The KnitKnit Launch

It's been a week now and I'm just coming down from my trip to New York from the launch of Sabrina Gschwandtner's book, KnitKnit: Profiles and Project's from Knitting's New Wave. More commentary is coming but enjoy the photos of contributor Jim Drain's work in the meantime.

Communist Kitsch

In Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being the character of Sabina, an Czech artist who emmigrates to Switzerland following the Prague Spring is celebrated for defying socialisim. Yet Sabina claims that her "enemy [as an artist] isn't communism, it's kitsch." After a week in Cuba I see what she means by kitsch--in particular communist kitsch. The public murals of Jose Marti, Che, Fidel and Raul really became overbearing after a while. (Not unlike the Chinese propaganda poster art of my Beijing excursion in the 1980s)

The ST however, discovered after a 10 hour walk through Habana

that there is real art to be found and it's everywhere!

"Kitsch? I thought you said 'cat.'"

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

To be real I didn't have one. Life sucked the summer of 2007. We did get away to Cuba, where no one ever goes in August and had a blast--except that I absolutely hated resort life in Varedero. I can't believe that there are people in the world who pay thousands of dollars to sit on a beach, drink rum and do nothing. After the first day I'd had enough. Fortunately Habana was two hours away. I've now been back 2 weeks and worked the last 10 days straight. But I'm not resentful or anything.

I knew something was wrong when I got to the resort and found towel art

Luckily there was rum...

and little tiny sea creatures for the IGT to play with

but it wasn't enough and we went looking for something more fun

"This is fun!"

In the U.S. "It's Pimp My Ride" But In Cuba It's Fix My Lada

The RAWD-D Mobile

After weeks and weeks of trying to knit a new door the Uber Volvo out of hideous acrylic yarn I finally threw in the towel. I didn't have the right gauge or a metal frame plus Blog Mistress Kat pointed out that the door would not be fire proof nor conform to Ministry of Transport Regs.

The B & C in the meantime, started watching that MTV reality series "Pimp My Ride" and got inspired.

Six weeks later I came home to a "tarted up" Volvo. Sure it still big, boxy and boring but it has a whole new sound system, tower brace, tinted windows, lowering springs, GPS, brushed steel trim and an air intake system that makes it go vroom, vroom even at low speeds. Apparently new rims with mag wheels are on the way. The B & C whose first name is Roddy, even (briefly) considered ordering vanity plates that say RAWD-D (the ST's idea). I hope this isn't the start of a midlife crisis or something. Maybe I should knit a red lace garter or pair of fuzzy dice to go on the rear window mirror or something.

Shortly after this transformation we went to Cuba where we got to watch a whole new reality series called "Fix My Lada" it's playing all over the country. On city streets, country roads and highways Ladas of every shape size and colour are being fixed. Some Cubans can even be spotted cannibalizing parts from their car to put into a comrade's as they putt -putt along.

The Communist Youth League in Habana has a whole fleet of Ladas in really loud psychedelic from the 1970s some with bumper stickers that read "The fast and the furious." (My long held belief that the leftists are without irony is now shattered.)


I don't know what this is but it is NOT a fixed Lada, it's likely some American Monstrosity from the 195os

Dora Got Married, I Went to High Tea and Now Cuba Si!

After months and months of being overworked I'm finally getting my elusive two week vacation. I spent the first day of it helping my much loved friend Dora Nipp whom my children refer to as "Auntie Hardliner" marry the wonderful Lorne Foster whom the B & C refers to as a "Cool Dude" and I think of as a fab academic. After years of planning rallies and protests with Dora (where we would shout "No Justice, No Peace" for hours on end into a bull-horn while marching up University Avenue) it was so good to be able to help out with a wedding. The only disaster if you can call it that was the sound system failed and we were forced to pull out the bull-horns for the "I dos." It figures, this was after all Dora.

The reception though was something else. What do you get when you get a 4th generation Chinese-Canadian ethnologist, filmmaker and lawyer together with a Black Canadian educator, scholar and community activist with roots going back to the United Empire Loyals and the Underground Railway? A BIG, LOUD AND COLOURFUL PARTY at the Ontario Multicultural History Society.

The next day I followed that party with another by going uptown for high tea at Alterknit Cafe where I nursed my sushi and white chocolate, raspberry mousse cake hangover with even more indecent savouries and a white chocolate mango pudding. I did however, stay on my yarn diet.

Now we are off to Cuba, where I will sit on the beach and wait for hurricanes while the Surly Teen communes with the spirit of Che and the Imperious Goth Tween practices being a dictator by telling all the boys hanging around the hotel pool what to do. Cuba Si!

The Surly Teen Still Acknowledges I'm His Mum

After months of complaining to anyone who will listen about my son's generally annoying adolescent behaviour which is manifesting itself as what the Globe and Mail's Jan Wong calls "monotheistic Marxism" I have evidence that he doesn't hate me as much as he claims he does. (Well actually he doesn't he just calls me a latte leftist--a label I somewhat resemble but he distains. Mind you he calls his father a capitalist, which is a real insult. I find this all rather unfair on his part as his father is a Corporate Social Responsibility Specialist so that technically at least makes him an oxymoron.) This past week after attending his regular Leftist Youth Group meeting, which I understand is a lot less interested in discussing how to be"gauche" as much as they are into integrating a gender analysis into their work (a.k.a. meeting girls who will hang out with them--I think the members are all young straight men) he looked up a "protest blog", found this pic and forwarded it to me with a note that had both Xs and Os on it which I hope means that despite all his recalcitrance he really does still love me! Now if only he would accept Revolutionary Knitting Circle founder Grant Neufeld as a comarade in arms, I'll be happy.

