The View From Up Here

Neighbouring gardens as seen from the balcony of our third-floor renovation

One of the unexpected pleasures of the new third floor is that the view from the window-wall and balcony is spacious. In truth, I thought it would be rather ugly. We don't live in a neighbourhood known for architectural homogeneity. The supremely hideous interacts with the mildly interesting and, occasionally, with elegant design.

But the sky seems vast up there. Fluffy cotton-ball clouds hover. The gaudy, faux-byzantine Greek Orthodox church looms strangely-large in the distance. We see dense pockets of trees where the parks are. Intersections of traffic where the residential slides into the industrial. We'll know when the ice-cream truck is coming, when the rain is coming. Never again will we have to climb out onto a pitched-roof to watch the air-show or fireworks on the lake.

Voyeur that I am, I love to view the gardens around me, bustling with squirrels and cats and people setting out their supper, the cyclist on the street, arguing with a careless driver. And I'm really seeing some interesting plant-life.

Mind you, everything loves you up in the green of summer. I wonder what the view will be come February.

Reverting

It must be moving towards fall (if slowly) because my impulse to sew has returned. The question is "what to make"? Seriously, I have a zillion patterns and tons of fabric, but I haven't so much as looked at either in a couple of months. Why not? Well, I've been living the summer of perfect weather coupled with the summer of child-freeness. (M comes back tomorrow after six weeks away, fyi.) 

Then there's the small matter of the renovation, which continues. I am grateful to be able to tell you that a very stressful element of the project (that's code for "potential big problem") has been resolved. But unknowns are par for the course with this kind of project. The latest is: Will this job be done by Labour Day?  

Finally, there's my seemingly natural urge to knit when the weather gets warm.  It's not like I've been craft-free all summer. I mean, I made this and this. (I also knit a baby gift set.) And I'm about 60 per cent through the sweater that time forgot. 

This week, I reworked a paragraph of vintage "instructions" into 10 pages of typed up notes, including every row by number and specific stitches required. That took hours but now all I have to do, and I say that with some irony, is to follow these (painstakingly achieved) directions. I debated the merit of investing this kind of extra time on a garment which, as we know, may not fit. (It's somewhat like a bra. Given the construction methodology, there's no way to tell how it's going to work until it's seamed up.) It's not like I haven't also kept pages of hand-written notes.

Thing is, I do intend to make it again. (Stay tuned for more about this.) Even if version 1 isn't a perfect fit, I believe that it will give me the information I require to vastly improve version 2. Right now, I sense version 1 might be too short. That's because I ended up having to cut 2 inches off the bottom in order to ensure I'd have enough yarn to complete the project. (There are times when having a short waist is merciful, for what it's worth, but this thing is true-waist vintage-short to begin with...)

Note (And This Doesn't Make Me Seem Like The Sharpest Tack in the Box): When buying my yarn I neglected to consider that, when one changes one's gauge intentionally to achieve a sweater having a larger circumference, one will require MORE FREAKING YARN to accommodate the increased size. By the time this occurred to me, the LYS had no more of my yarn in stock. The brand is one that hand-dyes lots for individual stores so apparently there is little likelihood of procuring another skein. 

My work-around was to weigh my yarn every other row as I neared the end of the sweater's left half. I knew I had to finish with 160 grams of yarn left over, though how to ensure that would happen (all of the rows increase and decrease and the sweater changes shape radically towards the end) was beyond me. My hack was part math and part intuition and, as it happens, I was left with 160g,  EXACTLY half of my remaining yarn to complete the remaining half of the sweater.  One thing's for sure, I will never know how to alter this sweater for better fit on the next go-around, if I can't produce a finished version 1. So this was a necessary (potential) evil.

Knitting is so "live and learn". While I despise having left over lots of yarn that are too small to do anything with and too large to dispose of, I am starting to see the merit of starting a project with more yarn than I will reasonably need. It seems I often complain about the very real potential that my project is in peril because I a) don't have enough yarn and b) there's no more to be had. It's much less compelling to write about how I have left-over yarn that's just sitting there gathering dust. And, all things considered, it's much less stressful.

But back to sewing. What to make?

For starters, I intend to compare my trove of patterns (many of them new or unconsidered as yet) against my stash of fabric (not inconsiderable) to see what clicks. I suspect a quick win is in order - something that doesn't require too much fitting or more than a weekend in the sewga room to complete. Between the math lesson that is the McCardell Convertible and my last couple of projects (the labour-intensive Tailored Suit and the Fitted Bodice, still in process), I would simply like to enjoy the hand and drape of a (stretchy?) fabric and a garment shape that's known to flatter. I'm itching to sew: to cut and press and stitch. I don't know how much I feel like making a muslin. I guess, the garment will call me and, depending on what it needs, I'll proceed accordingly.

