yarnstorm

settling down

Life is settling down again. October was an unsettled month; the publication of a book can do that to your life, I suppose. It was exciting, distracting and thought-provoking but I'm glad I can feel some familiar rhythms and patterns coming back. And, nothing daunted, I am getting on with writing the next book.

I'm picking up some threads, too. The crochet flowers are blooming at a modest rate, and I only have to tip all the squares out of my bag to brighten my day and mood. It works with the yarn, too, and I love to see all the bright colours strewn around on the carpet.

The Kim Hargreaves scarf is progressing and the simple lace pattern is very compatible with listening to the radio or watching black-and-white films - most recently Waterloo Road (1944) with Stewart Granger as a London bounder (complete with drama school-style Cockney accent). I had to drop my knitting a few times to concentrate on the amazing period scenes of a sooty, grimy, war-time Waterloo Station - quite a contrast to the gleaming St Pancras International which I visited this week - so beautifully renovated and restored, with a glass roof like an ice sculpture.

It's also good to be reading again. Ted Hughes' letters. Dickens' Hard Times. Dorothy Whipple's short stories. The two lovely Susan Cropper books on crochet and on knitting which sidetrack me into planning all kinds of projects (where, oh where, can I find wide lucite/plastic/polyester bag handles?).

And I know life is more settled because I'm watching the hyacinths grow on the kitchen windowsill.

the biodynamic me

I can't say I am completely persuaded by the concept of biodynamics, a practice and philosophy I first came across when I was studying for the Master of Wine exams. But I do, in a very non-scientific and faintly fluffy way, think there is something in the idea of natural timing. I can't ascribe my own sense of it to the waxing and waning of the moon, the ebb and flow of the sea or the alignment of planets (although there is some evidence to suggest it does affect us all), but I am very aware that my life goes through phases during which certain things are more dominant and others recede gently into the background.

All this is a way of explaining that I am conscious that the blog, too, is evolving. The person who started writing yarnstorm in early 2005 is still me but I am now, in late summer 2007, in a different phase of my life.

When I began, I was still a PhD student and was desperate to break out of libraries and rediscover my passion for knitting. I had finished my freelance wine work and wasn't earning a penny, and had two children at one school and one at her senior school. Today, I do a couple of wine tastings a year, have three children at three senior schools and, in the last twelve months, have found a literary agent and a publisher, and have written a book. Next week, in keeping with my belief that New Year's Day is actually 1 September, I begin writing my second book for Hodder and my life will enter a yet another phase.

The point is that I don't have the time to do everything I'd like to. In the last few weeks, I've been quilting and quilting, reading madly, baking for Britain, and looking after the children during their eight week school holiday. No wonder, then, that yarn hasn't been seen much around here; I still love knitting and crochet but I have to make choices about what I do with my time, follow my natural timing and, as a result, these two interests have had to wane a little for a while.

So my apologies for the lack of fibre and knitting and crochet thoughts. I do appreciate that some people may be feeling that I've lost my way and abandoned my needles. But the knitting patterns and yarns and plans and projects are all still very much around and within me. I just need a little time and a few good moons and stars and I'll soon be clicking and hooking away again.

I appreciate every single visitor to the blog, and even more so when I'm feeling some pressure. Your sheer good humour, vast body of knowledge and infectious enthusiasm for the delights of domesticity bolster and sustain me. I do hope you'll keep reading.

organic growth

GASP.

7,980 possible flowers to crochet. And I only have 21 balls of wool...

Thank you very much for taking the time to explain how to calculate the possibilties of three-colour flowers so patiently and so cleverly to someone who couldn't see the way to do it herself. I am not at all surprised to discover that there are many clear-thinking mathematicians in the knitting & blogging world and I was delighted the problem gave you an opportunity to show off your skills to the rest of us who aren't as gifted with numbers. And I loved learning about maths language and how precise it is - like the difference between permutation and combination. Won't make that mistake again.

