sheets. And there was a bizarre prickling sensation all up and down my leg. And my arms. And my hands. Closer inspection revealed that the mud was not really mud, but the finely-ground bark mulch the landscapers had just replenished, all up and down our block.
So even though I went to bed with nothing worse than a bad cold, I woke up in a Medieval torture chamber, covered from head to toe in bark dust splinters, and wet dog detritus.
I asked Phillip (perhaps somewhat forcefully) what the &#$^(@! he was thinking when he put wet, barkdust-covered dogs in our bed?
"I didn't notice - it was the middle of the night."
So all (and I mean ALL) of yesterday was devoted to bark removal. From the bedding. From the carpet. From the dog's fur (full baths and haircuts required). And from my skin. You would not believe how deeply imbedded Douglas Fir splinters can get when you sleep on them. And in what places they can imbed.
So how, you might reasonably ask (I know I did), do two spoiled-brat marshmallow-butt indorsy small dogs get outside in the middle of the night to roll in the barkdust in the first place? One Word:
MacTarnahan. He can open the front door from the outside (it's a thumb-latch, rather than a knob). I've actually seen him do it. I'm sure he was hoping the dogs would be too dumb to find their way back home, or if they did, be in big trouble with the people. Either way, it's a Win for the Cat.
I know that someday this will be really funny to me. It's the sort of thing that only happens at my house. Someday, I will wonder what's funnier; the cat outsmarting/punishing all of us, or the fact that Phillip can pick up a soaking wet dog who has been Panko-breaded in bark mulch, without noticing it.
Today is not that day. Today I'm still removing splinters from my ass.
Delivered.
Today I was going to tell you all about my trip to Minneapolis, MN, and a new knitalong, and a beautiful yarn I discovered. And I promise I will. But something even bigger than all of those delights happened:
It's here at last. My second book is now officially in print. And it's kinda bigger and heavier than I expected, which is funny in light of the fact that all the words and pictures in it are mine, so I probably should have known what to expect: 304 pages. 10 chapters. 22 projects. Lotsa knitting fun. Get yours today where fine knitting books are sold (your LYS, please, if at all possible, and all online outlets, if not).
I made this for you, my friends. I hope you like it!
Nose to the Grindstone. Honest.
Yarnover is the annual fiber festival day hosted by the Minnesota Knitters Guild. They've been throwing this party for 25 years, if you can imagine, and this year, they invited me!
A few of the other teachers are Clara Parkes, Amy Singer, Beth Brown-Reinsel and Nancy Bush. Somebody pinch me.
I'll be teaching "Mad Hatters", which is all about designing your own charted motifs for stranded colorwork, and "Eeek! Steeks!", in which we take scissors to our knitting. Big. Fun.
After that, my pal Maria and I are going to celebrate our birthday (which is on the same day!) by making trouble, of the sort which probably involves yarn. And chocolate. It's really tough duty, but somebody has to do it.
I've never been to Minnesota before, so I'll tell you all about it when I get home. Assuming I come back - I make no promises as long as the yarn and chocolate hold out.
And while I'm away, I'll be hatching a Cunning Plan. I think it's time for a CONTEST to celebrate the launch of my new book, on May 8, don't you? Start warming up your creative muscles: you're gonna love it.
Gorge-ous
I spent last weekend with knitters, spinners, teachers, and yarnies of all sorts at the Columbia Gorge Fiber Festival.
I saw a Canada Goose mommy (look carefully, in the foreground) take her flock of wee goslings out for a swim while I was relaxing between classes.
The Marketplace did a brisk business, and lots of knitters stopped by my book signing. Everybody seemed to enjoy seeing the trunk show samples for my new book.
The weather was so extraordinary that a sock and I actually had breakfast outside! We both enjoyed both the scenery, and the coffee.
Did I mention the Knitters? A fearless lot joined me for introductory stranded colorwork, and an even more intrepid bunch let me show them how to cut their knitting with scissors. All lived to tell the tale, which is good, because I enjoyed them so much that I want to get to play with them again sometime.
