I Will If I Wanna

And we're back.

And you won't believe what I want to make. Let me show you the engraving.

Yes, engraving. Because you know how I am.



Gentleman's Bathing Drawers, as offered by Weldon's Practical Knitter in the 1880s/1890s.

You may well ask what I'm going to need these for. For bathing, silly. Specifically for bathing on the "Nautical Knitting" cruise with Melissa Leapman aboard the Royal Caribbean Liberty of the Seas in December. We leave from Ft. Lauderdale, and stop in Belize and Cozumel. There will be lots of water in between.

(Booking is going on now–more details are here.)

You can't very well go to the Caribbean in December on a boat with ten swimming pools and not have a pair of bathing drawers.

I've had little fond silent dreams of knitting my own swimming costume since the first time I saw one. I think it was in Rutt's A History of Hand Knitting. Or maybe not.

I haven't said much about that particular fond silent dream because people don't take it too well when you say you plan to knit something and then wear it into the water. They don't give you the ol' thumbs up and shout, "Godspeed, you crazy bastard!"

They act, instead, as though you've just announced that you intend to row across the Atlantic Ocean in a teaspoon, or shoot an apple off the cat's head with a BB gun, or watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians un-ironically.

It will itch! they cry.

It will sag! they cry.

You will look stupid! they cry.

You will waste time! they especially cry.

Allow me to address these questions one at a time.

1. I know.

2. I know.

3. Have you seen me?

4. I'm a man who knits lace shawls. Tell me more about this "wasting time."

I'm going to knit them because I wanna see what they're like. If they're terrible to wear, I want to know that for myself. I want to put myself into not the shoes, but the drawers, of a man of the 1890s who didn't have the luxury of going to Mister Fred's Sassy Swimwear and Video Salon on Halsted Street and picking up lycra shorts in a retro palm print. I expect to learn something–both about history and about garment construction–and if that's wasting time, well, that's how I most love to waste my time.

Will I regret it? Possibly. Especially since Melissa is insisting that she be allowed to photograph me modeling them for the knitters on the cruise.

So yeah, I may regret that; but you may regret it more.

We'll see.

Meanwhile, Mittens

The new Knitty is up (First Fall 2012) and for the first time, my "Stitches in Time" column features a new pattern instead of a translated antique or vintage pattern. It's for mittens, but the mittens do have one historical tie–the use of nineteenth century French embroidery charts to create the floral motifs on the hand and thumb gussets.



Because I am so very, very tired of winter gear with snowflakes on it. Florals in spring are a cliché. Florals in February, less so.

The yarn is Zitron Lifestyle from Skacel. I seem to have become slightly obsessed with it. I used it for these, for all the demonstration pieces in my "Heirloom Lace Edgings" Craftsy class, for this new design...



The Pleasant Morning Baby Bonnet

...and for one more design that's coming out in an e-book about which I shall yell and scream when the appropriate time comes.

Encounter With a Handkerchief

You run into antique knitting in the darnedest places. At least, I do.

This morning I had a bit of an adventure. One of my friends here in Chicago teaches theatrical costume design, and was in need of a male fitting model for a class on pattern making. Would I be interested in the position, in exchange for the chance to audit the class?

This friend knows I have Sewing Envy, you see, and that pattern making is a skill I covet but don't possess. After a check of my travel schedule, I sent back an eager YES, PLEASE. So this morning, with notebook and pencils, I headed to the first meeting.

The costume shop was exactly what I expected it would be. Crowded. The arts never get enough space. Nor was it pretty in the conventional sense. Workrooms, except workrooms staged for display in craft magazines, seldom are.

Most of the floor was crammed with the requisite tables: high for cutting and pressing, lower for sitting and sewing. At the far end, costume sketches for the next production covered most of the wall. The other walls were stacked with supply bins: BRAID, BONE TAPE, HORSEHAIR, SNAPS. Two female forms, decked in day dresses in the style of the late Edwardian era, stood right and left like sentinels.