I also liked the question about which of the 7,980 squares I would choose to make which stumped me completely. I had a little think, saw the possibility of madness around the corner, and decided to go back to letting my crochet flower garden grow organically.

The benefits of a natural, organic approach were demonstrated to me in a practical way earlier in the day when I went to visit a friend who has three allotments (she shares the work with a friend) next to the long railway viaduct not far from where we live. Apparently, during WWII there were once 600 allotments in these fields which must have been a quite wonderful sight from the train.

Cally grows a lovely mix of flowers and fruit and vegetables and all organically. It's not easy with the pests and rabbits, but she's determined to persevere. And when I saw what she picked while I was taking photos I was amazed at how a 'working with what you've got' approach (trying things out, accepting failure, celebrating unexpected successes) can pay off.

Just look at this beautiful bunch of flowers which Cally gave me to bring home. She simply picked at random from what was in bloom and then put them together quickly but exquisitely. The richly coloured malope, cornflowers, dahlias, mallows and love-lies-bleeding positively glowed in the evening sunshine.

Excellent reminders that you can only plan so much and that much of the pleasure of making flower gardens and arrangements, whether they are real or crochet, is letting them grow organically. 

how does my garden grow?

My crochet flower garden is flourishing. I've now made 34 squares, and the time spent with my yarn and hook has given me ample time to consider how it can continue to multiply. Unfortunately, this has been causing some headaches as I can't work out the answer.

I never enjoyed maths at senior school even though I was very quick when it came to calculating totals in the fish and chip shop I worked in as a teenager (there wasn't a till, just a cash drawer, and it was great when fish and chips cost 25p as that was easy to multiply). So I'm hoping that a mathematician or two may be reading because I've discovered a great maths problem with my crochet - but I can't solve it.

This is it. I'm using 21 colours (every square has a cream border so I am not counting that as a colour) and each flower is made up of three colours. So how many permutations of colour combinations can I use before I exhaust all possibilities? Then, if each colour can be in the centre, in the middle, or on the outside of the flower, how many possibilties are there in total?

I'm not planning on making every single one - I have a feeling the number is very large - but it would be a relief to stop attempting the calculation every time I crochet. I want to get back to beautiful thoughts of holidays and summer reading and pretty flower gardens.

Can anyone help?

patterns

It must be the extremely wet and mild weather. The garden is madly green and sprouting and leafy, and my crochet flowers are blooming. I'm getting into a pattern of making, and  can recognise that familiar, slightly obsessive desire to make sure I get to the end of each square before leaving my crochet (it happens with knitting, too) so that I can see how the whole thing looks.

I can also begin to visualise how the pattern will work as a whole, when I have joined the edges and made the squares squarer. And, of course, I can't wait to sew in all those ends. Not.

I am flattered to be asked for the stitch pattern. As I mentioned in the post of 11 June, I made this one up after I saw the effect I wanted to achieve when I browsed crocheted blankets on the internet, but couldn't find the exact pattern anywhere. I am not a crochet pattern writer by any stretch of the imagination and, at the moment, would rather see whether or not it works before leading others up the garden path with iffy instructions. But I can recommend 200 Crochet Blocks by Jan Eaton as a brilliant resource for square patterns, and I spent a long time looking at this before working out how to make mine.

In fact, I think I'm pushing it by calling these 'squares' when they bear a distinct resemblance the tallest and best stack of (circular) pancakes I have ever eaten, courtesy of Lou Mitchell's in Chicago. (Almost twenty years ago, but the 'memory lingers on', as Frank Sinatra would say.)

flowerburst

 

I've started in earnest on the crochet squares for a blanket. I have no idea how many I'll make, and I don't really want to count as I go along as I find that's not the point. For me, there is something very happily random about crochet - mixing and playing with the colours, picking it up and putting it down to suit my whims, having no idea how much yarn it will need or how big it will be. There's a kind of unknown outcome which means I'm taking a risk, but it's a gentle, comfortable and colourful risk.

