YaaaaaaarnCon!

Last weekend, I manned a table at...



photo courtesy of YarnCon.com



I came, I saw, I knitted.  And I sold!  Finally, I feel like I have the right amount of inventory for a show of this size.   I met a girl who does roller derby.  I met a 12-year-old vegetarian who appreciates the cruelty-free nature of my art.  I met a guy who balanced a skein of yarn in his hat.  More about him later. 



photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/moonrat/



The event took place at the Pulaski Park Fieldhouse, a large recreational building that is part of the Chicago Park District.  Other craft fairs happen here, and the photo opportunities alone are enough reason to set up there.  Unfortunately, I didn't get to be a resident in the super cool photo-op room, but maybe next year. 

Handmade knit/crochet tables like mine were vastly outnumbered by booths draped in yarn, and ready-to-spin fibres.  Although it's always nice to have a partner at these fairs, I was glad to be stuck at my station, unable to blow my whole paycheck on these amazing materials. 

Also, I was surrounded by experienced knitters.  They could take one look at my designs and figure them out in their heads.  Those who couldn't, asked if they could purchase the patterns.  Note to self: You need to write and publish patterns on Ravelry!  Maybe one a month for a year.  Fruit Suits, Schneeds, perhaps the Fox Scarf.   I kicked myself a little for not having some nice printouts to sell.  Lesson learned. 



photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/moonrat/



Pictured above is the gym where I set up shop.  Can you see Mannequiña in the back corner?  The coordinators and several vendors came around throughout the day to make sure we were okay, and asked if we needed a coffee break.  One such visit was paid by a coordinator's husband, who told me all about their recent adventure at Yarn School.  I really think I'm going to save up some pennies and go next year.  This couple renovated an empty high school in Kansas, turned classrooms into dorms, and now teach one-week classes in spinning, dyeing, and felting.  It sounds like summer camp, and I can't stop thinking about it. 

My next door neighbor at the fair was Fabi and her Amigurumi creations from Polka Dot Umbrellas.  I only wondered for a moment why she doesn't use plastic eyes like in my Foxy Woxy scarf.  After checking out her Etsy shop, my suspicion was confirmed that her designs are 100% baby-friendly, no choking hazards.  Smart cookie, that Fabi.  The red lobster is my favorite.  If you know anyone having a baby, even if you need something custom, look her up. 


And finally...

photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/moonrat/

He's the perfect husband.  This young man strolled through the 'Con, displaying a new color scheme of his wife's yarn every round.  I don't know any other hubbies out there who sacrifice their Saturday to literally act as a walking advertisement for a craft booth.  Bravo, yarn guy!  You deserve a beer. 

Craft Super Show 2010

Last Friday, I made the drive to Rosemont to go to a little craft experience called Craft Super Show.  All the big names would be there.  Fiskars, JoAnn, Cricut, Lion Brand, and I was sure I would be surrounded by all of 12 other crafters from the area.  I was wrong.  No exaggeration, there were about 1000 people in line in front of me, waiting to get in.  Some of them were dressed up as bugs, some had huge project bags with them.  Some were hosting their own web shows as they walked around.  I tightened the straps of my camo backpack, took a deep breath, and walked in.  

Of all the tables, about half were scrapbooking stations.  I tried scrapbooking once, and I made a valiant effort, but it's really all about the tools.  I don't get it.  It's a lovely endeavor for those who have the means, but I just don't get it!  Anyway, this little card was a Make and Take project for a buck, so I gave it a go.  I stenciled, embossed, and sponge painted the copper card.  Then I made the fabric flower and punched a hole for the brad to hold it in place.  I punched corners in the navy blue card and added some copper paper clips.  I like it.  I still don't get it.

This was a beautiful moment.  I've always wanted to learn how to make this I-cord, and I've seen the knitting bug in stores, but I didn't know how to use him.  The lady from Lion Brand taught me, and I gave her a tip on how to get the yarn unstuck from inside the bug's body (just a little puff of air sends the yarn right through).  And when I was done, she let me keep the bug!  Doesn't take much to send me over the moon at Craft Shows.

