No ordinary cardigan

Oh do not be deceived my friends.  This may look like quite an ordinary little cardigan but it is much more than it seems.  This cardigan represents the beginning of knitting freedom for this knitter.

Until now, I have pretty much been a pattern follower to the letter, using the recommended yarn - even choosing the same colour.  My problem is that if I am looking at a pattern in say, a foresty-green colour, (which I generally like), then it will be the colour that draws me in as much as the actual garment design.  Which can be pretty limiting because if that same pattern was in a hot pink (which I am not fond of, not even generally) then there's a fair chance I won't give the pattern a second look.  I seem to lack the imagination required to picture that design in foresty-green.  My brain just doesn't work that way - perhaps I am too literal.

What my brain can do though, is dream up a picture, from scratch, of something I would like to make.  And thanks to my new found best friend, knitting guru, Elizabeth Zimmermann and her Knitting Workshop book, I can work out how to make it. For instance, this April I decided I wanted to knit a cardigan for Jovanka for Winter.  So I thought about it for a few days and over time I came up with the design I wanted.  I sketched it down, got approval from the little madam herself (Jovanka that is, not Elizabeth), whisked her off to the local yarn shop and left her to choose her yarn (she chose a Woolganic pure wool 8ply) in a shade of orange which reminds me that I must, must, must get those pumpkin seeds planted this weekend.

Following the guidelines EZ gave, I cast on and got knitting, doing the back and fronts all in one on circular needles.  The sleeves were also done on circulars so there are no seams.  The sleeves were integrated when I reached the yoke and then it was just matter of decreasing to the neckline, knitting the moss stitch collar, casting off and then grafting a dozen stitches under each arm to join these stitches to the body.  I loved doing the calculations for each step rather than relying blindly on a pattern and hoping that it would fit.  I knew that this would fit because it was based on measurements I had taken so I felt like I had more control over the whole thing (and I do like to be in control).  I also loved learning new techniques and skills along the way so that I feel I am a much better knitter than when I began this piece.

What Elizabeth Zimmermann has given the knitting world (in case you've not come across her books), is a series of calculations which allow you to knit up a jumper or a jacket or a cardigan without a written pattern, provided you know a few measurements of the intended wearer.  It is surely the most practical advice I've been given in 35 years of knitting and has given me the freedom to design what I want to knit, without having to hunt around for a pattern that matches the picture I have in my head.  With that freedom has come the courage to have a go and if things don't work out as I expect then it is a lesson learned.  It's the kind of courage I see in my children as they go about their business of exploring the world around them and the kind of courage and imagination that seems to be discouraged as we grow up; the kind that tells Jovanka that she can choose five completely different buttons from the button box if she wants (and she did). Yes it's safer and easier to follow a pattern.  You know for sure what you're going to end up with, more or less.  But for this little knitter at least, it's not half as much fun!

And now, if you're seeking some inspiration, why not pop in and have a look at Our Creative Spaces, where crafters share their work with the world.  You will see this little number, along with a whole lot of other crafting wonder. I just had a peek and there is some beauty to behold there.

Another laundry lesson learnt.

If you've read any of my posts before, you might recall a small incident involving my washing machine, a load of washed sheets and a washing machine door that refused to open.  In case you haven't read it, or would like to refresh your memory, or maybe you're just one of those people who finds that reading about the misfortunes of others makes you feel better about your own sorry lot, then you can find that post right here.

In my defence I will say of today's incident, that for the last couple of years I have been recycling the water from my washing machine, via a greywater hose connected to the outlet pipe.  So for a couple of years, I have not had to consider the possibility of an overflowing laundry sink or a flooded laundry floor.  Until today.  This is what I get for cleaning out the fernery.

You see, the greywater hose connects to the washing machine's outlet pipe, passes through the window above the washing machine, travels across the fernery floor and makes its' way out to the garden where it keeps my lawns lush.  Well, that's what usually happens.  Until today.