Only in its second year, this Fiber fest already has a devoted following, and a very special energy all its own. The participants all appreciate its being there so much, and its organizers work hard to create a top-notch experience for everyone. In addition to the savage beauty of the surroundings (if you've never seen the Columbia River Gorge, do yourself a favor and make it a priority to visit), the festival has an intimate and relaxed vibe. Nobody was in a hurry, and everybody I met was downright joyful to be there. I'm definitely hoping to teach there again.
Now I'm home, and working on a Top Secret project, which of course is killing me to not tell you about. There's a sick kid here. And the laundry pile is a little bit menacing. I think I wanna go back to the Gorge.
Hang With Us in the Hood
Hood River, Oregon, that is! This weekend will be my first time teaching at the Columbia Gorge Fiber Festival, right here in my own home state. Check out who else is teaching:
Deb Accuardi Donna Arney Judy Becker Chrissy Gardiner Linda Gettmann Wanda Jenkins Sarah Keller Nichole Reese Teri Zipf
Judy Becker has organized a treasure hunt, We're celebrating Earth Day, and the famous fruit tree orchards of the Columbia Gorge will be in bloom. Grab a knitting friend or two and hop in the car for a beautiful drive east of Portland. When you get there, we'll play with string, I'll sign books, and you'll leave even smarter than you arrived, because there are still openings in many classes. Oh, and did I mention the MARKETPLACE? You can inhale wool fumes from the likes of Dicentra Designs, Abstract Fibers, Toots LeBlanc, and many more.
My favorite part? Show and Tell! I'll be bringing along the trunk show for my new book, so you can see and touch (and try on!) the projects. I can't wait to show you all the fun things there are to make.
Click HERE for more information. See you there!
In Praise of Vanilla
In further support of my newfound
I really enjoyed making these. And the finished socks are a delightful super-fine weight - as in, they can be worn with any shoes, not just clogs or Birkenstocks. Which got me thinking: It was time ro revisit my roots, and say hello to some old friends, yarn-wise.
As a lucky-pants knitting designer, I'm now in a position to request yarn from the people who make it, and have them send it to me. The color, amount, and type are up to me to choose, from pretty much anyplace I can think of - mine for the asking. But this wasn't always the case. And it hasn't been very long since then. Spending time with this simple, unpretentious yarn reminded me of whence I came, yarn wise, and recalled some hard and important lessons I learned when I started out as a designer.
Before I made friends with yarn companies, I was
I turned to readily-available craft store yarns, which were at least new, if not luxurious. And you know what? They really worked just fine. There is a reason these mass-produced yarns are sold everywhere, including the store where you get your groceries and your motor oil. I learned that as long as I stuck to fiber content I could easily pronounce, I could make good knitting with some of them.
Now that I am blessed with the luxury of working with gorgeous artisanal skeins, it was good for me to be reminded of some simpler ones. I came up with a short list of the favorite yarns from my old days. These are honest, unpretentious skeins. They have short ingredient lists, but long yardage. They have limited palettes, but reliable performance. Are they heirloom quality? No way. But then, not everything I knit is (or should be) an heirloom. Sometimes I just want to grab a skein of something non-cherished to practice on. And when I'm less emotionally connected to the yarn, some surprising things have happened with my knitting. Turns out if I'm not treating some perfect skein of cashmere with all the reverence it deserves, I'm a whole lot more likely to create something daring and new. If I'm going to gut and rework the same stupid armhole shaping five times, I don't want to do it with yarn that's fancy. Just something serviceable, and well, vanilla.
Herewith, I salute my favorite craft-store yarns: Cheap and Cheerful, and Ready to Serve:
The aforementioned sock yarn. It comes in cream, black, and a host of engineered stripes that look like the inside of a goat's stomach. I have no idea what the Aloe thing is about, but the 75% wool, 25% nylon blend is positively utilitarian. I have a pair of socks in one of the intestinal colorways that I swear are 11 years old.