When the going gets tough....

The tough get rough right? Well maybe not, sometimes we turn into wimps. When I had breast cancer I thought it was the end of the world then my friends and family rallied around me and I managed to pull myself out my snivelling self-pity.

Now that I am almost a survivor (I'm in my 4th year) I find myself often at loose ends and feeling quite conflicted about life the universe and everything. I'M ALIVE and it feels GOOD but at the same time I am ground down by minutiae of life. If one more person at work yells at me about something...if the IGT and the ST hate yet another lunch I got up at 6:00am to pack them...if the B & C has one more unscheduled business trip and can't find any clean shirts... Surely there is more to life than all these monotonous tasks? Shouldn't life have a higher purpose, like enlightenment, fulfillment, and liberation?

Well according to "three wise peeps" it does. My new friend Two Iguana glass--a stained glass artist in Colorado, who makes beautiful ojects d'art, told me that we are all enlightenment if we just take the time to stop, look and listen to what is around you and to pay attention to important details like the "wee wee beasties"--dragonflies, butterflies and ladybugs--who share our earth. The Wooley Mammoth, meanwhile, shows over and over again that fulfillment does not always come from a trip to the LYS or Lululemon but from just being there for your family and friends while the Neurotic Id ("You think you're suffering? Now I'm suffering!) reminds me at 9:00pm every Wednesday night (when I work late) that liberation can come from a weekly late night (veggie) sushi run as well as a lifetime of following the Buddha's 8-fold path.

Lady Godiva Had Something...

when she rode naked through the streets of Coventry to protest the onerous taxes her husband levied on the peasantry. Desperate times call for desperate measures and not just in the 10th century. This past weekend I was forced to take such action when I discovered that certain individuals who live in my house had decided to spend their leisure time actually recreating.

Untouched loads of laundry littered my basement floor. I had no clean socks and worse no clean underwear, so I threatened to wear my newly finished Lace Wings Shawl (knit from Handmaiden Sea Silk) and only that to Honest Ed's in search of new socks and underwear unless they got off their asses and did the bloody laundry.

Alas it was to no avail. They knew that given that I shroud myself in multiple layers of clothing (I've never met a button up cardi I didn't like) even in the heat of a Southern Ontario summer (remember 34C is the temperature NOT my bra size), I would never follow through on my threat.

Consequently I spent the weekend in my basement washing load after load of socks and underwear.

The Wonder of Girls?

"It must be so fab to have a girl," says my partner in yarn crime Loop de Loop-mother to three boys with a fourth on the way, "Think of all the cool things you can knit her."

She lists the possibilities, the Barefoot Knits Tankini, the Knitty Twinkle Toes and all the Nicky Epstein Barbie Knits. Then there's all the cool grrl gear from Stitch and Bitch

L de L however, has not spent much time with the Imperious Goth Tween whose favourite colours are black, camo and khaki in that order and believes that her raison d'etre in life is to wear clothes that are ripped and safety pinned together. Her straight legged jeans recently got their very first hole which made her tres pleased.

Her friends' closests are littered with all her fashionable hand knit discards, the "tutters" as she calls her closest girl friends own an impressive array of shrugs, pullovers and ponchos all in the latest colours purloined from her drawers ("Oh take it, my mum can make me another one anytime," she tells them when they admire her hand knits). Now that is not to say that the IGT does not appreciate my knitting. She loves wearing all the stuff I knit for me especially the blacks--which I only wear because they haven't invented a darker colour yet. It doesn't do any good when I point out to the IGT that she literally swims in my cardis and t-shirts, she just insists that she's "still growing". She also appreciates my knitwit by promising her friends hand knitted gifts for their "annual emotionally laden origin events" a.k.a birthdays/adoption days. I still haven't recovered from making three pairs of orange punk rock tweed mittens in three days for her playmates Kyle, Greg and Jarrod back in Kindergarten (to be honest it was the least I could do for their parents given how much the IGT terrorized, I mean bossed them around on the playground.)

Luckily for me her brother the Surly Teen (who is less surly at the promise of new Fleece Artist Socks in sea wool) wears everything I make him with no questions asked. I think L de L needs to start seeing the knit potential in her boys.

Forget About Knitting A Ferrari, I Need a New Door For My Volvo

My week is going from bad to worse and it's only Wednesday. I got so stressed out this morning trying to take care of stupid details (like making lunches, getting dressed and finding my car keys) that after dropping the ST, IGT and the B & C off at their respective summer camps and office, I managed to smash the passenger side door of my Volvo into one of those evil posts that the University of Toronto puts up to control traffic flow. (Did I mention I was on my cellphone at the time?) Bad. Bad. Bad. I feel so stupid. I know that there is this great art student Lana Porter from somewhere in in England--I think it was Bath--who has knitted a Ferrari but will someone knit me a new door for my Volvo 850?

I don't want a Ferrari , just myVolvo fixed.

Should I knit for my new boyfriend?

