Ruthless Knitting Archive

People seem to love to knit blankets for babies. I myself have knit one baby blanket, and I more or less enjoyed the process. But it is a long process, and it’s hard for me to imagine taking on another baby blanket any time soon, especially as a baby shower gift.

Perhaps others agree with me that the baby blanket is a rather large commitment for a gift, since knitters always seem to be looking for the next big thing in baby shower gifts.

I may have found it. I present to you the Carseat Blanket.

The idea for the Carseat Blanket came to me when my friend Rebecca was kind enough to tote her newborn infant to my house along with gobs of maternity clothes that she no longer needed and had carefully selected to suit my personal taste. (Thanks, Rebecca!) While her daughter Madelyn was lounging on the floor in her carseat –

(perhaps you wish to see a picture of Madelyn wearing the dress I knit for her? yes?) 

– while this specimen of chubby baby cuteness was lounging in her carseat on the floor, I noticed how very small the infant carseat is, and I thought, "Man, you don’t really need much of a blanket to cover up such a little baby!" Indeed, the bigger the blanket is, the more you have to fold it and tuck it out of the way so it doesn’t drag on the floor while you carry that stupid behemoth carseat around.

What the parents of a newborn really need, I decided, is an itty-bitty blanket. A blanket just big enough, say, for Leona. A blanket about two feet square. Voila!

The Carseat Blanket is the perfect project for the overworked knitting enthusiast and/or slightly weary pregnant knitter, since it can be knocked out in four or five hours of knitting time, tops, on biggish needles. It is also a good project for the lazy knitter, since you can cast on as many stitches as it seems might be appropriate, knit the middle part, and then just keep cranking out that edging until you run out of yarn. If you cast on too few stitches, so what? Your edging will just be wider and therefore cuter. Too many stitches? You’ll have a narrower edging, but it won’t matter, because rose stitch doesn’t require a border to lay flat in any event.

Can you tell that I’m inordinately pleased with myself?

Pattern: My own.

Size: 22.5 x 23.5 inches

Yarn: Aslan Trends Guanaco (60 percent alpaca, 40 percent merino wool; 145 yds per 100 g skein) in blue jeans and papaya

Source: Loopy Yarns, Chicago, IL

Needles: US 11 (8.0 mm) circular needles

Gauge: About 11 stitches over 4" in both rose and garter stitch

Notes: Rose stitch is one of my very favorite stitches. It’s much simpler than it looks: on the front side, you knit one into the stitch below, then purl one, and repeat these two actions all the way across. On the back side, you knit all the stitches. Then on the next right-side row, you offset by one stitch. If you want striped rose stitch, you change colors every other row. Through some bit of knitting alchemy, it ends up looking like this. Easy peasy, and it spreads like all get-out. The body of this blanket only has 40 stitches across (for about 18 inches of the width) and is about 90 rows tall, so it didn’t take much longer to knit than a little 40-stitch swatch would have.

On a negative note, I feel obliged to say that I only sort of liked the Guanaco yarn that I used for this project. I really enjoyed the colors (which David picked out), but the texture is a little problematic. According to the Ravelry page for the yarn, it is billed as "snuggly bulky soft Alpaca wool." "Just touch it and you will love it forever," the company urges, since it is "specially designed for softness and comfort."

I hate to rain on Aslan Trends’ parade, but if you want alpaca/merino yarn to be soft, you have to remove the guard hairs from the alpaca. Otherwise, you will have a very soft base yarn that is bristling with, well, bristles. It’s acceptable for an outer layer, but I wouldn’t want it against my skin, and I sure as heck wouldn’t put it directly on a baby’s skin. Maybe I just got a bad batch?

At any rate, this was such a simple and fun project that I’m thinking of making another in a solid color. I have two skeins of red cotton yarn that need a purpose. Anyone interested in the pattern for this? I could probably refine it in the next go-round and write it up for public consumption without too much difficulty.

Glass art, as I mentioned earlier this year, is my father’s hobby. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a website yet, but I will show you his most recent bowl (without permission — sorry Dad!) so you can be wowed by his skills. He made this with leftovers, folks. This is a scrap bowl.

As you can imagine, I would be remiss as a daughter if I didn’t take advantage of his skills to make something out of glass pretty much whenever I go to visit. (Also, he spent much of his free time for a year making me a totally amazing and perfect lamp for my kitchen. The scrap bowl above is made of scraps from one of the failed lamps.) So while I was out in Oregon in June, I made this drop-ring vase:

This is a fused glass project, meaning that it was melted into this shape in a kiln. The process involved layering three rectangles of glass — clear on the bottom, then light gray, then blue — and using long, skinny rods of glass called "stringer" on the top to make a grid pattern. I superglued the stringer onto the blue glass; superglue burns off in the kiln. Between the bottom clear layer and the gray layer, I placed white and mint green stringer in an abstract pattern and then, on the spur of the moment, sprinkled on some little pieces of red stringer that I had left over from the top.