If An Elephant Can Paint, the paint-your-own-pottery studio had ornaments for Make and Take.  I covered it with a wax paint, then burnished it until it was shiny.  I wrote lyrics from love songs along the edge, and added puffy paint hearts in the middle.  The puffy paint fell off when it was dry, but I wasn't upset.  I'd like another go at this project, using just wax paint.  

In an effort to try new things, and get over my problem with scrapbooking, I went to a die cut station making felt brooches.  I rolled out the paper and felt, and sewed a button on one side, and a pin on the other.  I really like this pin.  It took me about four times as long to complete this project than the veterans at the table.  I broke a sweat, and they were looking at me like I was nuts.  

I signed up for a potholder class at 1:45, knowing that Wendy Russell, the host of She's Crafty, would be holding a craft competition at 2pm.  I had a really hard time with the potholder, and I think the cranky ladies teaching me wanted to go to lunch or something.  Maybe they'd just never seen someone accidentally sew over a pin, I don't know.  But I sat there for a good half hour, struggling to finish, and I missed my opportunity to see Wendy.  I finally finished the potholder, and as grumpy as I was, I did learn a couple things.  I started to leave pushing through the hundreds of crafters in my way, knowing Wendy wouldn't be back until 4pm.  I didn't care about waiting.  I was done.  

Then I couldn't find the exit.  But I did find sloppy joes.  I ate lunch, got an ice cream cone, and with renewed interest, walked around for awhile, just looking about.  I spied Crafty Chica and the lady who hosts Knit and Crochet Today.  Maybe Wendy was walking around?  It was 3:15, and I thought I'd just hang out with the throng, waiting for Wendy to make an Elvis-like entrance.  Will she charge me $20 or $25 for an autograph, I thought.  

I found her station, and there she was.  Setting up a table.  No one was camped out in sleeping bags.  There was no one at all.  I fumbled through my bag, looking for the... ahem... Craft Night "party hats" that were inspired by her show.  She was about to walk back into her tent, when I exclaimed, "Wendy Russell will you sign my tassels?!"  Wendy was a very good sport, laughed heartily, and happily autographed both tassels.  She had her assistant take pictures with her camera and mine.  She was very nice.  When it came time for me to give her one of my clever business cards, my backpack zipper jammed.  Mercilously.  I thought I would have to grab a Fiskars and do open pocket surgery right there.  But she remembered my name, and hopefully won't forget Tassel Girl.  

Also made at the show were a decoupaged frame and a duct tape wallet with credit card pockets.  I got lots of great new ideas, and had fun by myself.  

If Crafting's Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right

Is this the same high Spiderman fans have after Comicon? I don't know, but I feel pretty amazing after Chicago Craft Social.  A raffle, snack table, and the promise of Chipotle chips and salsa upon exit.  There were about 15 tables, and I wish I could've stayed for two days.  Here's what I got for my $20.  

First, I joined Iris from Polyform as she walked our double table through Mokume Madness.  Basically, you stack up several thin sheets of brightly colored Sculpey clay, beat it up with tools, then shave thin slices off the top.  Those shaved slices (due to the abrasions, cuts, and dents) display fantastic patterns in all those colors you stacked up.  We used those funkadelic clay slices to fill bracelet, necklace, and earring blanks.  Not only had Iris already prepared our clay for us, she had about a dozen tools, extra clay, and boxes for us to take our completed work home.

It was just like being at Unconditional Craft Night.  She praised our work, whether we were fast, slow, sloppy, or exacting in our jewelry making.  I'm so glad I brought my big backpack, otherwise I don't know how I would've carried all the free swag.  If you want to try it on your own, here's how to do Mokume Gane.  I can't wait to craft more with my boatload of fresh clays.  Thank you Polyform!!

My next move was inevitable.  I couldn't resist the gravitational pull of Arcadia Knitting's table of yarn cakes.  Arcadia is easily my favorite Chicago LYS.  Sharon lead the team in Flip Flop Fun, providing all the yarn and flip flops.  Armed with my trusty size 8 needles and an upholstery needle, I dove in. 
First I cast on 60 stitches with this funky three-yarn blend.  I worked about 10 rows of garter stitch, then I bound it off.  The piece was approximately 12"x2".  I left a tail of twice the length of the piece, then used the upholstery needle to whip stitch the piece around the flip flop straps.  Before starting to stitch, I tied a scrap of yarn at the midway point of the swatch.  This project obviously doesn't demand exacting measurements, but I felt more in control marking the midpoint, Eyelash or fuzzy yarn is probably the best idea for this project, seeing as it's more forgiving in the stitching department.  What I'm saying is, this should be a low-stress project, and in the words of Tim Gunn, just "make it work."