The fernery, well it used to be a fernery until it got piled up with a whole load of other un-fernery related stuff, had been getting a bit messy.  Well, to be honest, 'a bit messy' is kind of an understatement.  It had gotten so bad that I couldn't walk right through it without having to take very big steps to avoid stepping on something and even then it was chancey.  It had gotten so bad that I was embarrassed to invite people over because they would not be able to avoid seeing my poor, sad fernery that used to be quite lovely, as they came in the back door.

Over time, this un-fernery related stuff that had been stored there by a friend for a few weeks which turned into, oh, about 13 months not that I'm counting, had spread out as boxes were opened in a search for one thing or another and had been added to with more boxes and bags of stuff.  Boxes had split and contents had tumbled out across the concrete floor.  Thinking that surely this friend would soon be taking this stuff away, as it was very clearly becoming a nuisance and really, it had been way more than just a few weeks, and thinking also that this friend should take care of their own stuff and not rely on me to clean up the mess their stuff had created, I left it there in it's state of messy mess-ness.  Time passed.  More time passed.  Yet more time passed.  Hints were given.  Suggestions were openly made. Begging is not my style.  The mess remained.

About a week ago, it became apparent that work needed to be done along the outside west wall of the house. Stay with me.  This is relevant because, to get to the aforementioned outside west wall of the house, one must pass through the fernery.  Yup.  Visions of tradesmen stumbling over these piles, muttering to themselves that they couldn't believe anyone could live like this troubled me terribly.  (If you ever hear me say that I don't care about any one's opinion of me, please know that I am lying).  It was also a fairly real possibility that no self-respecting tradesman would bother stepping through all of that and would instead turn on their tradie booted heels, get back into their tradie ute and be on their tradie way.  If the work was to be done, as it must be, the mess had to be dealt with.

So I spent one of my precious afternoons re-packing and re-stacking boxes and bags, sorting out rubbish that had accumulated throughout all of it and sweeping up piles of accumulated dried leaves that had dropped from the passionfruit vine growing over the fernery.  There was now a clear pathway for the tradesmen, room to park the pram and space for the children to store their bikes out of the rain.  And the piles of un-fernery related stuff looked even tidier than when it had all been dumped there in the first place.  What joy there is in a relatively tidy room / fernery.

This is where we get back to the laundry debacle of the morning.  If you are still there.  Underneath the piles and piles of stuff, the greywater hose had been lying all that time, quietly and conscientiously carrying the washing machine water out to the lawn, never asking for attention, never complaining, even though it now had a split and was leaking water onto the floor.  Being a small split and not a great big flooding split, it had managed to go unnoticed underneath everything.  Now that it was uncovered and found to be leaving a watermark on the concrete floor it seemed wise to disconnect it from the washing machine outlet, leaving the greywater to go into the sink and straight down the pipe.  As I said earlier, "until today".

What happened today?  Today I decided to hand wash some woollen jumpers.  Normally I do this in a big plastic tub that is perfect for just this very job.  But the plastic tub is currently otherwise employed, holding all the paraphernalia that one picks up from the floor of an eight year old boy's bedroom floor.  That is a whole other story which I will not go into now because probably you've got other things to do than just sit here reading my tale of woe.  Suffice it to say that the plastic tub I would normally use was not available for service at that particular point in time.  So I put the plug in the laundry sink, half filled it with water and a dash of wool wash, put the woolly jumpers in, swished them about a bit and left them to soak while I made breakfast for the troops.  If I had thought about it for even half a moment, I would have realised that the water from the load of washing I had put on five minutes earlier would also soon be making it's merry way into the laundry sink and there might be a problem with that.  But no.  I went off to the kitchen, feeling good about having a load of washing in the machine and a tub of soaking woolly jumpers, all done before breakfast.