Unlike most of my peers, I didn't spend many of my teen years participating in popular culture. In fact my inherent angst and need for clarity during that tumultulous time turned me into a raving neo-Con. While my friends were busy trying to buy (scalped) tickets for the Boomtown Rats and going gah gah over the Police. I was musing over Margaret Thatcher's position on the Coal Miners Strike and ruminating over the state of Brian Mulroney's Gucci loafers. Fortunately or unfortunately my politics took a decided turn towards the latte left in my late-20s and there they remain to this day. This may explain my love of knitting, daily yoga practice and aborration of anything smacking of "consumer culture" (a.k.a Big Box Stores). This past Wednesday in the midst of only what can be described as the week where I truly feared for my karmic well-being (I had to unravel eight rows of my Lace Wings shawl among all the work and home crises) I finally ROCKED OUT to alternative culture with Michael Franti and Spearhead and I think I've finally found my true love. He's vegan, practices yoga, has fabulous tattoos, goes barefoot as a means of making a statement about those who have the privilege of wearing shoes and he's an ACTIVIST with a capital A who went to Iraq and Israel/Palestine to make a film about war and peace. Oh and did I mention he and Spearhead are probably some of the greatest musicians in the world? (The way that Carl Young caresses that bass...ah) This guy is so great that I actually spent three hours dancing, jumping and spinning (and NOT knitting) at his concert. Nicorette (who came with me) decided that I should just make him my new boyfriend. Unfortunately he doesn't know I exist but maybe if I knit him a "Power to the Peaceful" hat out of bamboo silk he'll notice me. The B & C however, doesn't hold out much hope that this will happen and then reminded me to pick up his dry cleaning.

A Post for Pagie Pie

I'm absolutely wrecked. I've had a couple of hellish weeks at work. My training partner Bat-Man and I broke up--it wasn't our choice--it was a "corporate decision." Everyone at work hates me because I can't seem to get any of my projects finished and I can't seem to get any of my projects finished because everyone hates me. A vicious circle.

On the home front, I've been dealing with hormones of every colour shape and size from the kind they put in milk, eggs and KFC (a good reason to go vegan) to the Ball & Chain's ("Can we have sex even if there's yarn in the bed?") to the Surly Teen's, ("It's all your fault you didn' knit me socks when I asked.") to the Imperious Goth Tween's ("I don't want to knit, I want to go to H & M, NOW!") and yes mine ("Will you all leave me alone so I can knit!") now that I am officially perimenopausal. BTW: Teen/tween angst and middle aged mummy ennui, are an explosive combination.

In the midst of all this craziness was a single spot of sanity (no, not my daily dose of Prozac.) My good friend Pagie Pie graduated from her expressive arts therapy program and curated a private showing of her knit and crochet thesis for the IGT and I which the B & C shot with the his new digital camera. Here are some highlights. For some unknown reason the MG Monster, so named for Pagie Pie's love, did not turn out. (Mercury Retrograde maybe?)

Pinky was hopeful!

Cirque de Poulet

"Whaddya mean I'm not a chicken?!"

Maniacal Sleepy Time Bears. (You don't wake up from napping with them!)

Lizardos

Flying Fish

"I'm not disemboweled, just misunderstood!"

"Will Ya, Shut Up About Cricket Already!"

I blame it all on the Wicket Rider, the March Snow Storm and Boyce but this spring I turned into something I never thought I could be, an insufferable cricket fan and unabashed supporter of the South African team, for which I recently received a thorough scolding from my long time friend the Road Runner, "How could you?" he demanded, "I make it a point never to cheer for anything coming out of South Africa. It's against my politics." I thought all of this was rather unfair on his part especially since he's NOT from that part of the world. (I should also mention here that shortly after this exchange he asked me to help him find a "Sugar Mummy," who could keep him in the manner to which he would like to be accustomed with no questions asked, which is quite against my politics!)

Well South Africa did not win the CWC and it's now summer but my Cricket fandom hasn't ended. I spent this past Saturday cheering on my training partner Bat-Man (and of course knitting between matches--they were only playing 5 overs) at the CIMA's Mayor's Trophy, at Sunnybrook Park along with the Surly Teenager who quaffed cucumber sandwiches at an alarming rate and the Imperious Goth Tween who learned that a boundary was equal to 6 runs, and not my countless (but lame) attempts to impose a modicum of discipline in our household. The B & C on the other hand had never seen a Cricket match and couldn't believe how a) civilized it was, b) how easliy he could get caught up in the Zen of it all and c) how ultimately thrilling it could be.

Members of the Knit Rabble however, are getting sick of me "Pitching Cricket at them all the time." ("Will ya shut up already!" they beg) but then Blog Mistress Katherine found a Vogue Pattern, circa 1985 (you can tell from the hair) for a Cricket Sweater where the whole team is intarsia knitted into the whole sweater! What's even scarier is that I am contemplating making the damn thing!

Sex and Knit: Children Have A Right To Know

Well it's been a week and a half but I think I have finally recovered from the visual and tactile assault on my senses that was The Great TTC KAL and it couldn't have come a moment too soon. The Surly Teen is finished with school and preparing to go off to "Youth Leadership Camp" and I need all the creative-life-force-energy I have to have "The Talk" with him before he goes. I thought that his father had discussed sects, dwarves and rock and roll with him years ago--like when he was 12 and all his girly friends were starting their menses and PMSing around him--but I discovered from the B & C a few nights back that they never actually got around to talking about "where babies come from" much less sex and relationships. They only manged to cover adoption, choice, same sex marriage and Stephen Lewis's work on HIV/AIDS in sub-saharan Africa. "But it's okay," the B & C reassured me, "he got Sex Ed at school."

Sex Ed at school? I think that I have my work cut out for me. Depending on what they taught him, he may have some major unlearning to do! Given that he's kind of nerdy maybe I can get away with buying him a big thick book on human sexuality with no pictures in it. An appealing idea. Off to Indigo I go!