I like the way the squares develop to make what look like flowers with centres and petals. They resemble sunflowers, but I want more than just yellow blooms in my crocheted garden, so I'm creating many different flowers in fanciful combinations. This is going to be a good-size garden with bright, cheerful, warm colours.

I'm using Cascade 220 and a 5mm hook and find this makes my flowers open up rapidly. I feel like a gardener watering and feeding my plants on a daily basis. Soon I'll move on from a posy to a big bunch, and then to a whole border.

I can't boast wonderful technical skills, but so far I am happy with the way my flowers are bursting from my hook.

                                 ***

A combination of proof-reading, Phoebe off school and under a duvet with Bruno, Simon off work due to illness for the first time in five years, my Mum coming for a few days, school productions, Speech Day and a cricket match, means that I am finding it difficult to keep up with my email at the moment. I hope you will understand if you haven't heard from me.

An afternoon on the settee with Orlando the Marmalade Cat, Phoebe and Bruno, and my crochet would be just right today.

purly, purlesque, purlescent

Purl. Did you know that 'to purl' also means 'to flow with a murmuring sound', 'to spin round' and 'to fall headlong or heavily'? How apt. I did all these things in Purl and Purl Patchwork at the weekend. I certainly flowed round the shops murmuring to myself about the beauty and desirability of everything in them, and when I wasn't flowing I was spinning with excitement and darting from side to side to check, consider and compare. And, of course, I fell heavily for far too many fabrics.

When I finally emerged with my purchases, I could have done with a large tankard of purl (warmed and spiced ale, as drunk by various characters in the novels of Charles Dickens) to revive myself.   

The first wonderful thing about Purl is that the two shops, one for yarns and one for patchwork fabrics, are there at all. There aren't many cities where two such eclectic, visionary and independent enterprises could thrive. Yarn and fabric sales can never depend on passing trade, and it's all credit to Joelle and her excellent team that Purl has become a destination for buyers. There's a palpable feeling of excitement in the shops every time I visit - all those people, from beginners to seasoned knitters and quilters, purl around and are clearly inspired by the possibilities that the jewel-like yarns and the more pearlescent fabrics suggest. 

The second wonderful thing is that so much of the hard work has been done for you before you even step over the threshold. I'd arranged to meet Liesl just after she'd taught a sewing class at Purl and we had a lovely, chatty lunch together, and she used just the right word when describing Joelle's skills. She said that Joelle is a genius at 'editing', at choosing the best, the loveliest, the most tempting, whether you are looking for basic or luxurious, bright or subtle. Liesl also introduced me to Joelle who is charmingly modest and relaxed about the whole Purl phenomenon, which makes me love it even more.

I had a good idea about this 'editing' from my previous visits to Purl, but I could see exactly what Liesl means when I went into Purl Patchwork for the first time. As everyone who has written about PP before me has said, it's really very tiny as patchwork shops go, and yet there is not one fabric which hasn't earned it place on the two, tall, tastefully arranged walls. Despite the limitations of space - or, more likely, because of them - there is a great breadth and depth to the range which makes you consider colours, patterns, designs which you may never have even thought about before.

I fell particularly heavily for a number of delicate, beautifully coloured Japanese prints (above and in other photos) in unusual tones and shades. I also bought some prints by Denyse Schmidt and Amy Butler (n.b. there are 2 or 3 fabrics in the first pile which I bought at City Quilter), and had a great time mixing and matching until I gave up and, on Joelle's advice, simply bought the fabrics I liked ('go with your instinct', she said - a dangerous suggestion when my instinct was to buy a piece of everything).   

At the yarn Purl I had a much easier time. I arrived with a plan and left with what I came for - a mass of cheap, cheerful, colourful Cascade 220 for a new crochet project.