There are days when I hear the voice of  Forrest Gump's mother in my head saying "Stupid is as stupid does".  Unfortunately the voice does not come into my head until after I've done something stupid!  Otherwise things might go quite differently for me and I might not find a laundry sink that just can't take any more and a laundry floor covered in water.  Worst of all was the fact that my lovingly hand knitted, hand washed woollies were now sitting in an overflowing sink of water that had been through the washing machine and a load of dirty clothes and did not look like the kind of water I wanted to be washing my woollies in.  Pull the plug out frantically, spilling more water onto the floor in the process, not that it matters because a bit more is not going to make much difference at this point.  Retrieve my precious woollies, wash them out in a bucket that is not quite so perfect for this very job, hang them out, hang the rest of the washing out, make myself a stiff cup of tea and spend the rest of the day chiding myself for not having the backbone to tell my friend plain and clear that the stuff in the fernery needs to be gone; for being so completely disorganised that I don't have the right tub for the job even though said tub has been in my son's room keeping heaven knows what off the floor for two weeks and should, by rights, have been where I needed it by this morning and finally, for being too hard on myself and for chiding myself for something that could, kind of, happen to anyone.  Except to those who have a backbone and a plastic tub that is perfect for the job and available at the time of need.  Oh to be one of those people.

My Creative Space - Crafters Starteritis

Preface:  Aside from my infrequent ramblings to the blogosphere, I also keep a journal which listens to all the unwindings going on in my head.  I came across this one from May and thought I might share it with you here.....

Friday 20th May 2011
Today I have Crafters Starteritis ADHD.  Onset began last night as I was waiting for sleep.  Ideas spinning in my head.  Good ones!  This morning, first thing, I drew them down before they slipped away.

It began with the thought that Ari's handknit socks needed new feet.  So I'm thinking the best way to approach this - cut off the foot - don't worry about unravelling. So then what can I do with the offcut?  Could it be put to any use?  And what about those big brown woolly socks I cut up to make elbow warmers from the legs?  Aha!  Slice the feet through and use the resulting fabric (which is felted from washing anyway) as insulation in an oven mitt - a pair!  Perfect.  Then thinking about how it peeves me to keep throwing out socks - odd ones, holey ones.  Don't want to make a sock snake.  Oh!  Got it!  Cut them into rings.  Knot the rings together to make a rope.  Braid them and sew into a mat.  Then thinking about knitting 'cause I just bought some cool cotton/bamboo mix yarn - multicolour orange, pink, yellow.  Pants for Marta?  Bought it for a dishcloth.  Is it wrong if the baby's pants match the dishcloth?  Well, maybe use a different colourway for each if this yarn kits up well.  But maybe cotton is too stretchy for pants on a soon-to-be crawling baby.  What about some dark grey 4 ply longies with pink stripes.  So pretty.  Oh, the choices!!!

So today the dishes have been piling up because all I want to do is MAKE SOMETHING but can't decide what to start with.  Cut up a few socks from the odd sock basket to trial and it works well, looks good and I think will be a good bath mat.  Move on to the next thing.  Laid eyes on a length of fabric I bought for a doona cover.  Looking through the cupboard for good contrast fabrics.  Found lots of pieces for pants for Marta and a skirt for me (or crazy trousers).  Still looking for contrast fabric.  Move on to the box in the hallway (the one set aside to take to the op-shop).  Nothing there but found some more pieces I liked for other projects so kept those pieces out.  Move on to the cupboards in the back room.  Nope, not there either but remembered I wanted to look for some fabric for a table topper for Jovanka's bedside.  Pulled out a few options for her to choose from.  Oh - and there's the flannelette for p.j's for them all.  Pull out a pile for them to choose from.  Interrupt their play.  They must CHOOSE NOW!!!!  Choices made.  Move on.  A game of Jenga on the loungeroom floor with them all.  Marta happily clacking a couple of blocks together.  Another game.  Dinner on.  My goodness the kitchen's a mess. Hmmm.  Think I have some p.j. patterns.  I'll just go and look.  Perfect.  Boys size 8 for David and I can adjust for Ari.  Girls size 1-4 for both girls.  Excellent.  Won't need to make my own patterns after all.  Blow!  Can't cut anything out now.  Dinner nearly ready.  Table's a mess.  Dishes all over the bench.  Marta will soon need attention from her Mama. Make a quick salad.  Thoughts spinning in my head.  Write it all down.  So!  Nothing started.  Fabric out for a dozen or more projects but no time or space to do anything RIGHT NOW!  It's my own SPACE-TIME continuum whatever that is.  SPACE, TIME and ENERGY.  It's a rare opportunity to have all three at once!