While I may have been negligent on the Sex Ed front I have not been re: Knit Ed. Both my kids, the ST and his sister the Imperious Goth Tween know where their clothes really come from--time, patience and hardwork (on my part or some "wage slave's" in the "developing world")--NOT the Mall. (Although when the IGT was little she thought that all her sweaters were made from something--perhaps a cashmere goat?--called "Scratch" I think she meant "stash".) Unfortunately not all children get any Knit Ed at home which Rebel Knitter discovered while Riding the Rocket to work.

Sweet 4 year old to Rebel, "Why are you swording?"

(Rebel knits aggressively)

Rebel, friendly, "I'm not sweetie... I'm knitting."

4 year old, innocently, "Why?"

Rebel, nonchalantly, "I'm making my nephew in Australia a sweater.""

Somewhat less sweet, 4 year old, still innocently, "Why? Is his mummy too poor to buy one in the store?"

Rebel irritated, "No... I'm making him a one of a kind sweater just for him because I love him and he asked me to knit him one."

Materialistic 4 year old, incredulously, "Oh.... don't they have The GAP where he lives?"

Rebel, patiently, "No. they don't have The GAP in Australia..."

4 year old, sadly, "That's too bad. I love the GAP."

Mother of 4 year old, loudly, "We're at the Mall. Let's go."

Rebel, to herself, exhausted, "Big Box Store Kid with Big Box Store mindset!"

I think it's time that the education system started offering Knit Ed, any Knit Ed!

The Knit Rabble Rules: Greatest Ever TTC Knit-A-Long

Hey I can walk and knit at the same time! Who knew?

It was the biggest Knit-A-Long ever with just over 60 knitters (not including those we picked up a long the way) a film crew and a roving report who meticulously documented our hunting and foraging activities. (YOUTUBE Clip coming soon, I promise!).

The IGT with Fab Haley's "baby" Pluto.

I think I developing yarnorexia as I managed to stay within the alloted yarn diet calories. I only purchased one skein of Koigu Painter's Palette for Co-captain Jacquie, a couple of balls of Cashcrack (Rowan Kid Silk Haze) and the Porsche of all Knitting Needles, Addi-lace Turbos Circs. Even the Imperious Goth Tween, was impressed, according to her, "Mama c'est restraine! Formidable!"

The B & C though, is dismayed. He thinks I fell off the wagon re: Kid Silk Haze. After the South African Lace Shawl Incident he made me go to a 12 step program for my mohair issues, but it wasn't an abstinence based program as you can keep knitting. He was not impressed but I truly believe that yarn can be consumed in moderate amounts and there are days where I do not knit at all.

The Surly Teen however, was pleased that I came home with yarn, he took it as an indication that I would dig into my stash and knit him 5 new pairs of socks with the skeins and skeins the sock yarn I have (BTW: Sock yarn is NOT yarn so it doesn't count when allocating yarn calories) for the next school year.

I hope that a good time was had by all, although I heard through the woolmour mill that half the North Team was unexpectely attacked by obstreperous subway doors. Both knitters and yarn I understand were not significantly damaged but it did cause some trauma (Could this have led to the yarnakleptia that later occurred at Knitomatic?) I also heard that the West Team was delayed in Kensington Market by a certain organizer's poor time management skills (hmm her yarn moniker isn't Fibre Floozie is it?) re: how much time they had at Lettuce Knit and as a result they did not get to see Naked Sheep, Goats, Alpacas or much else at our last stop before they were libated and sated at The Goo F.

(I think I will need to do a scheduling run through complete with stop watch and test subjects--knitters--for the Fall Crawl so we have timed stops. Anyone with credit willing to be a test subject?)

My compliments to Katherine Blog Mistress for the Knit Rabble for still being able to stand after 8 yarn stores and 20+ skeins, and Rocket Bride for carrying her own yarn, 22+ skeins, needles, patterns and books even though she clearly needed a Sherpa.

Hugs and love to all my the Knit Rabble's Organizing committee who updated the blog, stamped bags, printed passports, cards and buttons, herded cats--err chased knitters--collected sway and captained the teams: Jacquie, I'm- not-bad-I-just-knit-that-way Blackman, Sandipurl, Shallowgirl (a.k.a. Sophie), Lisa the Lung, Lisa the Goth, Kneurotic Knitter (a.k.a Peggy), Shelna and her "flowered face cloth" and of course Katherine, Blog Mistress and Rabbler Extraordinaire.

I unfortunately forgot my camera so these pictures are compliments of my sistah, knittahs! Question for Lisa the Lung how did you teach Greedo to work the camera?

Please notice my Pink Merino Frappe One Skein Wonder

More Knit-A-Long Photos and Blogspot Updates to come. In the meantime I have discovered, much to my chagrin thanks to this photo from Pink Vegan Girl that the hours spent sitting and knitting have clearly contributed to ass spread. I must do something about it but can't figure out how to knit in Downward Dog or while working out. Any ideas?

Bat-Man Needs More Knit!