Many people have been very happy with the Renfrew pattern, which I do own. I am also thinking about trying something with buttonholes (?!) because my Singer really does them very nicely and, generally, without incident. I've got some beautiful modal and a sweater knit. And there are lots of garments I've made before, with some success, that I'd be happy to recreate in a new fabric.

What do you suggest? Have you made a pattern recently that fits the bill (good instructions, great finished product, reasonably quick)? I totally want to hear about it!

Start Saving

Austerity is not my strong-suit, though I would be wise to exercise a modicum of it in the next little while.

Which is why I am so tormented by this post today. OMG, if you are a lady with an ample rack, you need not fear this spring. A shout out goes to Cheryl, from Invest in Your Chest, who is super plugged into the UK lingerie scene (IMO, the best scene evah for the large-breasted among us). She writes some excellent reviews of some excellent brands - and she doesn't pretend to love everything.

I've pulled just a few photos (all courtesy of IIYC) of the sets I suspect that cannot live without:

Look at the awesome patchwork thing going on in this Miss Mandalay set. Sure, it's lightly padded (aka structured), which is the only thing that may prevent me from purchasing it.

Egad! It's shiny! It's floral, but weird. I love the colours. This set is by Elomi, a brand that tends to work for women with broad backs and those who aren't twigs.

I refer to this tonal palette as "ballet coloured". I have wanted a yellow bra for so long. Just ask anyone to whom I've bitched. This one's a Freya, my best brand. I don't think there's a chance in hell I won't be pre-ordering this one :-)

While we're on the Freya bandwagon, and I have been for about 10 years, here are some other fantastic options.

Pretty Dots:

Pretty Bows:

Pretty Florals:

Do you see how the under band is fluttery? Sigh.

Oh how I wish someone would invite me to participate in one of these trade shows, all expenses paid (natch), so that I could write of these reviews first-hand. In the meanwhile, Cheryl provides some very interesting observances about the trends for next spring.

I just want to reiterate this: If you've got big tits, there is no reason to feel like the lingerie fairies have forgotten you. Sure, the cheap lingerie fairies have forgotten you - but there are only so many of them to go around. And the truth is, your boobs (if they are large), need more architecture than the cute, cheap brands are able to provide. Consider it R&D. Then save your pennies (if you don't have lots of them), and buy some good stuff. You will never regret it. And you'll be supporting an industry that matters to an ever expanding subset of the population.

Questions: Which of these is your fave? Do you like the pastel palette? Have you tried any of these brands and, if yes, what are your thoughts?

I'm Getting Somewhere

OK, people, I think I may actually be getting somewhere. I've spent hours on the numbers and draping this morning and finally squealed to Scott: "Eureka! Lord, I'd be lost without math." Whereupon he spit-choked his coffee.

I'd like to advise that, despite his fantastic spatial reasoning skills, he was of no help whatsoever.

Have a look at this:

My speculation is that the vertical piece (wrong side up) that follows the general length of the hardwood seam is the centre back. The pointiest part at the bottom tip  of that vertical line is the left centre back. The part that curves up to the right-hand side of the photo is the side seam leading to the arm seam (obviously, the entire front isn't done, I'm still knitting it). The part of the sleeve you can see is the front. Then, the diagonal bit on the left-hand side of the photo is the front left side of the surplice, the left wrap, if you will. Right now I'm making the front of the left side of the sweater.

In as much as something can be knit on the bias, I believe this puppy is.

Now, let's talk about some of the hideous features of this pattern (which I hope are contained within the instructions and do not spill over into the finished object):

•  OMG, would it have killed Ms. McCardell (or her people) to put together a fucking schematic?? It's not like this is a shell with increases and decreases at the arms and neck.

•  And while we're at it, on nature's most complex pattern, could we go with something more in the directions than: Right Half - reverse shaping from left half. There are increases and decreases on just about every freaking row. I. am. not. joking. One false move and you are making a thneed.

•  The instructions refer to the sleeve edge and the side edge in addition to the centre back edge and the neck edge and the neck facing edge (fucking hell). Technically the sleeve and side edge are the same edge, but when you don't know how the thing comes together, that's impossible to know. By that logic, the neck edge and the centre back edge are the same.  In fact, a big part of the reason that I started draping the fabric is because I couldn't figure out where to do my next batch of increases. Sidebar: Let's assume I'm right about this. I consider this my crafting public service of the month. Maybe even the season. Cuz there's no one else I can find who's made or written about this pattern.