Dinner time but the table is still covered so it's dinner in the loungeroom watching Masterchef.  Oh well.  It's Friday....

What I learned today.

It was a toss up today, whether to join in with the 'this moment' action over at soulemama or to write something more.  I decided that today, I have too much to say, to say nothing, because today I learnt something worth sharing.

In the past when something which should be relatively easy, like undoing a knot or disengaging a couple of pieces of lego has turned out to be annoyingly not easy, I have, more often than not, found that muttering "come on" to myself or, more precisely, to the object in hand, to be very effective.  I have taught David this little trick and I often see him putting it to good use.  Ari, for some reason, does not seem to have need of it.  Things fall into place for him.  He is charmed it would appear.  And Jovanka, as you will soon learn, has her own device.

To give you an idea of the tone required, in case you should wish to employ the "come on", the best I can think of is this.  Think of Lleyton Hewitt, if you follow tennis (which I don't) and the aggression of his now famous yell "COME ON!!!"  Well, that's not it.  In fact I find that this can exacerbate the problem.  In my case, it just makes me more angry.  It's more like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, when she's at the Ascot Race Day and her horse is racing.  It's that quiet, hopeful "come on" that she utters shortly before letting fly at the top of her voice with "Come on Dover!!!  Move yer bloomin' arse!!!!!"

But today, whatever tone I was going to use, it was not going to open the door on my front loading washing machine.  The one that had just finished washing a load of sheets.  You see, the catch has been broken for some time and had been temporarily fixed by a very resourceful friend who knows how to fix just about anything, although never in quite the way you might expect, and certainly never in an orthodox fashion.  His solution was to wind a bit of nylon string around the catch and then through to the front of the door so that pulling the string released the catch.  It was meant to be temporary but it has been working so well that I don't generally think much about it and had not had it properly repaired.  So yesterday Ari thought he would help out by filling the machine with some washing from the basket and, in the process of trying to close the door, pulled the string out, couldn't work out how to fix it and wandered off.  Before I loaded the sheets in this morning, I fixed the string back in place (feeling quite proud of myself for being able to fix the problem relatively easily), closed the door and left the machine to do its job.  When I came back to unload my clean sheets, the door would not budge, no matter if I pulled on that loop of nylon string until it cut into my fingers.  I suppose the saying "Pride comes before a fall" exists for a reason.  Because it's jolly well true.  I did the obvious thing and went to the kitchen for a knife - one of my often-used 'handymama' tools, to see if I could weedle away at the catch from the outside and release it.  Nope and I was getting worried that the blade could snap so I went for a screwdriver but still no luck.  And my very resourceful friend was off being resourceful in a distant town, with his mobile  phone turned off.  (Could it be that he sensed something?)

The man at the electrical repairs shop probably heard the frustration in my voice when I rang to see if they could send someone around to fix the problem.  I wasn't expecting immediate service - some time today would be okay.  But no.  He answered calmly that they couldn't possibly have anyone here before next week sometime - mornings would be preferable.  This man has maybe never smelt a load of wet sheets that has been locked up in a machine for four days.  No sympathy what-so-ever.  I returned to the laundry, wielding the screwdriver menacingly, aware that I should probably step away from the situation and come back when I was a little calmer. Ha!!!!  After several more attempts which, in retrospect may have done more damage to the machine than actually fixing anything, I was getting pretty cross with myself for being so complacent about the 'temporary' fix and was muttering all sorts of things to myself about my own stupidity.  Soon after that I was kneeling in front of the washing machine in tears, giving in to the anger. 