You know as a formidable feminist knitter there are days when I truly believe that the women's movement has done squadoo to end women's inequality (except when it comes to the fibre arts, even if Kaffe Fasset does rule the colour wheel). Women still earn 70cents for every dollar a man earns doing work of equal value and yes while women may entering professional schools almost at par with men (c.f. the University of Toronto's Joseph L. Rotman School of Management), women with young children are over represented among the poor in this country (which means those who knit must do so with sayelle--described as the boxed macaroni of yarns while they feed their children perishable versions of the same obtained no doubt from some foodbank). Even in my own domestic arrangements the B & C, well intentioned as he is, just doesn't get it sometimes ("Did you remember the dry cleaning?") plus he makes three times my salary despite the fact that we have the same level of education and the complexity of our work is the same. (I'm not poor now but believe me when I say I'll be eating catfood in my old age.) The 14 year old unreconstructed Marxist however, believes that if we just follow Lenin, we will have substantitive material equality. (I tried telling him that Lenin was not very nice to his wife and that women never achieved this in the USSR, as some revolutionaries were more equal than others, but he just rolls his eyes at me and says that the Soviets were unable to complete their revolution because of a shortage of Cuban cigars or imperialistic capitalist forces, I'm not sure which). I was on the verge of giving up all hope of better power sharing arrangements between women and men when Bat-Man (so named for his Cricket prowess, not his resemblance to upside down mammilia) got assigned to me as my new training partner. Not only does he know when International Women's Day is (March 8th), but he loves his mum ("She rocks!") and supports his women co-workers (e.g. he gets us coffee and remembers how we like it--black, double cream one and half sugar, milk and two sweetners). He can also say the word "feminist" with a straight face and understands what equality rights and affirmative action are ("Check out Section 15 of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms"). There is however, no knitter in his life. (I strongly suspect that his mother is a crocheter who makes really great doilies given that she is a "proper" West Indian lady, but that's racial profiling and/or stereotyping which is NOT OKAY even if the criminal justice system does it all the time). I have knit him a cozy for his Cricket bat but anything else would be inappropriate (gotta keep that workplace professional!) Bat-Man however, could really use some cool cotton wrist bands in white of course for summer Cricket practice to keep him hitting hard and a nice cashmere something (scarf, hat, sweater?) for the winter to keep him warm while we schlep flip charts over the concrete tundra of Toronto's inner suburbs. Will someone PLEASE make this man some fabric?

June 9th is World Wide Knit In Public Day

Toronto – The Knit Rabble is at it again! That crazy group of fibre fashionistas are taking their art to the subways and streetcars of Toronto, Saturday June 9thth starting at 9:30am, to celebrate international Knit in Public Day.

Why KIP? According to Jacquie Blackman of the Toronto Knit Collective, “Knitters have rights! They’ve been hiding in their yarn stash for far too long, it’s time to take knitting to the streets.”

Katherine Hajer of the Toronto Knit Rabble adds, “Knitting in public teaches children where socks, sweaters and toques really come from. Contrary to popular mythology, it’s not the mall!”

Riding on the success of their three previous knit-a-longs the Knit Rabble is inviting hip, funky and ironic knitters of every shape, size and colour for their second Spring Fling—a fantasmagorical day of “Stash Enhancement Adventures” (a.k.a. yarn shopping).

The brainchild of Knit Blogger Vivienne Suen and Knitwear Designer Beryl Tsang, of Tit-Bits fame, the Great TTC Knit-A-Long seeks to reclaim public space while celebrating craft and art.

“Knitting creates more than beautiful objects,” say Suen and Tsang, “it creates vibrant communities, even on a crowded bus.”
Knitters wishing to join the Knit Rabble can start their day at one of three locations: the vibrant Village Yarns at Bloor and Royal York, the latte-fuelled Alterknit St.Clair or the ever-so-elegant Passion Knit at Yonge and Lawrence. From there they will “Ride the Rocket” and hit the city’s best independent yarn stores, including Fab Haley’s Knitomatic; the Grande Dame of them all, Romni Wools; the funky Lettuce Knit and the new kid on the block Americo. The Rabble will be wrapping up the day in the Beach at “nabe fave” the Naked Sheep, where rumour has it champagne and treats and maybe Knitting Royalty will be waiting.

To register contact the Knit Rabble at ttcknit.register@gmail.com. The Great TTC Knit-A-Long Passport can be downloaded from the Knit Rabble at their blog at
http://ttcknit.blogspot.com/. Passports include:

• A Knit Rabble Membership Card
• Directions to get to our favourite local yarn shops by TTC
• 10 Great Reasons to knit in public

There will even be prizes for “First Finished Object”, “Most original Object”, Yarnorexia, and “Wittiest Knitticism.”

Rumour also has it that Knitting Royalty may be present.

You can contact the Toronto Knit Rabble through their blog at: http://ttcknit.blogspot.com/

Warning Cats In Stash

Over the winter, our longtime companion Bat Boy (who was also much loved by Pink Vegan Girl), got sicker and sicker. We (and our vet) tried everything we could to bring him around but in the end we had to help him get to Nirvana faster (the state of being not the band with Kurt Cobain). The Unreconstructed Marxist (a.k.a the adolescent) and the Imperious Feminist in Pink (a.k.a. the new marketing demographic or tween) were devastated and went on a hunger strike (between Sunday brunch and Sunday dinner) in support of a 1% solution for homeless cats (a.k.a. we should spend 1% of our family income to provide permanent housing for unloved abandoned kittens forgotten by society). After many entreaties to his social conscience, ("Are you our Dad or an uncaring corporate monster?") the B & C finally relented and we adopted the bourgeoisly named Catherine de Medici (left) and Botticelli (right) from Abbey Cats. The nocturnal little darlings have settled in quite nicely, quietly taking control of 90% of our home including my yarn stash. C de M seems quite satistifed with licking the cashmere while Bot likes pouncing on all balls of yarn that are about. Time to lock up my stash!

