Pattern: Tutorial for Fully Lined Tab Top Drapes by Shelley Denton
Fabric: Climbing Vines by Kathy Ireland

After my dry run on the bedroom curtains turned out so well, I felt ready to take on bigger game. Namely, the even rattier drapes covering the sliding glass doors leading into our backyard. Oh, these were bad. The kids had stepped on them and pulled them and ripped them so much that the hem was partially ripped off. We had opened and closed and forced them through the double-rod channel so much that they were almost impossible to move and the hardware was bent from our tugs on the cord. Even beyond their colorless beige heavy awfulness, they were broken. An affront to my self-esteem every time I saw that ripped hem dragging on the ground or contemplated trying to get them open.

Twice as long, these are. Twice as difficult to cut straight and get maneuvered over my ironing board. Which, by the way, is in sad shape, the pad all worn out and the drawstring all frayed and the cover constantly coming off while I’m pulling miles of drapery over it. A new one is on the way, and I wouldn’t dare start a full-sized project before it arrives. Plus, because the print is centered on the fabric width, and the liner is not as wide, and therefore the fabric needs to be cut down, I had to think about making sure that was symmetrical. Something new every project, even the ones that are repeats.

I had my dad here to help me install the hardware when it was time to hang them. Good thing, too, since on my won I might not have bothered patching the wall where the old rod came down. There were lots of holes and chipped spots in the paint job. We still have unsanded spackle spots above the drapes, but those are one step closer to a nice wall, rather than one step back the way holes and rips are.

One more set of legacy curtains gone. One more room lighter, newer, more customized. Think I’ll cover some pillows before I try to figure out how to handle curtains for the super-wide bay window in the front room. That’s going to take some doing.

Pattern: Raspberry Layers by Carol Feller (Rav link)
Yarn: Misti Alpaca Chunky (100% baby alpaca), colorway 42 Red
Needles: U.S. 11 Harmony wood Options 36″ circulars (knit flat)

Everything about this sweater was fated.

For the last six months, ever since I set up my wall cube unit to hold my yarn stash, I’ve periodically brushed up against the softest yarn I own, this bulky alpaca. It felt like spun silk, like cotton candy. It was light as a cloud. It was stacked in the front of the bulky yarn shelf, and so every time I squeezed past it to grab a circular cable off the wall or to work on my Singer Featherweight, a hank or two fell softly to the ground, with the barest, snowlike “thwmp.”

While I was digging out my Blackstone Tweed to start work on the DROPS waistcoat, I knocked it over again. And when I picked it up, I made a promise to myself: That’s next.

Now to find a pattern. Originally I had earmarked this yarn for a large wrap, but such a thing didn’t seem particularly practical with the winter as mild as it had been. I advanced-pattern-searched through pages and pages of patterns for bulky yarn that take less than 750 yards. The “bulky” part seemed destined to defeat me. As much as I am attracted to the big scale of chunky knits, I am not a petite person, and I dreaded adding bulky to my already generously proportioned torso.

And then I saw a pattern that didn’t look bulky at all. A vest with cap sleeves, lengthened past the hips and gently flaring at the edge. I examined the sizing and the yardage, and realized that I had plenty of yarn. Short-sleeved sweaters had worked out very well for me in my last few outings, and it seemed like the perfect solution for this not-very-cold season. The capper? Although the pattern cost money, it turned out I had already saved it to my Ravelry library at some earlier date when it was free. Clearly, this was meant to be.

The construction is so clever that I had to tamp down my urge to understand what part I was knitting and just trust the designer to lead me right. It’s knit sideways starting at the center back and right front edge and going to the right armscye, then folded over at the shoulder and seamed up to the underarm. Then undo the provisional cast-on at the back and start there and at the left front, going toward the left armscye before folding the front down to seam up the left side. A few short rows to shape the sleeve caps, a minimal collar to be picked up and knit, and you’re done. The front bands, including the buttonholes, are integrated as you begin each side and proceed toward the side seams.

But what makes this such a surprisingly flattering piece is the sweep and length. Short rows create graceful flares on both back and front panels. Nothing about the way it hangs or clings says “bulky”; only the size of the stitches gives it away.

Fate brought us together. I can’t imagine loving it more.