That's when it dawned on me.  When Jovanka, my three year old daughter is feeling really frustrated, she lets out a very vocal,  but thankfully brief, scream of rage.  It seems to work for her.  "Why not?" I thought.  So I let rip.  Loud, brief and venting all the rage I felt at myself and at this 'stupid' washing machine.  In that moment, I pulled on the string and blow me down if the door didn't swing open, freeing my washing from the threat of everlasting stinkification.  I would have laughed victoriously, had my washing not been sitting in a pool of water at the bottom of the machine because it had not drained properly, meaning that I would still have to ask the repairman to come and fix it - probably "next week sometime - preferably mornings".  So I fixed the string again, taking care to do it right this time and to TEST IT before closing the door once again, setting the dial to spin and walking outside to reassure the children that Mama was okay.  They received the explaination for my outburst with good humour and at least attempted to laugh with me as I explained that I had got the idea from Jovanka and that it had worked amazingly well.  Our neighbours may have been a little more concerned.

After all that, I was free to go and prepare our morning tea and sit out in the Spring sunshine, making a daisy chain to adorn Jovanka's wrist.  My thankyou gift to her for a most valuable lesson learnt.

Loving these days

What do you do after two weeks of runny noses, coughs and fever?  Head to the beach of course!!!  Winter is finally coming to a close and, just to prove it, Mother Nature has sent us a week of the most beautiful Spring weather.  Sunshine all day and barely a cloud in sight.

There was so much pleasure in packing up a picnic basket and getting out of this house at last, leaving all thoughts of sickness behind us and just getting out there to enjoy ourselves.  Well, we were still cautious - more so than most it seems.  My lot did tend to stand out as they still had long sleeves, long pants and gumboots so they could go sploshing into the water and explore with warm, dry feet.  Around them, children were splashing about in bathers, shorts, t-shirts and (gasp) bare feet!  It did look lovely to enjoy such freedom but I am not prepared to risk going back to another two weeks of being house bound with four sick children.  Summer is coming and there will be plenty of time for bare feet.

It has also been a wonderful time in the garden with fruit trees beginning to blossom, promising crops of juicy plums, apricots and peaches.  Oh, yum!!!!  We also managed a trip to the plant nursery to choose a shade tree for the back garden.  At the moment it is still a rather tall and very bare twig but with time, will grow into a beautiful, frilly, white flowering Crepe Myrtle big enough for the children to climb and for those of us too old for tree-climbing, to sit beneath with a cool drink.  I am so looking forward to seeing it grow.

My Creative Space.......my what???!!!!!!!

Please....ahem......excuse me.......Just a moment while I  pick    myself     up.....humph....off the floor and dust myself off, which could take a while since the floors are so horribly....well, lets not mention the floors.  However, I was down there laughing mirthlessly at seeing the words "my" and "space" in the same sentence.  And as for the word "creative"?  Well!!  The only creative things going on around here lately have been finding 'creative' ways to ignore the gathering debris under the kitchen table and 'interesting and delightful' new ways to step over the mess everywhere else in the house because if I bent over to pick anything up I was rewarded with a massive pain ripping through my skull.

You see, a rascally flu virus took up residence in our house two weeks ago and settled in.  I could tell it was planning to stay for a while because it unpacked all its' bags, put everything neatly into the drawers and carefully placed a photo of its' family next to the bed.  So I have had to spend the better part of each day and night looking after the dratted thing, bringing it cups of chamomile tea / hot soup / cooling water / fresh juicy fruit, filling up the hot water bottle, soothing its'distressing cries when the nightmare inducing fevers hit, keeping a supply of clean hankies on hand.  It really has been the most ridiculously over-demanding house guest one could imagine and one we will not be sorry to say goodbye to. 

Some flues, in comparison, seem relatively meek and well behaved.  They settle gently over the household, lay you low for a day or two and then they are on their way.  If it were possible to choose ones flu virus, I would certainly be selecting one of these little numbers, perhaps in a nice shade of turquoise.  But our visitor has been nothing but greedy, violent and completely lacking in manners.   It landed suddenly (obviously uninvited), smacked us all about the head and neck, tied our shoe-laces together and roughly knocked us over, stuffed our heads with cotton wool and our noses with glue then applied tight torniques around our brains, lit bonfires in our throats and then sat back in our best chair, put its feet up on the table and demanded service.

