The Ravelled Sleeve

… going to be sock month, in the great stash diet. I’m heading out west for nearly four weeks over Christmas and New Year, to give my in-laws time with their grandson (and vice versa), so I need some small, portable, discrete projects I can pick up and put down between meals, visiting, card playing and more meals. I’ve wound the yarn into balls for two-at-a-time-on-one-enormous-circ socks, and I’m looking out a range of patterns to mix things up a little, and take advantage of the range of space dyed, variegated and self-striping yarns I have to work with. (And they’re so purty: photos to follow when I have some natural light to take them in.)

All of which has got me thinking about my technique. When I came back to knitting a couple of years ago, I was just happy to finish projects, but the more I knit, the more impatient I become with my own knitterly imperfections. My selvedges row in and out. My ribs aren’t pretty, with the last stitch of every knit repeat invariably ending up stretched out and uneven. And, despite growing experience, I don’t seem to be able to pick up my speed.

The speed issue anyone watching me knit could immediately troubleshoot. I have an ungainly version of English knitting I think of as unmodified eight-year-old, since I took to it when I first learned to knit and haven’t changed since. I hold the right hand needle about half way down, dropping it to make every stitch, and then picking it up again. Slow? Why, yes. My right hand (which is holding and wrapping the yarn, remember, English fashion) has to travel about half a mile with each stitch. It’s probably a good workout, but otherwise it’s the knitting equivalent of two finger typing. If I’m ever to rival Eunny Jang in the productivity stakes, it’s gotta go.

The rowing out, ugly rib problem I had no solutions for until a few days back, when — in a search for a sock pattern generator that would let me customize patterns for long, skinny, low-arched feet (a.k.a. rat feet or skis, and ubiquitous in my household) — I happened across an article on combination knitting, made famous by the knitting heretic herself, Annie Modesitt. Among its other virtues (speed, evenness, cures baldness), this style of knitting is apparently supposed to be helpful for those of us afflicted with a tension difference between knit and purl, the cause of rowing out and baggy ribs. The article had photos or rib swatches attached, and I have to admit the combination sample was far prettier.

So there we have it: I just have to completely change my knitting technique and all my problems will be solved. I am happy at the prospect of a solution to my technical imperfections, really I am, but the thought of retraining myself makes this not-so-coordinated knitter want to lie down in a dark room with a wet cloth on her head. Eventually — probably quite soon — the desire to make rib, knit-purl or cable patterns I won’t immediately frog in disgust will win out over my inherent conservatism. Watch this space.

Elsewhere: LSP, I have converted the gorgeous Kureyon you sent me into three more Lizard Ridge squares. The two #95 lemon, lime and raspberry squares give the colour scheme a much-needed kick in the pants, making all the deeper colours of the other squares glow. I tend to be a bit timid with colour, going for the safe (let’s not say boring) choice nine times out of ten, and I need my hand forced now and then to make me experiment. Thank you! I’ll post a photo when I can take one during daylight.

And, in the odd quiet moment, I’m spinning up some glorious Fleece Artist Blue Faced Leicester roving. The colourway (sea greens and blues, and the softest of beiges) is beautiful, of course, but it’s the fibre I’m in love with: as soft as merino, but with enough crimp to make it simple for a novice like me to control. It really does deserve all the hype.