Pattern: Waistcoat in “Alaska” with raglan and cables on yoke by DROPS Design
Yarn: Berroco Blackstone Tweed (65% wool, 25% mohair, 10% angora), colorway Steamers
Needle: U.S. 6 and 8 Harmony wood 36″ circulars (knit flat)

In Ravelry circles, January is known as the month of selfish knitting. November and December are presumed to be devoted to making gifts, churning out scarves and hats and gloves that you’ll wear once to take a picture and then wrap up for somebody else. So in January, knitters everyone release all their pent-up garment lust and make something for themselves. It’s all about me.

I started my selfish knitting a little early, I confess. A couple of weeks before the holidays, when Craftin’ for CASA was finally over and all the charity knitting I had done for that project at last behind me, I decided there would be no Christmas knitting this year. I scoured my stash for sweater quantities and my favorites list for a pattern that had recently caught my fancy.

One of my most beloved sweaters is Helleborus Yoke. Not only does it fit beautifully, but the style is so versatile. Short sleeves, fits great under a heavy coat, but warm at the core. A perfect layering piece. So much so that my selfish self wanted another version. Less boldly colored, more rustic. But tailored and sophisticated.

The knitting was easy, even the chart — nothing but two-over-two cables in various combinations. It’s amazing how complicated they look when you put them all together. Small t-shaped seams to sew under each arm, seven buttons, and a gentle blocking are all the finishing that’s required. I’ve used this yarn before to make fingerless mitts, and the cables don’t pop like they would in a smooth, tightly twisted wool or plant fiber; they are hazy, almost foggy, and might even go flat if stretched too aggressively. But that gives a different mood to the beautiful yoke on this vest. The cables emerge so gently from their tweedy reverse-stockinette background, and twine gracefully like a worn bas-relief sculpture.

The description may be similar to Helleborus Yoke: short-sleeved cardi with cabled circular yoke. But the details feel completely different. The bottom hits mid-hip; the waist tapers in. The worsted-weight yarn is surprisingly light, creating a drapey fabric rather than the substantial cushion of Helleborus’s bulky weight. Button it up or down, a few or all the way, and the sweater hangs in a myriad graceful ways. Two weeks of selfish knitting yields one perfect creation. All for me.

Pattern: Tutorial for Fully Lined Tab Top Drapes by Shelley Denton
Fabric: Hana blossoms drapery fabric from Hancock Fabrics
Machine: Janome Magnolia 7330 (16/100 needle)

The hardest thing about sewing is cutting. In knitting, if you make a mistake, even a catastrophic one, the yarn is still able to be unraveled and reused. When you cut fabric … it’s forever.

As soon as I unpacked my new sewing machine on Christmas Day I was looking forward to making curtains. Our house needs curtains badly. The original heavy insulating beigey drapes from when we bought the house are being shredded by kids pulling on them. Their rods are bent, their pull ropes are slack, their rings are coming apart. This house needs a lot of help, but curtains are a good place to start. Particularly because, unlike installing a fiberglass shower or replacing carpet, curtains are something that, in theory, I can do myself. I found a tutorial that seemed to be at my level. And I decided to start my drapery-making adventure in our bedroom, where any mistakes I made would not be so much on public view as in the living room or front room.

I measured (90″ x 50″). I converted measurements (54″ length including hems and seam allowances x 2 curtains = 3 yds). I bought the material from a roll rapidly nearing its end. And on Thursday, I cut.

The challenge of working with drapes is that the fabric is so very big. It won’t fit on my cutting table. To find the middle and cut it into two equal pieces of 54″ each, I decided to fold it in half, press it, and cut along the fold. But in refolding the other way to get it positioned on my mat for a rotary cut, I focused on a different fold line. I cut — and as soon as I picked up what was supposed to be half the fabric, I knew it was wrong. One piece was much heavier than the other. The smaller piece was too short for the window. Crap.

Back to the fabric store I went the next day. I could make one curtain out of the longer piece I still had, but I would need a yard and a half of the same material to make the other curtain. The roll was no longer in the display rack. I had almost resigned myself to starting over with 3 yards of a completely different material that I didn’t like as well, when I spotted the roll lying on a table near the home decor fabrics, apparently waiting to be turned into a remnant. At the cutting table, I found that it had just barely a yard and a half left on it. Saved.