The knitting makes an otherwise cheap, uncomfortable pair of flip flops very comfy and fun. 

To the right is a picture of everything I came away with.  Not pictured are all the yummy snacks and camaraderie we all enjoyed.  I'm so glad I braved the threat of thunderstorms.  I'll definitely come again.

Stitch 'n Bitch Loaded

Welcome to Stitch 'n Bitch Loaded, where you don't need experience to be a Hooker! You too can be a part of this wild, weekly, Wednesday experience every week from 7pm to 9pm. Bring your needles, hooks, yarn, string, floss, whatever you're working on. Jenny, our lovely and talented host will liven your life with luscious libations while playing the roles of DJ and bartender. Don't know know a treble crochet from a hole in the ground? The illustrious Jessy is here to teach you! As fast as you can say "worsted weight," she'll get you casting on, and hooking to your heart's content. Join the raffle for one of Crafty McSchnafty's adorable Fruit Suits, given away every week.

Don't delay. Join the hottest Hookers in Chicago!

Newbie DIY Fair Vendor Survival Guide

Yesterday I was part of Indie in the Windy City's craft fair at Chelsea House in Uptown.  20% of all profits went to support Cornerstone Community Outreach.  There were all manor of crafters, and I'm learning more every day about participating in fairs. 

Levels, levels, levels.  At my first craft fair, I didn't even have a tablecloth.  Observing other vendors, I learned that I needed more than just a pile of stuff on my table.  This time, I brought Mannequiña.  Not only is she a superior model, but she creates a nice contrast to stuff lying on a card table.  And rather than pulling Schneeds on and off my own head to explain a weird clothing concept, she stands completely still and her hair never gets staticky.  I also now have a bushel basket for the Fruit Suits.  Next I plan to get some sort of shelf-y thing to stack up legwarmers and folded bikinis. 

Support thy neighbor.  If you are all you have, do your best, but it's really helpful to work in pairs.  That way, you can take breaks and have someone to hold the door for you.  My partner in crime is the owner of Mother Of Hermes Press.  This is the second fair we've been a team, and we'll be working Pitchfork in July.  Participating in a charity-based craft fair feels good, and it seems people are more inclined to purchase your product if it supports a cause.  And if you make some money at the fair, go ahead and buy a little something for yourself.  I couldn't resist the butterfly wing necklace from Bugs 'n Bones.  The pics on her Etsy site just can't do them justice--it's really one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry I've ever seen.   

Marketing is as important as the product.  When we're talking about DIY fairs, my heart wants people to fall in love with my Fruit Suits, even if they're empty and stuffed in the bottom of a barrel.  My recent plastic fruit acquisition has helped with display, as has the lovely and talented Mannequiña.  I've also invested in clear vellum bags, green tissue paper and Crafty McSchnafty Stickers, so that my customers can help me advertise on their way out the door.  My next purchases will be a large folding table and a wheeled duffel bag to help with transport. 

This concludes my report on how to survive as a newbie.  Stay tuned for more words of wisdom.

My Plagiarized Article From The Chicago Sun Times

Hooking is a way of life for North Sider

May 3, 2010

BY MARK J. KONKOL Staff Reporter

Bree Gordon is a hooker. She even has a hooker alias -- Crafty McSchnafty.

"I'm a hooker with a lot of experience," Gordon says with a sly smile, over coffee in Uptown. "My mother named me after the classy call girl in the movie "Klute." So, really, I was born for this."

Bree Gordon is a crocheting craftswoman who is part of a social knitting circle at Mother's on Division. She also fronts a Ukrainian wedding band.

Gordon says her husband doesn't mind. In fact, he's very supportive -- after all her hooking brings in a little extra cash.

Wednesday nights, you'll find Gordon working the room at Mother's on Division with a bunch of other hookers. They drink beer and listening to rap music while they go about their hooking -- crocheting (and knitting), that is -- during the singles bar's weekly knitting circle dubbed "Stick 'n' Bitch."