Blocking Queen

For those whom the goddesses wish to punish, make them all mothers of oppositionally brilliant 14 year old boys and/or Cricket coaches of the same.

Given that my family life has managed to unravel and my work life has hit high gear, I have had very little time for personal knitting--so no wrist retraints, whips or chains have been completed (after all I am a yarn dom!) I am however, drowning in knitted tits--but then I digress. To help me cope with the "withdrawal symptoms" I have been finishing all the unfinished objects (UFOS) in my "in basket" and reworking objects in my "frog pile." (Anyone for a gefelted fish? It's really an orange carp made from half a sleeve of a sweater that is now a shrug.)

Throughout this process, I have noticed that I am absolutely fanatical about blocking. Now I don't know if it's because I'm an asymmetrical knitter (e.g. I was sipping on too many cosmos while knitting so my pieces don't quite fit together) or it's my Chinese sense of shame over slightly askew garments, Confucious say, "All knitted objects must be aesthetically pleasing." So I checked it out with my friend Rebel Knitter, who told me, "If your mother says block, you block!" (Well my mother never said that but then she knit with Phentyx which didn't need to be blocked. It's also not a yarn but an abomination but I won' go there!) According to one of R.K.'s Rebbes (or Rabbi who is also a knitter) the 11th commandment is "Thou shall block all knitted objects." This commandment along with the 12th and 13th "Thou shall always eat chocolate with thy knitting." and "Thou shall always love thy knitting." respectively however, got lost when the last of the Dead Sea Tupperware was recycled by the giant blue box in the desert.

I don't know how anyone can get away with not blocking, my other good friend, the Wooley Mammoth (who is not at all hairy or large but quite blonde and lithe) thinks she can and she gets away with it most of the time (Aiya, you should've seen-or was it yeshiva seen?-her fitted Vogue jacket) but her last Finished Object (FO) a.k.a. the Rowan Tank fetching as it was would have benefited with a good steam block. Mind you she looks beautiful in everthing so all of this could just be extreme bitchiness on my part because I had to steam block my last cotton tankini twice so I could fit into it (I am rather full figured shall we say.)

On the Cricket front I too am also a "Blocking Queen", no one touches my wickets! This is a good thing, as I can't seem to hit anything lately and have been accused by my beloved former boss/coach "Wicket Rider" of "bowling like a girl." Bat-Man" a.k.a. my training partner whom I knit bat cozies for thinks that I should just give up playing Cricket altogether and just "stick to my knitting" while I cheer him on. "Go Bat Man, go!"

Knitters Gone Wild

Okay it wasn't enough that I started and amourous affair with Ipswich (my angora goat) I also had to buy Jennifer Stafford's Domiknitrix: How to Whip Your Knitting into Shape.

I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. No one loves me, the B & C is golfing every weekend, the teenager is buried in his "pit of despair" (I mean bedroom) and the tween likes to pretend she doesn't know me when her friends are around. I've started hitting bars to knit (while wearing a head lamp of course so I can actually see the stitches) and I've gotten other people into it. My friend Bob the Bassist still can't believe that newbie knitter Nalini and I knit through his band Galactic Lunch's (or was it Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters'?) whole set recently at the Horseshoe.

I just bought tickets for Michael Franti and Spearhead at Kool Haus and then went shopping for a hip fanny pack so I could sneak my addi lace turbo needles and bamboo silk in to the concert. (Hey he's a vegan yogi and I don't want to be knitting with silk at his concert, it might disturb the karmanic harmonies or something.)

Worse, I've turned into a "Yarn Dom" yelling things like, "Take that you badly carded piece of roving!" while drop spindling.

I know that this a case of a knitter behaving badly but I'm making up for lost time. Back in the 1990s while my friends were hanging around NXNE enjoying the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Phantoms and Alien Lovechild, I was chasing "the Boy" about and knitting stupid animal toques. Then when everyone I knew was going to Y-2K parties and consumed with the apocalypse I was trying to wean "the Girl" ("Boobs bad, moo juice good.") and knitting Barbie Pink mittens (eew)

I wonder if security will notice me knitting at the Police and if Sting will care?

Wild Child

I'm a wild child. I've started a long distance relationship with an angora goat. His name is Ipswich and he lives in the Caledon Hills. I know I shouldn't have done this but the B & C is now away at places where there are no really good local yarn stores--it's Houston this week, the 14 year old no longer talks to me --he just grunts in my general direction and the 9 year old has disowned me for living in 1985. Plus I broke up with a bag of Noro Silk Garden I had been romping with since January. It just wouldn't turn into what I wanted. I needed to feel the love or take up spinning.

Still Can't Knit Continental But Can Obsess Over Cricket

Yesterday I had to do that thing called work. I don't like working at the best of times but get even more irritable about it when colleagues come back from six-week long vacations in the Caribbean relaxed and serene. One particular colleague taxed my goodwill to the nth degree by providing a play by play of her adventures "island hopping" to watch the Cricket World Cup.

She vexed me so unreasonably when talking about the final win by the Thunder from Down Under, that I was forced to furtively knit English (which is hell on my RSI) under my desk.

Yes I know that in addition to knitting too much, I'm obsess about cricket too much (there's also this thing I do with yoga but I won't go into that right now), but I must admit that I don't get as fanatic as this off-the-wall Lefty whose blog I've been lurking. Check him out at: http://www.magma.ca/~brich/Mylogframe250on.html#anchor370012

I'm a "Bad Wife"

At my house the definition of a bad wife is not a woman who has an affair with her yoga teacher, forgets to pick up the dry cleaning/children or accidentally poisons the cat. No, it's a woman that loses a lace shawl knitted from mohair, that her husband travelled two hemsipheres, three continents and five time zones to buy her.