Again, not a conventionally pretty room. But if, like me, you love the possibility inherent in thread and snaps; and if, like me, you love to see the how behind beautiful things; it would be difficult to come up with a more fascinating space. I was so fascinated, in fact, that I forgot professional irons in a setting like this are usually a) always on and b) very hot. So I set my notebook on fire. But only a little bit. I don't think anybody noticed.

My friend is a top-notch teacher. The students had already been at work on their first pattern drafts (a female bodice, a skirt, a pair of women's trousers) and for the first hour of the class I watched him talk through each draft, making helpful suggestions and gentle, but firm, corrections.

It was difficult not to turn green with envy. They're all so young, these students. They have it all in front of them. They have so much opportunity, and so little responsibility. I had to battle a phalanx of If only... and Why didn't I? thoughts to keep my mind on the lesson.

Still, better late than never. Halfway through the second skirt draft I had my lightbulb moment. I've tried to teach myself pattern drafting many times without success. Suddenly–ZAP!–the measurements connected to the drafting instructions connected to the lines on the paper. I was so happy I wanted to dance. But you can't dance in a room crowded with cutting tables unless you get up on one of the cutting tables, and as this was my first visit I was trying to play it cool.

Not long after, I noticed (over the teacher's shoulder, at the far end of the room) a piece of fabric framed under glass. And even at thirty feet I recognized it as a handkerchief edged with knitted lace.

When we took a break, I made a beeline for it. Here are a few quick photographs made with my phone.



The framing job is, to be diplomatic, unfortunate. The handkerchief has been folded in four places to make it fit the frame, which is too small. There are neither spacers nor matte to give the textile room to breathe. The backing paper is probably not acid free, and neither is the label smashed between the glass and the edging. The acid in paper can, will, and does discolor fabric it touches. Also, I very much doubt the glass is treated to block out UV rays, which do nasty, nasty things to fiber–especially delicate fiber.

In other words, if you have such a treasure in your possession and you wish to frame it, this is an object lesson in what not to do. In other words, if you have such a treasure in your possession and you frame it like this, I will kick you in the nuts.

But enough griping. It was there, and it was gorgeous, and here's some more about it.

The work is super-fine. The fiber looks like cotton and is the weight of very fine sewing thread–closer to embroidery floss than, say, buttonhole twist. And the gauge is minute. I would venture to guess that the needles used would have been in the 000000 (that's six aughts) family.

The edge of the woven center was prepared with a rolled edge (in itself a feat of fine sewing) and the edging was then attached with tiny whip stitches in the same thread used for knitting. I can't help wondering whether the knitter made the center first and knit the edging to fit; or knit and blocked the edging and then sewed a center to fit. My guess is the latter, unless she was a masochist.

I also need to look at this again, closely and with more time, to try to find the start/end point. I tried for about three minutes, and couldn't. It might be buried under one of the folds. For a moment I wondered whether it might have been knit from the center outwards, but it's clear from the grain of the fabric (mostly easiy visible in the plain garter stitch passages) that it was knit sideways, across the short width of the fabric.

One of the fascinating design choices is the corner treatments. Corners, as I always say in my Lace Edgings classes, can be tricky and deserve special attention. Usually, the trick is in making the continuous pattern swing attractively around the angle. Here, the knitter altered the pattern to suit the corners.



And while I don't love the sight of an acidic label snuggling a precious piece of knitting, I do love that there is, in fact, a label. Here's what it tells us, verbatim.

 HANDKERCHIEF WAS MADE BY MRS. CONRAD PERRY, RIVERSIDE, TEXAS, AT THE AGE OF 76 YEARS, IN 1834. NUMBER 300 THREAD KNITTED ON SMALL STEEL NEEDLES, AND GIVEN TO THE WOODLAWN HISTORICAL SOCIETY ON AUGUST 20, 1941 BY MRS. LETTIE MC CLARY, FORMERLY OF 6328 KENWOOD AVENUE, NOW A GUEST IN THE EASTERN STAR HOME, ROCKFORD, ILL.

I raise my eyebrows at that date. But Mrs. Perry, I salute you. Your work humbles me. And Mrs. McClary, I thank you for preserving this for us to see. I pray your days at the Eastern Star Home were pleasant, and ended peacefully.

Speaking of Lace Edgings...

