What is this post lacking?

I am visiting my mama in my hometown. Eighteen months is too long to be away.

Things I have discovered while here:

1. Life is better when it's 70 degrees (21 Celsius) with no humidity, calming breezes, and sunny skies.

2. Life is better when your parents watch your children for you so you can knit.

3. Life is better when your office overlooks a lushly planted garden under the shadow of a maple tree.

4. Life is better when it does not take 40 minutes to drive six miles. (9.6 kilometers) Instead, it takes about twelve minutes.

5. Life is better when your town is nestled on the side of a hill overlooking a massive body of water.

Now, I'm not saying my life in Washington, DC is lacking or anything like that. If there's one thing DC is not, it's lacking. If I were so inclined, I could purchase a live goat or a yuzu or a mountain dulcimer in DC quite readily.

My next door neighbor at home is a Fulbright scholar from Ghana.  Up the street is a diplomat from Ecuador and his Canadian lawyer wife, who specializes in international business issues. Next door to me at my studio is the owner of one of the largest organic tea companies in the world. If you've purchased organic tea anytime, probably ever, it likely came from one of his farms in Japan or China. And then, you know, we have the president and all of those government-y people that live around here too. Just a few interesting people. Scattered about. Here and there.

So no, DC is definitely not lacking.  Except in 70-degree-blue-sky-look-at-the-sun-sparkling-on-the-water-grandma-watch-the-kids-so-you-knit kind of things.

The story of three irish girls… a fairy tale. Chapter 12.

Read the previous chapter here.

When a son was born that spring amidst a colossal thunderstorm, everyone -- including the girl -- was surprised to see just how hefty he was. Ten pounds, with rolls of chub and fuzzy blonde hair.

The days blurred past, as they do for all new mothers, and the healthy boy grew bigger still. Light blue eyes took the place of newborn grey. Nighttime feedings were tended to.  Laughs were induced, chairs were rocked.

Knitting became a daily ritual -- she found she could sneak in a few stitches while her son waved his little arms and legs in the baby seat next to her.  She made many mistakes. The importance of not binding off a neckline too tightly cannot be overstated. She also discovered the importance of gauge, as a sweater knit for her niece grew to enormous proportions. (No, bulky yarn cannot be swapped straight out for a DK weight.) She knit for her own son, her relatives, her friend's children.

As her knitting skill grew, so too did the demand for her work. Friends began requesting items: a red sweater for a baby whose gender was still unknown. A lightweight go-with-everything cardigan for a preschooler. A wrap dress for a family photo. She found knitting to be the perfect complement to nearly everything -- portable, satisfying, and with the right pillows and a little practice, something she could do during the many hours a day spent nursing.

One of the recipients of her knitting benefaction was a friend, a talented graphic designer. The designer wrote to the girl many times, imploring her to start a business knitting for children. "The market is there," she said. "I can help you build a website." A seed was planted, and though the girl did her best to ignore the tiny, unfurling shoots, the seed took root and grew.

A simple site was commissioned and assembled, resulting in a circular aqua logo, lavender navigation buttons outlined in tiny white stitches, and a pale yellow-green background color. The girl busied herself knitting items for sale in her new store. Her market research told her that the greatest demand for handknit childrenswear was in wool pants and soakers, which were again enjoying a resurgence as more parents chose eco-friendly cloth diapers.

She devised and tested her own patterns, often employing detailed cable motifs in her designs. She sourced a variety of untreated wools, trying to find those most suitable for babies with delicate skin.

Then, the unrelenting fatigue of a second pregnancy.

The website languished, as the girl had no energy, no desire to do anything other than sleep, play with her baby, and eat. The heat of the Southern summer was oppressive, despite central air conditioning. The swollen ankles, the active two year old, the fatigue, the exhaustion, the sleepiness. The only relief was a friend's swimming pool, where the girl felt weightless and cool for a few brief moments.

A break in the July humidity and smog brought with it a new baby girl. This one smaller than her predecessor -- a peanut at only eight and half pounds.  She was delicious and lusty and angelic. Her big brother, now a walking, talking being, tried hard to make her laugh, only to be disappointed to find that new babies neither run about, nor laugh, nor do they enjoy tickling.

Knitting time abounded as the now-practiced mother deftly maneuvered both the baby and the needles for the many feedings newborns require each day. The little seed, once sprouted, began to grow again. She knit booties and hats and sweaters and jackets for her two darling children, and squeezed in some items for the store she intended to open.

Finally, in November of 2004, she believed herself to be ready.  She lacked photographic know-how, but tried her best to accurately depict the garments she carefully made. She sent out announcements to her friends, hoping they would tell some of their friends. She thought to herself, If I can sell one item in the first week, I'll be happy.  When the site finally pushed live, she was stunned to see that most of her items sold out in one afternoon, and that her inbox was stuffed with emails from people looking for custom orders. Within the week, she had not only sold all of her items, but had accrued a custom order waiting list at least eighteen months long.

Custom orders were a joy and a trial. She loved consultations, loved helping parents pick out the components of a family heirloom. Would it be a dress? A sweater? What color will it be? What will it look like? Then, the hard part: knitting the garment hoping against hope that the client loved it.

A sampling of the girl's early work in knitting. (Her lack of photographic skill will now be evident.)