Concerns:

On my math-path (as I call it), I figured out that I've got another 10.5 inches or so to knit on the front left side. That will definitely make the front longer than the back. I have to assume that's the goal of the pattern, to allow for the cross-over at the waist. But that's about 5 inches of extra length over the back. I really hope this isn't going to mess me up.

Why am I so concerned, since I am following the instructions? Well, my gauge is not the same as that of the pattern instructions, of which I'm well aware. This suits me in terms of circumference. BUT: My vertical gauge is 10 stitches per inch rather than 11. You might think it shouldn't matter since I've knitted the entire sweater with that gauge in the same yarn.  However, the sweater instructs - at some points - that one knit to a certain length and at other points that one knit a certain number of rows. Since, all things being equal, my gauge will give me a longer sweater than the pattern's, I'm a bit concerned that the ratios for front and back may be off.

Egad! I love blogging and I love math!! I just figured out how to fix this problem. And I did it just in the nick of time. If you want the deets, let me know, but in short I figured out the difference in length of a variety of rows (my gauge vs. the pattern's) and I'm subtracting it from the part that directs you to knit numbers of rows (rather than the spans wherein you're directed to knit absolute length).

My one other concern at the moment is that this thing isn't going to fit. But I can't really do anything about it at this point. I need to finish at least one side before I can drape it on my dress form for confirmation. If the size is off (up or down), then I'll need to decide whether to frog it or to keep on and give this thing away. One issue at a time...

Shout Out To The (Knitting) Experts: WTF?

Um, if anyone can tell me exactly how this is supposed to turn into a sweater, I'm all ears:

This is the LEFT side of the sweater. It's a mirror pattern. The theory is that the right side will look exactly the same, only in reverse.

My understanding is that the top left side and the top right side (on either side of that notebook) will be seamed together to form a sleeve.

Of course, this side is not finished, there's a decreasing section that's set to start in about an inch and a half.

In case you need a refresher, here's the only pic of the sweater I can find:

It appears that this thing is knit on the bias. Ok, ok, I suspect that's impossible. What I really mean is that it will be seamed so that the final garment falls on the bias.

In truth, it's looking less weird at this point than it has done since I began this endless swatch of stockinette. Now that I've achieved full width at the top (the "sleeve" area), I can almost envision how it will be seamed at the centre back and then under the arms/ at the side.

I still have concerns about the sizing. But really, maybe this is one of those projects you need to finish (at least one side) before you have any sense of what will come next?

Or y'all could enlighten me.

Note: If you have serious concerns that this is never going to be a sweater, feel free to voice them.

Oh, and one final pic to show the lovely colour:

Keep in mind that this is not blocked, so the stitch is not as even as it will look when all is done.

Looking Up

There's a point to be made, when one is a blogger who likes to post photos of new purchases, that one should ensure there's some photo of the purchase on the web, or simply take a freakin' picture.

Alas, I went yesterday to purchase new sunnies - I did this in 20 minutes, fyi - and neglected to take an in-shop photo. In truth, I can't really tell you what they look like. It sort of like when you buy a house and three days later it occurs to you that you cannot remember anything about it except that you really love the tree in the front yard and the kitchen is awesome.

No problem, thought I, I'll grab a shot from the net and impress you all.

The thing is that I somehow managed to buy vintage deadstock. And there's nary a photo of that on the web.

Let's start at the start: I cycled down to Spectacle on Queen West, having called the shop earlier to determine my options. I learned that I could hand over my current glasses and have the lenses exchanged (but that would take 5 days) OR buy a new pair of glasses, receive them, then give in my busted glasses for fixing. That option would allow for a) continuing to have sunglasses, crapped up as they are, as I am truly light-sensitive at the best of times and b) confirmation that I'll get exactly the same colour of (dipped) lens on the busted ones, when those lenses are replaced. Without the originals, they can't guarantee an exact match.

I opted to buy new glasses, waiting with the old ones till the new ones are ready, and then to get the old ones fixed. Most expensive option, check. Quel surprise.

Sidebar: Do you know that light-eyed people are more sensitive to light than dark-eyed people? They're also more prone to macular degeneration (yuck). And green eyes are the most rare colour? My eyes were blue as the sky until I turned 7, and one day they went green. It was incredibly weird, given my southern Italian and Puerto Rican roots, that I had blue eyes to begin with. But I'm surprised to learn that green eyes are less common still. Between that and my left-handedness, I feel rather recessive!