My first online class for Craftsy, "Heirloom Lace Edgings," will launch early next week. It's an action-packed course: we play with lace edgings that are sewn on, lace edgings that are knitted on, and lace edgings that are knit at the same time as the center they decorate. So many possibilities...

Watch this space (or my Twitter and/or Facebook feeds) for the announcement. I had an absolutely ball working with the Craftsy crew and staff to make it happen, and I hope you'll enjoy taking it as much as I enjoyed making it. Here's an Official Photo of me on the set, looking all kinds of serious...with my beloved grandmother watching over my shoulder. She hated knitting, but I hope she'd be proud.

And One for the Road Home

I swear this isn't going to become an All-Edgings-All-the-Time knitting blog. I'm just having trouble setting the damned things aside. They're so cute. So varied. They grow quickly, which is exciting. And since they're theoretically endless, you can stop whenever you want, if you want to stop.

I played with one more on the way home from the Craftsy shoot; I had tucked a few patterns into my luggage to fill in idle moments. As it turned out, there were no idle moments until I was on a plane hurtling back towards Chicago. Shooting went very well–in fact, we wrapped early–but when I wasn't in looking deep into the hypnotic blackness of this



I was usually sleeping. Shooting a class is fun, but it taxes a fellow's stamina.

Thanks, by the way, to all of you who asked here (and on Twitter and Facebook) what my class is, and when it will appear. As of this writing, I'm not allowed to reveal the topic. The launch will be in about four weeks. You can expect me to make a great deal of noise the minute Craftsy gives me the go-ahead.

Now, back to the edging.

This one is by Jane Gaugain, and it's first thing I've worked directly from the book I found in Cambridge. The yarn is that same Zitron Lifestyle I can't seem to put down.



You'll find it in the Appendix under the decidedly un-fanciful title, "Knit Edging, for Collarets, Cuffs, Petticoats, &c." I had to force myself to stop working it and bind off so I could photograph it for you. I think I'll be making some of this (in thread, of course) as an edging for a miniature dress I'm working on. (Not for me. I'm small, but not miniature.)

Notes.

Sl 1. Slip st as if to purl with yarn in front.
Yo2. Yarn twice around right needle.

Pattern.

CO 7 sts.

Row 1. Sl 1, k2, yo, k2tog, yo2, k2tog.
Row 2. Yo, k2, p1 (into 1st loop of yo2), k2, yo, k2tog, k1.
Row 3. Sl 1, k2, yo, k2tog, k4.
Row 4. K6, yo, k2tog, k1.
Row 5. Sl 1, k2, yo, k2tog, yo2, k2tog, yo2, k2tog.
Row 6. K2, p1 (into 1st loop of yo2), k2, p1 (into 1st loop of yo2), k2, yo, k2tog, k1.
Row 7. Sl 1, k2, yo, k2tog, yo2, k2tog, yo2, k2tog, yo2, k2tog.
Row 8. K2, p1 (into 1st loop of yo2), k2, p1 (into 1st loop of yo2), k2, p1 (into 1st loop of yo2), k2, yo, k2tog, k1.
Row 9. Sl 1, k2, yo, k2tog, k9.
Row 10. BO until 6 sts remain; k3, yo, k2tog, k1.

Repeat from Row 1 as needed.

Another Test...

More futuristic telephonic bloggery. Checking to see how seamlessly I can shoot a photo, retouch it, and post it using only the telephone.

This is the little Bavarian porcelain dish my grandmother used for her bedside rosary. Now it sits by my knitting chair.

One For the Road

I'm off to Denver tomorrow for a pretty exciting new adventure. I'm shooting a class for Craftsy.  Friends of mine (Gwen Bortner, Amy Detjen, Edie Eckman, Fiona Ellis, et al.) have already done it and have nothing but raves about the experience. I look forward to trying it for myself, and have been enjoying not only working up new samples (topic to be announced, so I can't show them to you yet) but picking my outfits.

Bow ties. Absolutely bow ties. I've always loved them. It's nice to be able to come by good ones easily again.



Before I leave, here's one more nineteenth century edging from Weldon's Practical Knitter that you might like to play with. It's called "Willow Leaf," and it makes me long to sweep everything off my to-do list and work this all the way around a throw for the armchair I knit in.