That same afternoon I attempted my first curtain. Cutting was still difficult, but forewarned was forearmed. I found a way to square up the fabric and get it to the right size — probably more trouble than I would need to take if I were experienced, but it worked for me. I pressed, I pinned, I lay the whole thing out on the floor to get the lining aligned and the edges trimmed (my lining was about 3 inches narrower than the fabric). I sewed the wrong seam first and had to rip out 57 inches so I could start over. But I didn’t ruin my fabric with ill-placed scissors.

I used wide ribbon for the (invisible from the front) tabs, as the tutorial suggests. I sewed across the whole curtain to secure them at the bottom without a line to follow in the 8 inches between tabs, just eyeballing it as I went along. That took some courage. It was like sewing without a net.

I hemmed it with fusible web (using that for the first time). I put it up; it worked. The next day I made another one. Each one took me about 4 hours, which seems like a lot for a simple rectangle of fabric. But you sewists know what I’m talking about. Precision is everything. The hidden details are vital, and they take time.

The reward is immense. From deteriorating eyesores at our windows, to something functional and beautiful. I enter the room, and instead of feeling depressed about all the improvements waiting to be undertaken, I feel my spirits lift. From someone without the skills to effect this change, to someone with practice under her belt and expertise ready to deploy. Bring on the rest of the house.

Pattern: Sewing Machine Cover by Jacqueline Smerek
Fabric: Cotton from Hancock Fabrics
Machine: Janome Magnolia 7330

In his “A Very Special Episode” column, Noel recently wrote about a Christmas-themed episode of Dragnet that was filmed three times with almost identical scripts. In all versions, the police partners banter in the opening act about the gifts they have gotten for their wives or girlfriends, as the case may be. One scoffs at the other’s stationary set, only to reveal that he got his wife a sewing machine. “It’s different with her!” he defends himself against his partner’s reciprocal scorn.

A sewing machine is a stereotypical bad birthday or Christmas gift for a woman in the middle of the twentieth century. It’s utilitarian, not romantic. It’s a dishwasher, a crock pot, a vacuum cleaner. It says, “Here, honey, you’ve got work to do.”

How times change. Now a sewing machine is my Christmas dream. This sewing machine, to be exact.

Not that I don’t love — and will always love — my Singer Featherweight, with its durable elegance and single-minded focus on the straight stitch.

For it and on it I made my first version of this pattern, which I now realize I somehow never blogged (perhaps because I made it over Thanksgiving weekend at a time when I had a lot of blog fodder stacked up on the runway, some of which is still waiting patiently).

But there’s something in this pattern that the Featherweight can’t do. It can’t zigzag stitch. Or do anything other than straight sewing. And as I browsed through patterns that assumed the sewist’s possession of a modern machine — one with a free arm, zigzag or overcasting capacity, an automatic buttonhole maker — I realized I’d be severely limited if I never left the fifties behind.

Almost as soon as I got my new machine unpacked and set up on the opposite corner of my sewing table, I realized that a cover of its own was the perfect first project. I went to the fabric store the day after Christmas, despite a pounding cold rain. The next day, I sewed — zigzag stitch and all. The new machine didn’t solve all my problems — I still struggled sewing on the side panels, around awkward curves — but it gave me a lot more options. And it allowed me to finished my inside seams professionally.

You would hope that the second time around on a pattern, it would go a little easier. And it did. I wasn’t terrified of making it too small, which led me to fudge my measurements toward the generous side the first time, and left me with a fairly slouchy cover. I cut the fabric correctly the first time. I was more precise with my seam allowances. My hemming is about a million times better.

I still have so much experience to gain. But I love my tools. They reward my efforts and are forgiving of my ignorance. Using them takes some courage; they are daunting to the uninitiated. I like that. It means what I do is worthy of pride. It isn’t something that anyone could do, but neither is it out of reach for someone who makes the attempt with care and determination.

Now that my machines are covered, now that I’ve explored a few of the features of my new Janome, I’m ready to step up beyond the absolute beginner stage — beyond the bags and cozies. There is home decor in my future. A garment before too long, I promise.

Sewing is a new craft for me this year. Every time I sew, I have the voice of The Sensible Seamstress in my head, my dear friend who taught me the basics. A new craft is a new ability. And a new ability is growth. That’s the most important motivation for me — not what is made, but what the making does for the maker. 2012 will bring more expansion, more development, more confidence, more pride, and more possibilities. I can’t wait.