In the winter of 2006 the "Ball & Chain" left a Toronto snow storm to attend the Aspen Institute Conference on Corporate Social Responsibility in Cape Town, South Africa (I'm not going to comment on the irony here), where it was sinfully sunny.

Between frolics with pingus (aka Penguins who escaped the Antarctic for warmer climes), the di rigeur meetings with government and business leaders ("Yes, Minister, No Minister."), trips to the Stellenboch wineries ("You must try the Shiraz!") and a visit to Robben Island, ("Mindblowing!"), the B & C spent all of his spare time scouring every textile outlet in Cape Town and its environs for yarn, in particular South African mohair, touted to be the best in the world.

He discovered much to his chagrin that while South Africa exports 75% of the world's mohair, very little is sold domestically "It's too bloody hot here to wool gather mate!" he was told over and over again. "But you don't understand," he wailed, "If I don't come home with any mohair, my wife will kill me."

Eventually a very frustrated hotel concierge suggested to the B & C that his wife might be even happier with diamonds or tanzanite which were also produced locally (albeit explotively) and available widely (albeit expensively). "No," he replied,"You don't know my wife, she's yarn obsessed!"

Finally he gave up and went shopping for an Ostrich feather featherduster (Don't ask why but I'm sure there is an S & M fantasy here somehwere) and there on Cape Town's St. George's Mall he came upon Karoo Classics http://www.karooclassics.co.za/ where he bought their WHOLE STASH of mohair for ME, ME, ME!

If ever I needed evidence that he loved me after 20+ years of marriage, this was it.

Of course he also had to buy another bag to haul it home which caused him great consternation at Canada Customs. Fortunately the official in charge was sympathetic, "My wife collects minatures," he confided to the B & C.

Well the shawl I made from one skein of it is now gone and despite my best efforts at retracing my steps, I cannot find it anywhere. This must be the revenge of the Knitting God for knitting all those stupid bat cozies--why on earth would anyone actually need one? Cricket bats hit cricket balls which are HARD!

Mind you I still have a huge bag of stash like 24 balls left....

Australia Wins the Cricket World Cup and I Experience the Revenge of the Cricket God

I finally finished the *!$^& bat cozies but didn't actually end up watching the Cricket World Cup Final. (I didn't go to the DKC's Knit Frolic either but that's another story)

I had strong armed my Cricket colleagues into hosting a day long matchcast party complete with a giant plasma T.V. Mount Gay rum (although I really do like Appleton Estates better), Caribbean food (from Granny G) and non-Cricketing activities (a.k.a. lego, game cube and DVDS) for our sproggies but on the way there from my yoga class I had to walk past one of my favourite yarn stores and low and behold there was a single skein of Handmaiden Sea Silk in the window.

Of course I had to have it. I finally made it to lace knitting but not to the party.

Now none of my Cricket colleagues really noticed that I wasn't there. They just drank my ration of rum and ate my share of the food (which included Jamaican Black cake but I shouldn't be bitter should I? After all you snooze you lose. Right?)

For those that don't believe that there is a Knitting God, I can assure you that there is indeed a Cricket God who is vengeful and soundly punished me today for neglecting to watch the match by injuring my left hand (the details are too gory to go into) while I was reaching for Ian Brown's feature on the CWC from yesterday's Globe and Mail Focus Section.

As a result of her (?) wrath I can neither knit continental nor play Cricket for the next few weeks.

Cricket World Cup Knitting

I don't know how I get myself into these tangles but I do. The origins of this are really, really wooley (I think they had something to do with a growing sense of desperation over a shortage of volunteer Cricket coaches) but I somehow commited myself to knitting on deadline. Now who would do that? In this case I have to finish three bat cozies in time for the Cricket World Cup Final which is tomorrow. (I just want it noted here that no one I know from Zimbabwe ever uses bat cozies)

My fingers are hurting and I just realized that the one I am making for my colleague Steve looks Jamaican and not West Indian. The South African one is a no brainer except I have no yellow yarn and I may need to felt the New Zealand one, because it looks too Australian.

If you consider that it's Sri Lanka and Australia in the final, I have no idea why I'm knitting cozies for these teams (maybe because they are for a South African and a nice Metis boy from Manitoba who has an obsession with a pretty Maori girl from Tauranga) but hopefully I'll be done by the time the match starts--you can't knit while you watch Cricket, it leads to way too many injuries and I need to save both eyes and my fingers for umpiring.

TTC Knit A Long Coming Soon

Skyknitter's pic of the Fall Crawl

Last fall just before Halloween a bunch of crazy knitters could be heard at the corner of Queen and Shaw singing the following,

"Whenever we go out, whenever we go out...People always ask us, who we are, who we are...So we tell them, so we tell them...We are yarnovres, mighty, mighty yarnovres...Yeah yarnovres!"

Are you a mighty, mighty yarnovre? If the answer is yes...

Then join the Toronto Knit Rabble on what Toronto journalist Liz Clayton as described in Spacing Magazine as an"All-day Roving Party", Saturday 9th, 2007.

Details to follow but rumour has it that we have new stores, Village Yarns and Americo to forage for stash in, a bead expedition planned and an after party at the Naked Sheep to look forward to...there may even be a film crew surreptiously filming us.

Check out: http://ttcknit.blogspot.com for more info.