While other kids were learning the trick to downing a beer bong in one gulp at New Mexico State University, a nerdy friend was teaching Gordon how to crochet. A perfectionist, Gordon quickly fell in love with the exactness of the yarn work.

"I find it's like architecture, building a structure," she says. "I like the math and perfection of it. Every time I knit self-striping socks to look identical, I do a little happy dance."

But it wasn't until her husband had a serious health scare a few years back that she really got, well, hooked on it.

"He was in the hospital for a month, and I had hours and hours sitting there to either go crazy or do something," she says. "I knitted 300 scarves. My husband didn't have insurance, so I raised a little bit of money selling those scarves. I sold all of them."

Her husband recovered after a kidney transplant. And Gordon, who lives in Edgewater, took her yarn work to the next level. She graduated from rectangular blankets and scarves to hats and leg warmers. A while back, she put together her first bikini.

And she has recently come up with a new knitted concoction she calls the "fruit suit." It's a yarn button-up wrap for the brown-bag lunch set aimed at protecting fruit from getting bruised. Plus, Gordon says, the fruit suit will ripen a green banana overnight.

"It's really ridiculous," Gordon says. "But I got the idea from my always-serious friend who, after she had a couple glasses of wine, said, 'I want you to knit a sweater from my banana. But make it look just like my banana.' She cracked herself up. A couple days later, I had one for her. She was giddy."

Now, Gordon knits fruit suits for apples, bananas, oranges, peaches and pears and sells them for $12 apiece on her website, craftymcschnafty .com.

A secretary by day, Gordon says she hopes that one day all this hooking and needling might become a successful business.

If not, she's still chasing the dream that lead her to Chicago in the first place -- to sing the blues. She fronts a Ukrainian wedding band called Rendezvous.

"I don't know the traditional songs, but in the second set, I sing some Donna Summer, Lady GaGa. I'll sing anything. I'm a stage hound."

Purl Paranoia

During the last three weeks, I've been advised by other small business owners.  I didn't really consider Crafty McSchnafty a "business" until now.  The b-word  is so stuffy, right?  And it was really more of a hobby that paid for my yarn addiction.  True, I have designed a couple patterns for fruit suits, and yes, I've sold some stuff.  However, I don't think it's going to be my main source of income until I can get my sweaty mug printed on millions of skeins of yarn.  Side note: My yarn will only come in green.  Dozens of shades of green.  Two different artist/lady/friends have told me that the minute I declare myself a business owner/designer, then it becomes true.  Ok, world...

I'M A DESIGNER WHO RUNS A SMALL B-B-BUSINESS! 

Now what?  I feel there should be some sort of ritual, more than just a declaration.  What would make me feel official?  Paperwork!  When you purchase an item from a business, you get a receipt.  So I bought a book of receipts for this art expo thing I'm doing in April.  Even though they don't have my name printed on them, I feel very business-y.  Next, designers make and follow patterns, yes?  Well, even before I read Fahrenheit 451˚, I loved the rote method of teaching and learning the arts.  Admittedly, though, I'm getting bogged down.  Rather than than allowing all these fruit suit, schneed, hat, and arm/legwarmer ideas to continue rattling around in my head, I've written them down.  I would love for a master knitter to look at them (much like I used to call on my dear voice instructor to check my rudimentary arranging attempts), and pat me on the head for my effort.  It is a great relief and a proud designer moment for me.  Maybe I'll publish a book of patterns.  Which brings me to my next quandry;  Should I only share these ideas for a fee? 

Aside from two paid half-hour lessons in knit and crochet and a $12.50 tip I left in Silver's e-jar, I've pirated the vast majority of my stitch vocabulary from blogs and free internet sites.  Do I pay it forward?  Did I steal from starving artists, or did I get a bone from some rich, bored suburban housewife?  Perhaps I need to move forward and not worry about the past.

Either way, I have two events coming up in April that feature my b-word.  *Fingers crossed* I will run out of receipts at said events.  Crafty will keep you posted.  

Once a Hooker, Always a Hooker

Last Wednesday was St. Paddy's Day, so Stitch 'n Bitch at Mother's Too was on a one week hiatus.  After the banana-ganza from two weeks before, I needed to up the ante on the raffle item.  Marky suggested I bring the pear Fruit Suit.  Pure brilliance.