Pattern: Molly by Erin Ruth
Yarn: Araucania Nature Wool Solids (100% wool), colorway #46 (that’s my guess — it was covered by a price sticker)
Needles: U.S. 3 nickel Options fixed 24″ circulars, U.S. 6 Harmony wood Options 24″ circulars (magic-loop style)

I started this hat on October 19 with the express intention of selling it at our Craftin’ For CASA sale. When I brought it to my Craft Wisely class, my teaching assistant seemed surprised. “So simple!” she said, looking at the single horseshoe cable and the seed stitch background.

I know I often knit complicated things. I like knitting complicated things. It keeps me interested and gives me a sense of accomplishment. But I don’t disdain the simple things. It’s not like becoming an intermediate or advanced knitter means that the easy patterns are off limits. They don’t issue knitting access cards that determine what areas of Ravelry you can visit, or reserve the basic patterns exclusively for the use of beginners. I enjoyed this knit thoroughly for the six days it took me to complete. Seed stitch is so easy and relaxing for a continental knitter (my TA hates it with a passion, being a thrower). And cabling isn’t more fun the more difficult it is, at least not for me. Its magic works on me whether the cross is the same every time or whether there are six different variations.

Is it the challenge of the execution, the complexity of the process? Is it how much joy comes in the making? Or is the beauty of the finished product, the perfect fit and the gorgeous flicker of the softly heathered turquoise color, the texture of the big nested cables and pebbly seed stitch? Both … more the latter than the former, in this case, if I’m being honest. The hat was so quickly made that I am surprised everytime I see it in my projects, amazed that I made something so effortlessly perfect.

But mostly what makes this hat memorable is that it was paired with the Perfect Slouch hat I made for Heather, the first CASA client I knit for. Both hats, both slouchy, both shades of blue. One simple, young, and versatile; one easy to executive but with tailored and sophisticated details marking it for an older audience. Neither hat stayed in my life — both went to others. What remains with me is the yarn on my needles (slippery cotton, rustic wool), the stitches one after the other (spirals of stockinette, seesaw of seed stitch), and the sight of the two hats linked on the sale line, waiting to be claimed.

Pattern: Reversible Strands by Nancy Smith
Yarn: Lion Brand Wool-Ease (80% acrylic, 20% wool), colorway Avocado
Hook: 4.0mm (G) Tulip Etimo

Once upon a time there was a boy named Jacob. Jacob is a teenager who does not live with his parents. The court decides where Jacob will live. A government agency decides who will take care of him. A lawyer speaks for him in front of a judge. A volunteer makes sure the court hears what he needs. Jacob’s life is often in the hands of strangers.

Jacob has a story. But I don’t know that story. Not many people do, other than that volunteer. He was taken away from his parents because they neglected him, or maybe they actively mistreated him. Maybe his parents never wanted him and still don’t want him back. Or maybe they are working to change their lives and make amends and reunite with their son.

Although I don’t know Jacob’s story, I know enough to be concerned about him. Because of where the court has placed him, he can’t have many things of his own. That means that he’s probably in a group home of some kind, and not in foster care. He may be exhibiting some of the problem behaviors for which teens like him, teens without parents who took good care of him, are at risk. As a teenage boy, he’s among the least likely group to be adopted. His life is spiraling, but is he on the way up or on the way down?

I don’t know Jacob’s story. I know his name, his age, and that what he can receive from me is limited. I made him this hat. It’s reversible; one side has bold spiral ridges, one is deceptively plain. I hope Jacob’s story from here on will include this hat. I hope his life is reversible, and that he will find his footing on a path that leads him out of his unpromising start. I know that my hope, my hat, and my support for the few people who are fighting for his future are all I have to give him. I know that his story deserves to be told. When we hear it — if we do — I hope it has the happy ending we all deserve, no matter what our beginnings might be.

Pattern: Hitchhiker by Martina Behm (Ravelry link)
Yarn: Regia Hand-dye Effect (70% wool, 25% nylon, 5% acrylic), colorway 06552
Needles: U.S. 5 Zephyr acrylic Options 32″ circulars (knit flat)

Two stitches. That’s where it started, on October 20, in a hotel ballroom in Phoenix, Arizona, at a debate about immigration. Knitted throughout the conference, this scarf was measured not as much in terms of length from its starting point, as in the stitches added on every single row.