Ahh, Good old Patons Classic Wool. Knitting with this yarn is like having coffee with an old friend; There's almost no mindset it can't improve. Smooth, elastic, and reliable. Cable it, strand it, felt it. It does everything Cascade 220 can do, only backwards, and in heels. And the colors aren't bad either, once you get past the scary variegated ones. This is the stalwart I turn to when I have a bona fide knitting emergency, and can't even wait for the shipping of something else. I don't know about you, but a fit of startitis can strike at any time - I actually try to keep a sweater's worth on hand in case of Sudden Inspiration/The Apocalypse/Early Craft Store Closing Time.
And while I'm lovin' on the Canadian yarns, let's not forget this little gem. The colors are actually very pretty (well, the solids, anyway - the multis are somewhat on the cat-vomit side of things). I don't know what causes a cotton to be "mercerized", but Patons Grace has a gorgeous pearly luster that other cotton yarns lack. When I think of summer knitting, this is the yarn I think of first. Super-pretty for lace, and the delicate gauge keeps things from getting too heavy. It's also the perfect waste yarn, because it never sticks to the stitches you're holding with it, or breaks if you have to get rough.
I'd be a fool not to love Lion Brand Fishermen's Wool. Its gauge is listed as worsted, but I've pressed it into service as a DK before, and loved the result. The colors are absolutely gorgeous, all 7 of them, because they are all the natural colors of sheep. And sheep, as we all know, are extremely snappy dressers (though not great at accessorizing). And let's not forget the absolutely staggering yardage on one of these skeins, at 465 yds!
Probably the weirdest yarn on my favorites list, Kashmira (there is nothing cashmere-like about it, by the way) comes from Turkey, by way of JoAnn fabrics. It's always on sale. It only comes is black, white, sometimes red, and a truly heinous multi of green, white and black, which should be avoided at all costs. It's sold as a worsted weight, but it's not. It's a true DK, with - get this - 10 plies, twisted almost horizontally. That crazy twist gives it the most incredible sproing, while the superfine plies make it Uber-smooth. Perfect for colorwork (if you don't mind dyeing your own colors). It also has crazy-generous yardage, at 284 yds per skein. Get yourself a pile to keep in the bomb shelter.
The great thing about vanilla yarns is that you can keep them on hand, in amounts that prevent you from being precious with them. All painters need canvas. I encourage you to stock up, with impunity. Especially if it's on sale. Then you can be twice as smug.
Now you tell me: What's YOUR favorite flavor of Vanilla?
Everybody Can Relax; I've Invented the Wheel
And now for a confession: I'm a late arrival to the sock knitting party.
For the longest time, the world of socks was a complete mystery to me. I was focused on knitting that covers other body parts, and it seemed to me that there were SO many designers making socks exclusively (and brilliantly) that the world didn't need me to get interested in them.
Which is, of course, exactly when somebody asked me to design socks. No grocery-needing knitwear designer can afford to limit the body parts they cover with yarn, so of course I agreed, and started cracking books. The learning curve was steep, but not insurmountable. I'm proud of the socks I've designed, and I've enjoyed sock-knitting as a palate cleansing activity that fits nicely in between larger projects.
But last week, something weird happened. I figured out how to make socks from the toe up.
I know. It's like reporting the huge news flash that water is wet. I have made the groundbreaking discovery that the Earth is Round. I'm screaming with glee from the rooftops that socks can be made in the completely opposite direction from what I've done before, while the knitters below smile indulgently, and keep on walking. Everybody else already knows this, but I am so excited to have finally figured it out.
And I made these!
Of course, when you try to take pictures of your own feet wearing new socks (toe-up or otherwise), the dog will think you have lost your mind and come over to offer an opinion:
I tried to explain it to him: "But they're TOE-UP!" I said. Bailey remained unmoved.
Some people's pets are just too hard to impress.
"Dogwood" toe-up socks, with proper gussets and heel flaps. Blue Moon Fiber Arts Socks That Rock Lightweight, in a Rare Gems colorway. Click HERE for the pattern, to share my newfound joy.