I arrived a couple minutes after 7pm, to find several friendly faces.  Jessy got right to work teaching the newbies how to cast on.  There were three new gals, and I tried to help fill in the gaps when Jessy couldn't be in three places at once.  I kinda felt like the poorly behaved aunt from Las Vegas, encouraging tight cast-on rows, and fixing the girls' dropped stitches rather that letting them make mistakes.  What can I say?  I'm a terrible influence.  We had some laughs, and Jessy deftly undid the harm I inflicted. 

At 9pm, it was time for the raffle.  Jenny presented the Fruit Suit to all the patrons.  When the pear came back to me for safe keeping, I noticed that the first button was undone, and I quickly fixed it.  For the mere price of an email address, every willing beverage consumer was entered in the contest.  The pear went for one more spin around the room, and came back with the damn button undone.  I felt a secret shame that perhaps I'd offered a raffle prize with a faulty buttonhole.   Jessy drew a name from the hat, and a very excited gentleman claimed his prize.  I went to shake his hand, and to cover up my buttonhole flaw, I encouraged him to undo the top button.  "Oh no," he resisted, "I want them ALL undone!"  And we both cracked up, he tickled by the sexy pear, I finally realizing that he was the one undoing the button everytime the pear traveled about.

 

After the patrons and students cleared out, Jessy and I quietly grooved and crocheted flowers to the tunes of Earth, Wind, and Fire.  I officially hate leaving Stitch 'n Bitch.  It's a good nerdy time for hookers.

Hide The Banana!

In my search for a knitting community, I stumbled across a Craigslist ad asking for knit and crochet teachers to submit their websites.  Not entirely sure what I was getting into, I took the bait.  I got a cheerful response from Jenny who informed me the teaching position had been filled, but I was still invited to a regular Wednesday Stitch 'n' Bitch.  She also asked if I had a raffle item to offer, in exchange for some free advertising on the event page.  Mere hours before, the Fruit Suit (aka Banana Hammock, aka Johnny Coat, aka Willie Warmer) had been born and photographed.  I emailed a pic, and before I knew it, my little banana cozy was the official photo for the event!  After blushing with joy, I got to work making a few more, just in case.

At this time, I should probably mention the grey matter behind the Fruit Suit.  Girls' Weekend in Utica.  Two days, five funny ladies, seven bottles of wine.  After watching me knit an American Flag hat for the Knitting Olympics, my friend Amanda told me she wanted me to knit a fruit cozy for a banana.  I asked what color.  She wanted it to look just like a banana, of course.  Hysterical laughter ensued.  She probably thought I'd forget after Girls' Weekend.  Crafty McSchnafty never forgets an order. 

The name "Fruit Suit" was not my idea, either.  I left the banana cover on my desk at work, and asked passers by what the official name should be.  There were many decent contenders, but after two days of searching, my manager Ridge came up with the magical appelation (or is it apple-ation?).  

I flew solo to Mother's Too in Gold Coast.  I was pathetically early, and recognized Jenny from the event photos.  She was manning the bar, and admitted that Stitch 'n' Bitch attendance was unpredictable at best.  I assured her I was happy knitting and having a glass of wine.  Jenny (who is also a photographer) and I chatted about running a small business.  Then a gentleman at the bar, a contract physician for the military, offered his two business cents.  I ended up with a weatlh of very helpful and encouraging advice from these small business owners. 

The crochet instructor, Jessy, showed up.  In addition to increasing the fiber artist population by 100%, she was incredibly sweet and approachable.  We had a spirited discussion of crochet vs. knit.  In my toolbox, I unearthed a crochet hook, and asked Jessy if she would teach me to crochet a flower.  Crocheting circles has been a discipline I could never wrap my head around, but Jessy made it easy and clear.  I got into the cro-zone somewhere between Earth, Wind, and Fire and Eminem.  Oh, the pride I felt after completing my first crochet bloom!  My big yellow sunflower is tied to my camouflage backpack, currently. 

So, who's in for March 24th?