By the end of the conference four days later, it was already impressive, and the yarn that remained had lost its skein-shape and become the deflated pile that signals the approaching end. I took the scarf to my next conference, a month later, but had another project ready to start. Sure enough, I bound off as my four-hour board meeting neared its end on the very first day.

I could write a book about conference knitting. Garter stitch is good. Lace is nice if easily memorized, but the simple repetition of increases and the anticipation of the slightly different seventh and eighth rows, when the sawtooth edge is created. Add the magic of Noro-esque stripes changing gradually before your eyes, and you can’t ask for more while you listen to people talking about voluntary certification of honors programs.

A scarf is a record of the time and distance over which it was knitted. This one crisscrossed the country twice in its process of coming to be. The yarn came from Montreal, the stitches were formed in Phoenix and San Francisco and 30,000 feet in the air in between. It’s not only beautiful, unique, stylish, and striking — it’s got a story to tell.

Pattern: Gathered Clutch Tutorial by Noodlehead
Fabric: Miscellaneous cotton from Hancock Fabrics

Yes, it has been a long time since I sewed. My excuse has been that my sewing area isn’t completely set up. It’s lacking a swing magnifier lamp, a tabletop ironing board … I looked for those things occasionally, but didn’t find the perfect one.

Then I read a piece in my Craft Wisely class about adhocism — the philosophy of “making do” instead of waiting for the perfect solution. And the urge to sew in my imperfect sewing corner, which was still a heck of a lot more perfect than the dining room table I was using before, came over me. So without a light, with the big ironing board I lugged in from the laundry room, I sat down to sew.

And not just to sew. To try something new. I made gathers. They aren’t perfect, but I get the concept now — baste across, pull the top thread carefully, distribute the gathers over the fabric, try to keep the piece square (I did poorly on that last part).

I put in a zipper. Oh, this frightened me, friends. Putting in a zipper meant (1) figuring out which foot in my ancient box of ancient Singer featherweight feet was the zipper foot; (2) deciphering how to get the presser foot off and put the zipper foot on; (3) learning to use a zipper foot. It’s hard to say which of those I feared most, but most of my nightmares involved the last. You know what? It’s really easy. You just let the foot do the work of following the zipper teeth. Trust the foot.

I even shortened the zipper (as all the patterns say, following package directions). I put fabric tabs on both ends (again, poorly — keeping the tabs inside the side seams was my biggest challenge, and it’s because I made the zipper a little too long and the external pieces a little too short due to uneven gathering). The part I was most scared of was the part that unfolded most organically, with the most elation.

I made credit card holders and a divider pocket. I sewed the card holders on the wrong side of the lining fabric. In my defense, in the tutorial the lining fabric looks the same on both sides, and visualizing where wrong-side and right-side are going to end up is still all mumbo-jumbo to me, so I thought putting it on the wrong side might be right. If that makes any sense.

Card pockets on wrong …

Divider pocket on right.

Here’s the back side. For all its flaws, this little clutch purse represents a significant uptick in my skills. My stitching is straighter, my seam allowances more even. I reminded myself how to do the basic things (I hadn’t even threaded my machine since May), and forged forward to some advanced-basic skills.

The next one is going to be even better.

Pattern: The Perfect Slouch by Tiffany
Yarn: Berroco Cotton Twist Solids (70% cotton, 30% rayon)
Needles: U.S. 7 Zephyr acrylic 32″ circulars (magic loop style)

Cady Gray calls this look “mysterious eyes.” She thinks it’s hilarious when I tell her to turn her head but cut her eyes toward me. Look at her laughing.

She’s wearing the second Perfect Slouch hat I’ve knit. The first one was made last year for a Conway Cradle Care client — a teenage mother that can stay in school thanks to the day care CCC provides for her child. This one is for a girl named Heather. She has just entered her teenage years, and her favorite colors are red and blue — a girl after my own heart. Like all the CASA clients we’re crafting for, she is in the custody of the court, taken away from her parents because of abuse or neglect. As an older child, her chances of being adopted are slim. Her best outcome is to be reunited with her parents — if they are indeed making efforts in that direction.

When I think of the CASA clients we’re knitting for, I think of my daughter. She lucked out in the parenting sweepstakes, as did most of us who’ve grown up with only the normal lumps and bumps of childhood. Doesn’t this hat suit her? Wouldn’t it suit — and be even more meaningful for — someone like Heather?

I love my girl so much. I hope the girl who gets this hat will be loved like that someday.