dolly dimple knits

Triumphs and Disasters ...

.. or more accurately, disasters and triumphs. Yes folks, I bring you yet more disasters from the dollydimple knitting front. Dejected by my abject failure with the 4ply cotton, I dug into the stash and started the Annie Modesitt Silk Corset - which has been on my to-do list since I saw Anita's gorgeous version. My version ? Not so gorgeous.

Those of a nervous disposition may want to turn away about now...

This is 4 days worth of Debbie Bliss Cathay (roughly halfway through the corset), on the way to being frogged right back to the start. :0( That old sizing bugbear bit me again. Either that or maybe my tension was off - tho' the swatch (hear that India ? - I swatched) was spot on. Whatever. The sodding thing fitted me fine around the shoulders then failed to meet by 5 INCHES (yep 5 !!) across my chest. Now I know I'm a curvy gal but this is ridiculous !

Tension's been a bit of a theme round here lately as we're "restructuring" at work. For those of you have ever worked in the public sector (or probably in any large corporate organization) you will know that this is simply a euphamism for making fewer bodies do the same amount (or more) of work. It's great. I'm thrilled. As are the wine producers, off licences and manufacturers of Kettle Chips due to the sudden rise in their profits as some unknown purchaser attempts to single-handedly clear their shelves .....

Anyhow. I now officially hate the frogged corset. It has been consigned to a carrier bag behind the sofa and at some point I shall ebay the yarn 'cos I've decided the colour's not me. I need pink. Or maybe purple. Or navy.

I've also been restructuring my impressively (some might say excessively) large stash of unfinished WIPs and trying to make some decisions on what I definitely want to finish, what I might finish and what I can't fathom why I even started. Quite a few of them sadly ! ;0)))) So I'm going to get tough. I'm going to take action. I'm going to try to alternate some finishing of WIPs with casting on of new projects ..... Really tough, hmm ?

Here's this week's unfinished WIP which got a whole evening of attention ALL to itself recently

It's my version of the curly wirly KSH crochet scarf I loved on Kim Hargreaves site. I'm using 2 strands of different shades of KSH and getting a gorgeous blend and I've just started adding some beads along the side using only one strand so it's giving a single colour border. I LIKE it.

My treat for picking up that WIP was to cast on this

The back of Fruit Salad but knitted in Cashsoft 4ply in Spring - a gorgeous pale green. I decided to use the Cashsoft as I'm planning to make the sleeves a little longer and try to make it more than a summer top - given that if I make it a summer top I'll probably only get 2 days of wear a year out of it ....... And hey look Ma ! I CAN knit dainty-sort-of-lacy 4ply things. Just not in cotton.

I can hear the call of laundry mountain right now so I'll leave you with a little glimpse of progress on my Noro Kureyon lazy-ass mitred square blanket - which has now been claimed by 3 family members and friends ....

.... I've got news for them. I'm KEEPING it !

4ply Cotton : 3- Dollydimple : Nil

Sometimes the knitting universe just loves to show you who's really boss and smack you about a bit doesn't it ? I have known for most of the 25ish years I've been knitting that I'm not a natural lace knitter and I have accepted that with good grace. But was that acceptance enough to appease the knitting gods ? Hell, No !

Feeling the spirit of summer move me I cast on this

"This" being the Victoria Tank from Interweave Knits Summer 2004. I've coveted it for ages as I completely adore almost everything that Veronik Avery produces (I just wish she'd produce a book !) and I kind of thought that as it was only 4 rows to this lace pattern ( and 2 of them were only purl !) and I had some pale blue Rowan 4ply Cotton it might end up looking like this (where I pinched the photo from !).

But no. I cast on my 300ish stitches, gaily knitted my first 4 rows and oops ! I'd managed to twist it on the first row. This gave me a beautiful moebius strip effect but perhaps not a very wearable tank ? Score 1 to the 4 ply cotton.

Okey, dokey. Let's go again. I cast on my 300ish stitches, not quite so gaily knitted my first 8 rows and oh, bum ! I had acquired an extra stitch from somewhere and the eyelet pattern was proceeding up in straight lines - not the kind of staggered ones in the picture ! Score 2 to the 4 ply cotton.

Right then. Clearly this is not the yarn for this tank. Okay. We'll cast on and go with this

- another long coveted design. And for pete's sake ! - it's not even lace just rows of eyelets !!!!!!

My eyelets were fine. My gauge, however, a little off. Well, maybe not a little off ..... it really depends whether you count the garment being 2 inches wider than it should be as little or not ? Score 3 to the 4ply cotton.

I have taken comfort in the warm, embracing arms of Noro Kureyon and Ann & Kay. Taking Kay's lazy-ass-knitter-no-sew approach to the mighty mitred blanket, I've gone one step lazier ...... I'm not even changing colours in my mitres ;0)

Anyone need any slightly used, slightly grubby pale blue 4 ply cotton ??????? I hear it's great for knitting lace .....