I'm Such a Jock

When I was in middle school, my mom asked me why I didn't want to play basketball.  The answer was simple; I didn't want to sweat and make mistakes in front of people.  She still laughs about that retort.  The majority of my childhood was spent at the dining room table, beading, painting, sewing, and bedazzling.  And even though I've heard that during a show, opera singers have been known to shed upwards of 5 pounds under the hot lights, I've never reached that level of exertion onstage.  I'm just a generally stationary person. 

Until now. 

As of late I've realized that my knitting ability, if not extensive, is at the very least, sorta fast.  My canvas tote reads "La Tejedora," which loosely translates to "The Knitting Machine."  This is a title I can live up to.  I'm ready to compete. 

I was reading the latest installment of the Yarn Harlot's blog, where she challenged sporting fiber artists to a pledge in the spirit of the Winter Olympics.  The Fourth of July knitted cotton dishtowels on KrisKnits blog have piqued my interests since the beginning of the year.  This is my project of choice.  I have taken the pledge, and I quote:

The Knitting Olympics Athletes Pledge

I, a knitter of able hands and quick wits, to hereby swear that over the course of these Olympics I will uphold the highest standard of knitterly excellence. -This means that I won't ignore little mistakes, and I won't cheat.  Marky caught me doping last night.  Well, it was doping as far as my start time.  I was really supposed to start no sooner than the lighting of the cauldron, and I got a dose of instant karma when my cast-on row turned out to be the short end of the yarn.  I pulled it out and waited patiently for the Great One to light up. 

I will be deft of hand and sure of pattern, I will overcome troubles of yarn overs and misplaced decreases. I will use the gifts of intelligence and persistence (as well as caffeine and chocolate) and I will execute my art to the highest form, carrying with me the hope for excellence known to every knitter.  -Giving myself a manageable pattern is borderline cheating.  I will finish, though, and I'll do it perfectly.  I shall not ignore purl/knit mixups. 

I strive to win. To do my best, and to approach the needles with my own best effort in mind, without comparing myself to my fellow knitters, for they have challenges unique to them.  -I won't look at the patterns that other knitters are attempting until I'm finished with my own.  Some people have more expertise, more time, and more money for better yarn.  I'm going to make something beautiful and useful with what I have in front of me. 

While I engage in this pursuit of excellence and my own personal, individual best, I also swear that I will continue to engage with my family in conversation, care for my pets, speak kindly with those who would ask me to do something other than knit, and above all, above every stitch thrown or picked, above every cable, every heel stitch, every change of colour, I swear this:  -This is a tough one for me.  I like to complain.  I'll curb the kvetching and remember my ability to keep myself occupied through all the dull times.   

That I will remember that this is not the real Olympics, that I'm supposed to be having fun and that my happiness and self-worth ride not on my success... but on my trying. -Okay, I really want to fully succeed.  I should be allowed to strive to finish.  But whatever life throws my way, I will be happy with the end product.  I will have fun. 

A side effect of this challenge was that I watched most of the opening ceremonies last night.  I never do this.  Due to my ignorance of last summer's extravaganza, my opinion of Vancouver's effort is no less than perfect.  I got genuinely choked up during KD Lang's Hallelujah, even though I feared the song's emotional fruit had been squeezed dry by JT and Matt Morris' Haiti performance.  Other highlights for me included Donald Sutherland's hair matching perfectly with his white suit, the floor turning from ground into a river, and that beat poet standing up for the word "Zed."

Now, who will judge me and give me a suitable medal?

Silent House

I bit off more than I could chew this year. As a dedicated crafter, I feel guilty shopping for gifts. Before you roll your eyes, I don't crochet neon orange plant hangers for my family. I attempt to make useful, memorable, unisex gifts. Primarily a knitter, it takes a great deal of ingenuity and timing to knit items that will be useful to the family members who live in warm climates. Strangely enough, the weather was perfect for the pair of socks most people got this year. I became a sock machine over the summer, and with two people left on my list, I decided I was ready to take over the mysterious family heirloom stocking.