Felted bunny slippers (Yes, those are hand-embroidered features):



A yellow soaker with seed stitch heart cables:



A felted soaker with embroidered hearts and a snap down rise to accommodate growth:



More cabled hearts:



A wrap sweater in pale gray-blue with salmon pink accents:



And modeled by the new owner:



Some simple booties:



Some cabled pants:



The girl loved these green booties:



A cream cotton sweater with handknit flowers:



A sailboat vest:



A soaker with a Celtic knot encircling the hips:



A closeup of a sea-life themed garment with a hand-crocheted and felted sea turtle:



Ruffle capris with a detachable flower pin:



Polka dot pants:



Cloche with detachable flower pin:



Pink Maryjane booties:



Red and orange wrap sweater with leaf and vine pattern:



And a matching hat with felted blossom:



Red sweater:



A cabled dress:



One custom knitting client wanted an autumnal-themed sweater for her daughter. She had a very clear picture of what she wanted in her mind, and the girl spent hours exhausting every yarn shop on the web looking for the perfect hand dyed yarn in the right shades. 

She finally presented her client with a final option. "I'm really sorry we haven't been able to find the yarn you're looking for," she wrote.  "We can continue looking until the perfect thing pops up, I can return your deposit, we could try to find someone to custom dye the yarn, or I could try to dye the yarn you want. (Although I can't guarantee my results.)"

Stunningly, the client chose the last option. "I have confidence in your artistic eye and ingenuity," she wrote back to the girl.

"I really REALLY can't make any promises," the girl replied, "But I will do my best."

Keep reading here.

26 things.

1. Once upon a time.

2. There was a girl named Yarnista.

3. She was one of those right-brained creative types who always liked to make things.

4. She made bagels.

5. The recipe said to boil them in a large stock pot of water before baking them.

6. The bagels tasted vaguely like hockey pucks.

7. She made bookmarks.

8. The bookmarks were constructed of two layers of posterboard suspended between a sheet of self-adhesive contact paper.

9. She painted abstract watercolor designs on each bookmark before applying the plastic.

10. A stint selling the bookmarks door to door proved worthwhile; she made $50 in one weekend.

11. Not bad for an eleven year old selling fifty cent bookmarks around the neighborhood.

12. Her mom didn't know about her endeavor until it was completed.


13. It's easy to hide things from your mom when all you do are quiet things like, "painting in your room" and "going out for a little walk."

14. Yarnista decided watercolor painting was her thing and asked her mom to sign her up for an evening class.

15. The watercolor painting instructor did not agree that watercolor painting was her thing.

16. The watercolor painting instructor didn't know that Yarnista had already made big money on her paintings.

17. Take that, watercolor painting instructor.

18. Yarnista now paints things professionally.

19. Things like yarn -- maybe you've seen her work around town.





20. In 2nd grade art class, she was given a sheet of plastic mesh, some brightly colored yarn, and a large plastic needle.

21. She stitched I Love You onto the plastic mesh.

22. Except she ran out of room and the U had to be bumped to the line below.

23. Her dad hung it in his garage workshop anyway.

24. The end.

25. Thank you.

26. P.S. Yarnista grew up in Midwest America, where people say Thank You and Sorry About That and No, You First compulsively.

Thank you.

The life of the Yarnista.

It is arduous, and full of peril. It is delightsome and lovely. It is exhilarating and disheartening. All of these, at once.

Arduous: hard to accomplish or achieve: difficult. Marked by great labor or effort. As in the thousands of skeins of yarn that pass through my hands each month. This is marked by a great and satisfying labor on my part, and the part of my assistants. (Thank you, assistants.)

Peril: exposure to risk of being injured, destroyed, or lost: danger. As in the sore feet, legs, back, and shoulders that result from dyeing the thousands of skeins of yarn that pass through my hands. As in the burns that inevitably occur on my hands and arms. As in the sickening THWACK that occurs when a yarn winder hits a part of my body.

Delightsome: highly pleasing. As in the joy I feel from looking at my creations in beautifully stacked piles like ripe produce, ready to befriend and nourish their new families.

Lovely: grand, swell, eliciting love. As in the melding of colors on sheep's hair. I never fail to think this process is swell.

Exhilarating: cheerful, refreshing, and exciting. As in the excitement I feel when I finally get something right, after many many many tries. To have someone else take pleasure in that effort is especially exciting for me.


Disheartening: to lose spirit or morale. As in the feeling that I can never accomplish everything there is to do. Does everyone feel this way? I think they must.


And such is my life, and the lives of many of you: Arduous and exhilarating, lovely and disheartening. Today's wish: that you find more delight than peril on your path.

Late adopter.

That's me. I'm a late adopter of new stuff. I'm not a bandwagon person. I eschew bandwagons. When people zig, I zag. And so on.

But in the past several months I've had dozens of requests for me to post Twitter updates. And so, I oblige. Today, I posted about my assistant cutting her hair in the bathroom of the studio, which she later hated and was upset about. (Although Twitter prevents me from telling the whole story.)

If you'd like to follow me on Twitter, here's the linkie. It's OK if you're a late adopter. We can be late adopters together.

And have I mentioned Facebook? Also another thing I adopted late. What other things will I adopt late? Perhaps I'll learn how to text by the time I'm 67.

--Yarnista

P.S. If you're not on Twitter and don't care about Twitter and don't want to open an account, you can still follow me (and others, of course) using Google Reader. It will pull all of the info for you, including posts from this and any other blog. Good clean fun.