And now I'm hoping I've cured my tendency to purl, as well as my itchy fingers and my itchy feet. For a while, at least.

words in and on new york

 

Each of my visits to New York acquires its own distinctive flavour. Although I like to enjoy a portfolio of pleasures (as a sybaritic investment banker might say), there is usually one theme which emerges, and this visit was decidedly literary.

This wasn't deliberate, although I now realise it was inevitable. I stayed near the magnificent New York Public Library and on my first day was delighted by the brass plaques on Library Way . It's not easy walking along East 41st Street as you have to keep stopping every few yards to read the quotes and poems in beautiful typefaces and with wonderful decorations (below). The WB Yeats poem above is one of my favourites (click on the photo to read the text). How amazing to halt and read the pages of the pavement in busy New York where everyone seems to walk twice as fast as anywhere else.

 

When I arrived, my room wasn't ready so I went to the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station, also not far from my hotel. As I went in, I discovered the brilliant independent bookstore in the terminal (at the moment it has a lovely window display of knitting books) and bought a book of Robert Frost's poems. Then I sat and ate local seafood, drank a glass of wine from Washington State, read RF's poems and was totally absorbed in things American. It was completely wonderful, and all the better for being unplanned. It's not often that words, wine, food and atmosphere all come together to create a perfect moment of solitude.

But I didn't spend all my time on my own. I also shared plenty of words with some great people. I met Kay of Mason-Dixon book and blog fame, and another time I met Liza of books and quilting fame. As words are one of our stocks-in-trade we are never to going to run out of them, and we certainly managed spectacular word-counts in our conversations.

As well as giving me some excellent book recommendations*, Kay also pointed me in the direction of a great Upper East side bookshop - Crawford Doyle Booksellers at 1082 Madison Ave. I do like the way neighbourhoods and clientele are reflected in their local shops - this was very smart and tasteful. The Upper East side also has correspondingly upmarket under-tree planting,

and some fetching pavement patterns.

By contrast, a couple of days later I was in the Lower East side, 'reading' my favourite window display in NY, that of Economy Candy on Rivington Street.      

 

This is one aspect of the window dressers' art which is overlooked in the sophisticated shops of Fifth Ave. The 'fill 'em up, pile 'em high and make them look mouthwatering' style of display isn't exactly what you find in Barney's, and I love it all the more for that.

This temple to tooth decay is just down the street from Schiller's Liquor Bar, which not only has top tiling and word design inside and out,

but also has a huge range of reading material on racks by the door. I always associate the bar with reading The New Yorker, a magazine which requires several beers and plenty of food to sustain you through one of their mega articles.

   

On my last morning, I went to the printing district of lower Manhattan around Hudson and Varick streets where the characterful buildings once housed presses and print warehouses, and now accommodate publishers' offices. How prescient of Jacques Torres to open his chocolate factory here, when everyone knows that books and chocolate are a match made in heaven.

It was here that I met the lovely, generous Irene who has read the blog for a long time and has been incredibly helpful with books and suggestions (she has introduced Alice and Phoebe to some excellent, contemporary American writers). Irene suggested we meet for a hot chocolate at Jacques Torres' place. Oh my goodness. All I can say is - go.

And so I came back from NY with piles of words, visions of words and memories of words. What a great collection.

                                ***

*Kay's recommendations gave me the impetus to visit the famous Strand Books ('18 miles of books' - but no satellite navigation to help you) which is bewildering and brilliant at the same time. It's the best place I've found for cut-price, second-hand and out-of-print books, and it's also only five blocks away from an excellent Barnes & Noble on Astor Place if you need new and in-print books, and a little more order.

As well as the above shops, I'd recommend Kinokuniya for Japanese books, and the Shakespeare & Co outlets as good alternatives to the ubiquitous Barnes & Noble.

                                ***

Tomorrow, the last word on New York: Purl.

itchy feet, itchy fingers

I have had itchy feet since I was very young, so I know how to recognise and deal with the symptoms. Itchiness in my feet is particularly acute around this time of year, so I am going away for five nights on my own at the end of this week.