You will understand then, why the idea of having had any "my space" in the last two weeks seems not only laughable but cryable (is there such a word?).  Throw the concept of creativity into the mix and I will be throwing myself on the floor once more, in a fit of sobbing this time for all of that lost opportunity.  Actually, I just had a quick look around me and there isn't really enough uncluttered floor space to throw myself on.  I could do myself an injury.  It would have to be a very well calculated throw, taking into account bits of furniture, baskets of wool, piles of paper, childrens toys that have snuck into what really is supposed to be "my space",  and a metal filing tray that doesn't know where it belongs.

Although it has been a tough two weeks, it hasn't been all bad.  I did make a sufficient recovery after one week to mow the disastrously overgrown back lawn and tidy up the yard which had become so bad I didn't like going out there anymore.  I'm pretty sure it set back a full recovery by a few days but I think it may have been worth it.  So nice to be able to walk outside and not feel like crying.  It has also given us time to watch...are you ready for it?......a Little House on the Prairie DVD set I bought months ago but haven't been able to sit long enough to watch.  The children are loving it, just as I did thirty odd years ago and join me in exclaiming at how nasty and horrible Nellie Olson is, not to mention her mother Harriet.  Oooohhhhh, just the thought of them...!!  I'm quietly hoping that some of Laura Ingles' work ethic will rub off on the children, along with some of Charles and Caroline's wholesome-ness. 

Another positive to come out of it is that our visitor has shown the children that they can find within themselves the strength to fight.  Some took to the challenge more readily and with more strength than others.  Jovanka has amazed me with her resilience and quiet determination.  She didn't want medicine (which I keep on hand as a last resort) even when she was in the grip of fever and could barely walk.  She lay silently on the couch with her pillow, her blanket and her favourite soft toy and stared off into space while her body did what it needed to do.  The following day she was up and about, still tired, but ready to get on with things.  The boys were, well....let's just say, they needed rather more help but they have both found their way through and we have had a biology lesson along the way on viruses, antibodies, blood circulation etc, etc.

At this point in my (aiming for) regular "Creative Space" posts I usually zip off and link into the Our Creative Spaces site to share what I've done with other crafters there.  I think I'll spare them this one but it's always worth a visit there anyway to see what everyone else has been up to.  And now that we're on the mend, I'm feeling open to a little inspiration.  Care to join me?  Just click here and we'll be on our way.

Hope your house-guests are of the welcome variety.

My Creative Space- almost matching socks

A few weeks ago...ah......four to be exact, I proudly put up a picture of this half finished sock, confident that by the following week I would be able to add a picture of the completed pair.  Well.......um......now I feel like a student having to explain why their homework has not been handed in on time.  You see, we went away on a little holiday to Warburton to play in the snow for a week,

then we got home and there was a LOT of washing to be done and then there was Jovankas' third birthday and David designed a special cake which was sufficiently complex enough as to require a practice run but it all turned out splendidly and here it is:

Davids' Chocolate crepe, choc mousse, strawberry layer cake with a chocolate dome.

and then I needed a little rest and finally I got to sit down for a couple of evenings and finish these things off and here they are.

I did actually finish the first sock before we went away.  Jovanka was so excited she put it on, hot off the needles and proceeded to wear it with any other sock she laid her hands on.  Before I had even begun the second sock, this first one had already been on adventures.  It went on holidays with us so she at least had one nice warm foot when she was playing in the snow.  It went for a walk in the shallow edges of the upper Yarra River near where we were staying, and then it went in the not so shallow edges and got soaking wet.  It then got mixed in with the rest of the river sodden clothing and put in the washing machine and dryer

(uh-oh).  Consequently it is a little out of shape and slightly baggy - it's the one on the left. 

 A little aside here, it is a constant curiosity to me that I can say something to the children like "If you go any deeper in the water, your boots will fill up and you'll have wet feet" - fine in summer, not so good on a cold winters day, then they walk in deeper water, get boots full of water, soggy socks and cold, wet feet and then look at me as if to say "Why didn't you keep us out of the deep water?  Why didn't you tell us?  Now I've got wet feet and they're cold and how am I going to walk home like this?"

So now with the socks finished, I can get on with the cardi I started for Jovanka in May.  At this current rate of progress it should be ready in a couple of years.  Good thing she has a little sister to grow into it.