CO 12 sts.
Knit 1 row.
Row 1. Yo, k1, yo, k2, k2tog, k2tog, k2, yo, k2tog, k1.
Row 2 and all even rows. Sl 1, k1, p10.
Row 3. Yo, k3, yo, k1, k2tog, k2tog, k1, yo, k2otg, k1.
Row 5. Yo, k5, yo, k2tog, k2tog, yo, k2tog, k1.
Row 7. Yo, k3, k2tog, k2, yo, k2tog, yo, k2tog, k1.
Row 8. As row 2.

Repeat rows 1-8.

You'd want to use this in a closed loop situation, of course–a pillowcase, a handkerchief, a cuff–because as you can see, an open stretch of it is going to give you odd shapes at the beginning and end. I suppose you could sit down and figure out something to take care of that, but you'll have to do it because I have to go to bed.

The Fiber Factor

You've probably already heard about The Fiber Factor, Skacel's forthcoming Web series that will put a group of aspiring handknits designers through their paces. I'm excited–I get to be a guest judge. I'm already pondering which sunglasses to wear; and practicing saying, "This confuses me," while tilting my head like a dimwitted puppy.

Applications for spots on the series are still open, but not for long. If you're going to toss your knitted hat into the ring, you only have until March 24. Opportunity, as that nice Mr Sondheim wrote in Into the Woods, is not a lengthy visitor.

Here Is Some Pretty For You

Last weekend I taught a day of lace (History, Methods and Styles of Lace followed by Lace Edgings: Before, During, and After) to a gung-ho group of students. One of them brought a surprise: a box of nineteenth-century knitted lace stockings.

I thought you might like to see them, and though I'm still learning to love the camera that lives in my new telephone I was able to take some tolerable photographs during our intermezzo.



They are family pieces. The knitter (who prefers to remain anonymous) says they were made by her great-grandmother (who was married in 1819) for her grandmother–a sweet and all-too-rare example of a knitter's handiwork being lovingly preserved and properly documented.

All are white cotton. There are knee-highs and thigh-highs. The knee-highs have ribbed tops.



The thigh-highs were obviously extra-special: turned-over picot hems, lacy tops, and then a row of eyelets just below for threading a ribbon tie.





The leg patterns were beautifully varied and the workmanship was impeccable.





And how to do you make a gorgeous gift like this even more special? You knit the recipient's initials and the date into it.



Notice that the initials are upside-down, just under the fancy leaf-lace top. I wonder if this was intentional (so that the wearer would see them when she pulled them on) or whether the knitter was halfway through when she realized what she'd done; and then decided she was absolutely not going to start over again. Hey, it happens.

Nineteenth-century knitters...knitters just like you and me.

Less Impressive Socks

The new Knitty is out, and as ever my column is in it. This time, by coincidence I wrote about a Victorian sock. A kid's sock. A flat kid's sock. A flat kid's sock knit from an 1870 pattern I just absolutely hated.

Blow Me, Thou Winter Wind

And the crabbiness continues over at the Lion Brand Yarn blog, where I wrote about spring, or the lack thereof; and drew a spring chicken.

Is this any way for a grown man to make a living?

Testing. Testing.

I have stepped (reports of dragging, kicking, and screaming are almost entirely false) into the present century with the purchase of a new phone.

The old phone, which ran on paraffin and started with a crank, had begun to draw stares and laughter from cruel little children. I am not a technology hound, but one has one's small vanities.

Adjustment creeps apace. This is day two. On day one, I mostly stared at it warily while venturing an occasional timid tap at the screen. Imagine the elderly Queen Victoria attempting to enter her Facebook password; it was like that.

With inexpressible relief I got back to knitting, which is also touch sensitive but doesn't suddenly beep or disappear or take your picture if you put a finger wrong.

If you are reading this it means I successfully brought both together. This is my first blog post via phone...and if it goes well, this little gewgaw may allow me to post more often-even when I'm on the road. Here's hoping...

I'm even going to try to put in a picture.  Can you see it? Hello? Is this thing on?