While I love the planning, the thinking and the organising involved, I also find that the prospect of travel makes me somewhat 'jiffly' as Simon would say (the slang verb 'to jiffle' is an expressive one for 'to fidget', a word which could have been invented for Simon when he was younger). When I know I'm off somewhere very soon, I find it hard to concentrate on current projects, like sewing up these fabrics to make a bluey-greeny 'Swimmining Pool' or 'Pond' quilt. 

And now the itchiness has spread to my fingers and I find I am literally and metaphorically feeling for something new. I don't know about you, but sometimes my fingertips really do itch for a lovely, new yarn project, something which will give tactile pleasure and demand that my fingers and hands embark on a new series of repetitive and satisfying actions.

I have some knitting on the go but it's not assuaging the itchiness, and I know that what I really want to do is start a crocheted granny square blanket with masses of colours and some new stitches. So, in lieu of some calming balm from the chemist's and to stop my fingers jiffling, yesterday I made myself work out the kind of square I want to use for this blanket.

I was so pleased to find that I now have enough crochet knowledge that I can understand how it works. I couldn't find a pattern for the square I have in mind, so I spent all yesterday afternoon with yarn, hook and books, and let my fingers have a lovely time playing with puffs and clusters. I think I've put together a template I like, so that now all I have to do is let my itchy feet get me to a yarn shop to buy the necessary treatment to cure my itchy fingers.

(The practice squares are very much that - practice. I suppose I could claim that the yellow and blue look is inspired by Monet's kitchen at Giverny, but that would be a lie because these are simply two balls of leftovers which contrast and show up the pattern and stitches. A whole blanket of these squares would induce nausea, and I'd rather suffer from itchy feet and itchy fingers than feel sick.)

scottish dancing crochet

My 'Scottish Dancing' blanket looks like it's on a pedestal. I like the idea of this as I feel it's a trophy I've won for all the hours and hours of ripple crochet that went into its creation. 

I stopped where I stopped because, once again, I ran out of the right shades of yarn. Of course, I could just carry on regardless with leftovers, but I much prefer to keep to an overall theme and scheme. This one is 'Scottish Dancing' and was inspired by a visit to Inverness in early autumn last year when I was spellbound by the wonderful colours of the hills, trees, plants, flowers, lochs and skies. I really wanted to make something with a teal and orange combination because those are the colours in my favourite tartan (I have no idea which clan, but one which must live/have lived near water and hills covered in rowan trees). And then I added more colours for heather, clouds, earth, leaves, wild flowers.

It all 'dances' because of the ripple pattern. As I crocheted the ripples I thought of the highlands and lowlands of Scotland, the peaks and valleys, the mountains and the lochs, and all the windy roads around them. I took the pattern from 200 Ripple Stitch Patterns by Jan Eaton (no. 8 'Soft Waves') and used mostly Rowan Pure Wool DK plus a few odd waves of Jaeger Merino, Debbie Bliss Merino and Blue Sky Alpacas alpaca (all DK weight). The blanket swallowed 1110g of yarn and it measures 54"/136cm x 58"/147cm. When it's hung over the banister (second photo) the weight makes it have a 3D ripple effect; the colours not only dance on the horizontal stripes, but also the whole thing meanders in and out like a textile version of corrugated iron (and like the playground game of 'In and Out the Scottish Bluebells'). 

This is how the top section looks. I know it's upside down but I quite like the way the stitches fan out on the crests of the wave and, anyway, this is how I see the blanket when it's over my knees.

And here it is in all its glory, suspended over the stairwell with Tom hidden behind, holding onto the edge to prevent it sliding off.

When I was eight we all had to do Country Dancing at school. It was one of those things which the girls took very seriously and the boys did not. I can remember the complete tangles we got into (mostly because none of us wanted to hold hands with the boys) and it got worse when we had to do Scottish dances. So I am quite happy to restrict my 'Scottish Dancing' to crochet, and reward myself with a trophy blanket.