Since the 1940's, ostensibly, my great aunt knitted a new Christmas stocking for every member of the family. The stockings are identical, except for the back. Each person gets an embroidered line from 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, starting with the father, followed my the mom, first born, and so on. When a baby was born, or a marriage took place, you knew a stocking was in the making. They were mostly perfect, but there were little handmade variations. My brother's was slightly smaller than the rest of the family's, and our dad's had a calf panel of red that didn't quite match the rest. My great aunt passed away about 15 years ago, and with her went the secret of the stocking. How I wish my childhood self had been more inclined to sit with her and my grandmother and learn the art of conjuring a garment from single strand of yarn. When I become critical of my own creations, I try to remember how much our family loves their stockings, despite their imperfections.

Years ago, during my first knitting lesson, I asked my teacher if she could help me map out this stocking. She told me it was a little early, but when I was ready, she'd be happy to help. That was 2006, and these days I can follow a pattern pretty well on my own, so I borrowed one of the stockings from my mom, and took a look. I was lost. There was all this intarsia, and I didn't feel confident about it. Rather than just ask for help, I stubbornly studied articles and videos, and experienced some major trial and error. I knew I could follow a pattern, but how to find it? A Google image search of "Christmas stocking" amazingly lead me to a picture of our family heirloom. I contacted the creator, and begged for her charity. She generously handed over the pattern after I described my situation. More weeks of blunders and frustration, but I refused to ask for help. Looking back, I think I wanted to keep this project in the family. This ability was in my blood, I just had to tap into it. Somehow, I got through that first panel. Then the next. The final was easiest of all. All I needed was the embroidery, and to weave in the loose ends. The stocking was done.

I just sat there looking at it. I hung it up on my bookshelf, right next to the old stocking I'd used as a model, like clones. I wanted to show someone. I wanted my great aunt and my grandmother to see it. I wanted them to turn the stocking inside out and run their fingers over the woven ends. I wanted them to see that they'd finally passed the torch, and I could take it from here. There's a song called Silent House by the Dixie Chicks about a family member slipping into Alzheimer's Disease. A little heavy, I know, but the lyrics played in my mind, "Everything that you made by hand; Everything that you know by heart; And I will try to connect; All the pieces you left; I will carry it on; And let you forget." I'd never felt such relief, completion, or emotion over a single knitting project. Hours before, Marky had fallen asleep on the couch next to me. But I woke him to show him my masterpiece. He sat with me, staring at the 25-year-old prototype and the 25-minute-old creation. Then he patted my knee, and told me it was time for bed. I finished the stocking late in the evening, the last day of November.

The next morning, my mom called to tell me that my grandmother had passed away. Most of the family got to visit Grammie during Thanksgiving. The general consensus was that she held on long enough to say goodbye to everyone. I think a little part of her stuck around to see my stocking finished.

Not a Matter of "If" But "When"

Much like motorcycle riding, using a mandolin produce slicer is just an accident waiting to happen. I'll spare you the photos of the actual injury. Because, well, there are no photos. I think it's more horrifying to explain the laceration in gory wordage. No, I wouldn't want you to do that to me, so I'll just gloss over the gross stuff, and focus on the funny moments from today.

All I was trying to do was cook bacon, section my grapefruit, cut four days worth of celery and carrot sticks, make 4 salads for my future lunches. Simultaneously. My new mandolin makes it so easy to cut my cukes, I just didn't know how far down it had gotten before the tip of my right thumb became part of the slicing fest. Yes, it came with a plastic guard. No, I wasn't using it. And neither would you. The cucumber was about a foot long when I started. I was hypnotized by the perfect green medallions floating effortlessly into each Tupperware. How could I have known I was down to a quarter inch when magic was happening in my kitchen?! As my dad pointed out later, it takes either a dummy or a kitchen musician to cut oneself with the mandolin. I, the latter, was obviously sucked int0 the beautiful rhythm of sliceyness.

Once I realized the not-so-minor nature of the cut, I walked briskly into the bedroom, told Marky, "I cut my thumb and I think it's bad and I don't think I can look at it," and he jumped out of bed. For a minute or two, we passed from delusion (all it needed was a bandaid), to delusion (maybe we can superglue it), to delusion (I can drive myself to the ER, where they'll just put superglue on it, and it will be a cinch to pull out my insurance card using only my index and forefinger), to the final realization that I was debilitated and Marky had to cancel his client to drive me to the damn ER.