Knitting on the 49th continued

Minty and Rory


What transpired after this was that his wife Minty and I started an online friendship where we chat daily about:

Our kids (she has an adorable baby who makes sucking sounds and 3 year old who says “Beaucoups owies” sweetly whereas I have a opinionated 14 year old and imperious 9 year old who yell “Mum!” rather rudely);

Our work day, she’s a legal aid lawyer who represents abused women and their children in family court and I was, until recently a women’s advocate, who worked with abused women and their children while they were in family court, (“Why doesn’t anyone get that violence against women affects their children too?”)

Our husbands’ foibles du jour (“He did what?”);

And our perspectives on being American/Canadian (“I thought 34C was your bra size not the temperature in Toronto!”/“Why would U.S. homeland security want to read our emails about kid barf?”)

Our most interesting exchanges however, centre on knitting. The subject lines of our emails include:

“Why do politicians in your country tell each other to stick to their knitting?”
“Do you have an easy poncho pattern?”
“Have you heard of Tricoteuse Sans Frontiers (Knitters without Borders)?”
“What do you do with a crinkly bottom?”
“It has a hole!”
“I have pattern confusion”

“How do I chain stitch button holes?”

Jack and Lawrence

Six months after we started we started our online exchanges we actually got to meet in person. I was in Long Beach for the National Needlework Association’s trade show. On my last day there Minty, Lawrence and their son Jack drove all the way down from their home near Culver City to supposedly take me for brunch on the beach but really for Minty to see the stash I was taking home from the show.

Over brunch Minty modeled a garter stitch asymmetrical poncho she made while Jack smushed pineapple all over the table and I worked on a pink chenille caplet. Somewhere between all the knit-speak and Jacksperanto (a newly discovered language only spoken by Jack Siu-Kootnikoff), Lawrence and I, aided by copious amounts of (what was probably unfairly traded, environmentally unfriendly and peasant exploiting) coffee, managed to catch up on the last 20 odd years of each others’ lives.

He hadn’t really changed much. He still had his quirks (“Gas may be more expensive in Canada but the taxes pay for things like medicare.”) and seemed even more normal than I remembered (“We’ll take you to the airport, no we insist.”). I could see how I was once in love (or was that in lust?) with him but I wasn’t any longer. Not for the obvious reasons like two decades had passed, we had partners and we had absolutely nothing in common but because Minty revealed to me at the end of our visit that Lawrence thought her knitting habit was “weird.”

My online friendship with Minty continues. We recently had our first online tiff after she found errors in a pattern I posted online. It involved lots of capitals and many exclamation points but was resolved it when I corrected the pattern for her and re-posted it.

Caplet made from Corrected and Reposted Pattern

Knitting on the 49th

For years I had a deep dark secret that I kept carefully hidden beneath a veneer of respectable latte leftism, not just any kind of latte leftism but the kind that will only drink latte made from fairly traded, cooperatively grown, bird-friendly beans.

I drove a Volvo, shared my home with a Corporate Social Responsibility expert and togged our children in clothing from Mountain Equipment Coop—a well known Canadian tree-hugging institution.

More importantly, I made it a point to only purchase yarn from LYSs (local yarn stores) as opposed to BBSs (big box stores).

Then it all came crashing down on me. Late one evening while searching on line for “Housing Boating Adventures in the Kootneys”, a particularly picturesque region of British Columbia, I came across the website for Lawrence Kootnikoff, the only man in the world with the power to destroy my carefully crafted latte leftist persona

For four whole days in 1982 (or was it 1983?) Lawrence was the absolute love (or was it lust?) of my life. He had some interesting quirks, like hosting the Folk Show on CITR Radio in Vancouver, sleeping with a picture of Che Guevera over his bed and sporting a button that said “Question Authority!” but he treated me so much better (“Cold eh? Want my jacket?”) than all the other guys I dated (“Cold eh? Can ya drive me to the peeler bar?”) that I was willing to over look them. My feelings however, were unrequited. I think it had something to do with the fact that he thought we were politically incompatible or that I was morally bankrupt, I can’t remember which.

Sure I was the vice president of the UBC Progressive Conservative Youth Association and co-chair of the Ayn Rand book club but what did that have to do with anything? I could’ve removed the picture of Ronald Reagan from my night stand and stopped wearing my “Don’t be Vague, Honk for Haig” button (as in General Alexander Haig who was Reagan’s then Secretary of State--Haig was so far to the right he makes Dick Cheney look like a liberal) but it just wasn’t meant to be.

A big sticking point to having a relationship with me was his opposition to supply side economics which I supported. I mean any fiscal policy that increased the supply of quality yarn (artisan not acrylic) in the marketplace so that prices came down and yarnovres—like me—could benefit from the lower prices of their favourite fibres couldn’t be all bad, could it?

After my discovery of Lawrence’s continued existence, I started having nightmares that he would one day Google me, find out that I now moved in politically respectable (responsible?) circles (Jack Layton the leader of the New Democratic Party, Canada’s only socialist political party, is a family friend) and show up in Toronto to denounce me as some sort of faux latte leftist.
Now the likelihood that this would actually happen was unlikely, but I’m somewhat paranoid and delusional at the best of times, so why not now?

To preempt Lawrence from spilling the beans on me, I decided to contact him. I found out that in addition to “living in the desert of Los Angeles”, he was married to an absolutely brilliant woman, parenting 2 small children and working as writer.

The Fibre Floozie's First Forays

Greetings all, after years of vicariously living through the posts of others, I'm ready to start my own. My inner godess is screaming. What do I write about?