OK, back to my purchase, I tried on every pair of glasses in that store like a machine.

This left me with 4 maybes, 2 vintage deadstock (by Cutler and Gross) and 2 modern ones (by brands I can't remember).

Of the modern glasses, one pair seemed to be the most popular with people I polled (and I'm not shy peeps). The other was cool, but kind of delicate. Not my scene. The popular ones were an interesting striated acetate, but in order to get the lenses to be dark enough, I would have had to go with a polarized brown. Note to reader: When you look through polarized brown lenses, everything is yellow. It's kind of sickening. Always take the lenses outside into daylight and confirm that you're not going to be seeing the world though a nauseating filter, should you buy that pair. Other note to reader: I don't love polarized lenses, even though light-sensitive people tend to like them because they reduce horizontal glare.

Of the vintage ones, one pair was black and wide like my current ones. More glamorous, natch. They are very Audrey Hepburn / Breakfast at Tiffany's in vibe (though her glasses were actually much rounder). However, these seem rather similar to my Oliver Peoples, all things considered.

The final pair, the winner as we like to say, has a tortoise-shell acetate frame. It's not a small frame, though I have a small face, so these glasses will give lots of coverage. The frame is almost butterfly shaped, with a nose-bridge keyhole (I think?!). This pair does look vintage, but not weird. I made certain to confirm with reviewers that, in these, I am channeling a movie star, circa 1960, in Capri, rather than a 42-year old mother of a 'tween trying to look hip. I've gotta hope people are honest. Lord knows, I am.

The frames were on sale by 40 per cent. They were still pricey. If you considered that they have likely languished in a factory since 1962 when they would have sold for 10 bucks (and that would have been expensive), I paid an ungodly amount for these things. But I do love vintage. I love to imagine the former life these things might have lived. And deadstock, unlike worn-stock, is new even as it's old. The frames were refurbished beautifully by a company that's in the biz. So call me crazy.

Photos to follow in 5 to 10 business days. Yes, that's how (freakin' insanely) long it's gonna take to make the lenses. If you want fast, go with polarized. They're not dipped, the filter is embedded in the lens.

Life Lessons

I sense that I'm one of 10 people in the world who got into a canoe accident this weekend. Seriously. Have you ever seen how slowly those things go? Nonetheless my husband managed to steer me into a hanging branch, and not a small one. (In his defense, we were at a wind-y place and he hasn't been in a canoe for a couple of years. There was a little bit too much velocity happening as he executed the turn. Also, I suppose, I could have ducked. Or so they tell me.)

My extremely pricey (IMO) sunglasses, which I treat with such care, were flung from my head, along with my hat (but into the boat rather than the water, thankfully) after being scratched to shit by said branch. I'm of the opinion that the glasses saved my eye. Others think I may have merely saved myself a scratched cornea. Either way, that would not have been a good scene. The branch bounced of the glasses, while it tossed them, and grazed the side of my face instead.

Oh, and then the heavens opened and I spent an hour canoeing in the relentless, pouring, miserable, cold, disgusting rain from which I could not flee. I was fit to be tied.

At any rate, this is my second canoe experience this summer (after a hiatus of many years, and I'm no "girl with a canoe") and I can't figure out which one was worse. In NC, I went on the New River, apparently the second oldest river in the world, and a 4-hour trip ended up taking 6 hours as the water was 6 inches deep in most spots and littered with jutting rocks. Also, extreme natural beauty aside, we had to somehow get around the water-hogs in inner-tubes who were drinking beer and very rudely staying in the middle of everything, despite not really needing water just to sit there and get drunk. That was the trip where I learned about how exercise can truly be an act of desperation. I knew I was never going to get out of that fucking river if I didn't paddle.

This weekend's experience taught me something concrete about my nature: I am very attached to my things. Sure, not all things. (Lord knows, I give away sweaters like they're growing on trees.) And, sure, I cling to some things more than others. But I was so angry about the destruction of my glasses. The combo of my love of beautiful objets (that also manage to be entirely practical and useful) with my hatred of disorder and waste, well, it brought out my less-than-endearing side.  Of course, my friends worked to calm me, weirdly, by suggesting that I need a frame, slightly more a la mode. Smart. That's about the only thing that stopped me from complete anger-wallow. The option to self-improve.

So I'm off to Spectacle to buy a new pair. (Re: Light sensitivity these days, I cannot be without my wrecked up current glasses until new glasses are ready, whereupon I'll get the current ones fixed so as never to be in this situation again.) If only this weren't about to cost a boat load of money... (hahahaha, get it?)