With that done, I stacked my pile of glass rectangles inside the kiln on top of a clay form that my father had made with a hole in the middle of it. I programmed the kiln according to his instructions, pressed "start," and went inside to have lunch.

By dinnertime, the glass had heated up enough that it had started to melt. Since it was stacked on top of something with a hole in the middle of it, it melted down through the hole toward the bottom of the kiln. (This is the "drop" in any "drop-ring vase.") At this stage, we opened the kiln door pretty regularly to have a look at the glass’s progress. Once the dropping glass reached the floor of the kiln and began to pool, we let it form a nice foot and then kept the door open long enough to rapidly cool the kiln down to a temperature below the melting point. Then we closed the door and let the glass "anneal" (which has something to do with all the molecules lining up into their new configuration — I’m a bit fuzzy on this) and cool down overnight. By the morning, it was ready for inspection.

You can see in this last picture and the one above how the stringer that dropped through the hole elongated and made pretty vertical lines on the inside of the vase. On the outside, the gray glass turned silvery in the foot, and the red bits of stringer that I threw in on a whim made an interesting, confetti-like pattern. The stringer that I used on the underside was not as successful, as the color contrast wasn’t really sufficient for it to show up much.

Once the vase had cooled down, there was a lot of "cold working" to do, which basically entails endless grinding and polishing of the glass edge so that it looks shiny and smooth, as if it had been born that way. I learned that I have very little patience for cold working.

People tend to talk about knitting as if it is complicated and fraught with the potential for failure. While it is true that there are plenty of things one can get wrong while knitting, particularly when knitting a garment, it is also usually the case that, in the face of such a failure, one can rip it all out and start over without losing anything but one’s time. Fused glass is not nearly so forgiving a medium. I cannot tell you how many times my dad has spent hours and hours cutting glass and otherwise sweating over a project, only to have it bubble disastrously or crack or just somehow go to hell in the kiln. Glass is a harsh mistress. But it also, like knitting, has the potential to reward your careful planning with results that are lovely in ways that realize your mind’s eye vision at the same time that they surprise you completely.

What I’m trying to say is that I suspect my dad likes working with glass for many of the same reasons that I like working with yarn. Huh. Go figure.

So, while this piece looks a little more like something Spiderman would use to decorate his home than I had intended it to, I am nonetheless rather taken with it. Thanks, Dad, for letting me dabble in your craft.

I just updated my "Thelma’s knitting" sidebar feature for the month of July 1973 only to find that thirty-five years ago in this month, my grandmother didn’t knit anything at all — not even a wee little sweater for my brother, Austin, who was to be born the following month.

Knowing this makes me feel better, because I haven’t been knitting all that much myself of late. I am working on a few projects here and there — the Neiman sweater is now four inches tall, though I suspect I might have to rip the whole thing out and start over, and I’m also knitting up the sample for a pattern I wrote for Gryphon last year — but I’m not finding as much time to knit as I was in the fall and winter, and my brain is more or less empty of creative knitting ideas. It seems that my knitting mind is hibernating.

This is no doubt because I am occupied with other thoughts. For one thing, I’ve been working a lot lately — sometimes too much, though that’s been better since mid-June — and work tends to crowd out everything else. For another, it’s finally summer, and I’ve been riding bikes a lot with David and generally finding time to be outside.

Most important, though, is that I’m nineteen weeks pregnant. While I’ve been lucky enough so far to find pregnancy to be mostly comfortable and to require very little of me except for extra snacking, it does tend to change my preferences for how I want to spend the very early morning and the hour before bed — the ninety minutes or so per day when I used to knit. Many nights lately, I’d rather lay on the couch and read a book. Some mornings, I haven’t quite felt up to drinking tea and concentrating my attention on the minute movements of my hands. Some knitting still gets done, but not very quickly, and perhaps not very interestingly from the point of view of readers of this blog.

I have never had a baby before, and I suppose that even if I had I wouldn’t be able to predict how my life were about to change. So I don’t really know what will happen with me and knitting (or blogging) in the future. I don’t expect that I will give them up entirely, but I’m unlikely to be able to finish objects very quickly or to write as many blog posts as I have this past year.

I am not too concerned, though. I think that for me, knitting is a long-term creative relationship rather than a short-term interest. That my grandmother, the knitter extraordinaire, produced no knitting whatsoever in July 1973 did not make her any less of a knitter. Why should I worry, then, if my knitting and blogging activities fall off for a while, even for several years?

Babies are only babies for a little while. So I will learn to be a mother, and when this baby is older, I will still know how to knit. Meanwhile, I will accept my slow progress as better than no progress at all.