Funny Weather

Given the amazing thunder and lightning storm we had here in Glasgow last night it seems appropriate to share with you my finished Cloud .....

I even managed the pale pink piping I wanted (just like my favourite jacket) by casting on in pink and then slip stitching the lace edging to the first chocolate coloured row rather than the cast on row.

Strawberry mocha-choc. Yum !

On the subject of food, I've begun my ebay destashing again so if anyone fancies a partly finished tangerine dream Rogue check it out in my sidebar :0)

Late to the party

Late to the party as ever, I missed the Blogging Against Disablism day on 1st May. But having read the entry of my friend Emma about her experience as the mother of a disabled child I was a little inspired to share something of my experience, growing up as the non-disabled child of disabled parents.

First the story - We were kind of an unusual family in the 60's and 70's when I was small, as my mum and dad were both totally blind. My mum lost her sight in an accident at the age of 5 and my dad was born with a progressive condition called Retinitis Pigmentosa, which meant that he was registered blind by the age of 7.

Both of them came from families that struggled to accept their disability. My mum's grandfather was particularly distraught by her loss of sight and for the first few years dragged her from every doctor to quack to faith healers to try to get her "fixed" - not appreciating that in 1944 there wasn't much you could fix about a severed optic nerve. Her own parents dealt with it by largely ignoring it. They set high expectations for her and rarely made any allowance for her difficulties - at the age of 10 she was sent shopping every Saturday morning with only a list, the money and her 7 year old sister to help. Although some of the stories she told about her childhood seemed harsh, in many ways, her parents' attitude shaped the woman she became. Fiercely independent and determined - but also very intelligent, highly educated, caring and compassionate. Some woman.

Dad's experience was different again. He came from a family of 8 children and grew up in industrial Lanarkshire. Although loved, he was always set apart from the others as he and one of his sisters who had the same eye condition, were sent away to a boarding school for blind children in Edinburgh. He never moved back to live with his family so apart from holidays, he effectively left home age 7 - and you guessed it, became fiercely independent and determined as well.

Mum and Dad met at school, becoming sweethearts in their teens. After school Dad moved to London to study physiotherapy (living in a flat with 3 other blind guys - apparently they were very popular in the days of the pea soupers as they could lead all their neighbours where they wanted to go !) and Mum stayed at home to study for an arts degree at Edinburgh University. This was the 60's and the education system wasn't exactly geared up to support disabled students but they were both so determined that they passed with flying colours.

At the start of Mum's final year at uni, they discovered she was pregnant. Family and friends were horrified and it was never really clear whether it was because they weren't married or because it's a well known fact that disabled people don't have sex. Or so some people think ;0) (roll on the bad behaviour eh, Emma !)

They married 2 months later and my sister was born the week before Mum graduated with a first class honours degree in English. Family life began in a one bedroomed flat, Dad got his first job just outside Edinburgh and my brother and I duly made our appearances.

Now the experience - I recognise so well the hurt and anger under some of what Emma writes. From my perspective it was the confusion of being a small child yet having adults try to engage with me in the conversation - rather than with my parents ! I was asked what our order was in the shop or (literally yes !) whether my mother took sugar in her tea. The other mothers at the school gate didn't chat to my mum and although I had friends, there wasn't much coming and going between our houses.

I didn't realise my parents were different in any way until I went to school. When I was about 7 we had to write a story about our family and the teacher chose to single me out to read mine to the class and to answer questions. Questions which my 7 year old brain struggled to see the point of - "who makes the tea in your house ?" "eh, my mum. who do you think ?" "who does the ironing ? - well, that would be my mum again actually ...." I was too immature to understand the assumptions that lay behind my classmates questions - that my parents were so abnormal that they somehow couldn't cope with normal things - but I understood the anger I felt.

Of course we did things for our parents that most children didn't have to and their problems meant we did some things differently. We all learned to speak very early because you need to know the word when your parents can't see you pointing at the biscuit tin. At the age of 5, I was taking my mum across the road not the other way round. I can remember having to read out letters from the bank and having to spell out words I couldn't manage. But we coped. We were a strong and cohesive family unit and that meant a lot.

As I got older I was more able to channel my anger and to point out (usually humourously I hope !) any obvious insensitivities or downright offensive - or simply stupid and ignorant comments people made. If I had a fiver for every person who had ever said to me - without actually knowing my parents personally- "oh your mum's a wonderful woman" or "your dad's amazing", I would be extremely rich.

Don't get me wrong. My mother was a wonderful woman and my dad is amazing - but that's nothing to do with their disability. Having grown up with disability around me, both within my family and lots of people they knew, I am firmly of the belief that there are as many disabled arses in the world as there are non-disabled arses. And that's alright. We all have the same feelings, thoughts, needs and desires - it's just a matter of the diverse ways we find to express them and meet them.

And we all have the right to be arses.