Saturday morning, it turns out, is the perfect time for an emergency in Chicago. Nary a soul was in the ER, and I got right into triage. The first nurse simply dipped my finger in a mild cleanser. When I told the doctor I was the victim of my own recklessness with a mandolin, she raised her eyebrows and practically yelled, "I will always use a guard with a mandolin because of all of the crazy injuries I've seen in the ER from them!" My fault. I admit.

The nurse that gave me a tetanus shot asked what happened. Figuring he'd give me the same spiel, I just said, "Mandolin."

"Really!" He answered, stepping back.

"Oh, is that a sarcastic 'really'? Have you seen a bunch of people like me?"

"I have never seen a mandolin injury!" Fascinated, he pantomimed holding a ukelele and continued, "Now (looking at his hands), were you strumming, or picking when it happened?"

Laughing at this ridiculous idea, I explained to him that there is another type of mandolin, but lacerating one's thumb during a Medieval madrigal would have been far more interesting way to spend a Saturday morning.

The irrigation process should really be called the "irritating process." That's when I finally gave them my man card and asked for the lidocaine shots. Living through the pain of the shot immediately afforded me a fresh new card. What a gruesome experience. I'm not one of those people who hate needles in general. I do however hate large, slow moving, audible needles that shoot out burning substances repeatedly. Soon I was numb, and the doc came back to stitch me up. The lidocaine helped, but I could still feel a little pain when she sewed the flap back on. But I look at it the same way I look at a tattoo. It's a memory, and the pain is part of that memory. I will remember it when I think of carelessly slicing a cuke.

My thumb got a little hat that looks like something out of an L.L. Bean catalog. You know, the snow hat with the little braids coming down from the ear area? I could knit circles (literally) around that sterile white gauze. Imagine a variegated green thumb cozy! If only I had the dexterity to knit, I'd be on it in a heartbeat. Obviously I'm not the first to do this, and I won't be the last. My dad also suggested I market them to the OXO company as a companion piece to the mandolin. I mean, it's gonna happen. You might as well do it in style.

When the Cat's Away

When I mentioned that my husband was out of town, my coworker got a faraway look in her eye and asked dreamily, "What do you like to do?  You know, when he's gone?"

Great question.  First, when I come home, I don't touch the TV.  That means no Simpsons, no Family Guy.  Oh glory.  I wash my face, and wash the dishes.  Then I stand back and think about how when I come home from work the next day, the dishes will still be clean.  Unless I dirty some.  And even then, I know what to expect upon my arrival.  

Chinese Food.  Like, three times a day.  When Marky and I are struggling to decide where to grab lunch on our days off together, I always suggest Chinese.  Then he always says, in a startlingly Canadian tone, "You know?  Honestly?  Can we choose something else?"  He says it every time I suggest Chinese, to the point that I suggest Chinese, even when I feel like a sandwich, just to hear him say it.  I finally let him in on the joke recently, and he has since changed his reply to, "Eat a dick." I wish I was kidding.  So, back to the Chinese.  I like it all.  Fried rice, orange chicken, chow mein, kung pao, can't get enough.  Oh, and I save so much in dishes using the takeout carton and chopsticks.  Mmm.  I'm getting hungry. 

I watch musicals.  I just finished the Barbra version of A Star is Born.  Last time he was gone, it was the Judy version.  Marky isn't the type to complain if I really needed to watch a musical, but the minute he fell asleep (and that would be minute three), I would feel guilty about boring him.  

Knitting.  Unabashedly, unapologetically.  I could knit for 6 hours if I wanted.  Then take a nap and knit for a couple more.  I knit during the musical.  No one is there to tell me I missed something on the screen.  It doesn't matter.  Well, I think my women's intuition told me to pause each time Kris Kristofferson ripped his shirt off, though.  I like to knit and have a musical playing in the room.  I think that might be what heaven is like.  

I come up with crazy ideas, like trying out for a wedding band, growing tomatoes on the deck, and clipping the cat's nails by myself.  Sometimes these things end badly, but no one needs to know.  

After all that fun, I have a terrible time falling asleep.  The bed is half empty, and I had no one to make me laugh all evening.  In the morning, there's no one to tell me the weather forecast, and that I should think about wearing a jacket.  When I draw a little heart in the surface of my pudding, I'm the only one who sees it.  Thank goodness he'll be home tomorrow.