I’m sick today – some minor sort of dread lurgy the main symptoms of which seems to be low self-esteem and the overwhelming urge to lay around glumly watching the Olympics. It’s a raging snow-ice storm outside and I am so sick of winter that I can scarcely look out the window, so I thought I’d break up the misery of the day by telling you a little story.

A little over a week ago I got a phone call that someone had an emergency (minor) and needed my help. I immediately booked a flight to the (even more) frozen (even further) North and set about packing my knitting. I’d be gone a week, I was going somewhere really cold, and to my way of thinking this somehow equalled a metric tonne of knitting that I’d be doing. I put my Self-Imposed-Sock-Club socks in there, then I put the shawl I’m working on in there, then I went and got all the extra yarn for the shawl and added that. Then I frowned and fetched a little baby set that I’m working on and have barely started and laid that on top. This I thought, this was a decent amount of knitting. Loads really. Then I opened instagram saw the Canada Mittens and thought – I should make those. I should make those right now. Actually (as the Olympics flickered on the screen near me) I realized that all the knitting in my suitcase was trash and I should make several pairs of those right now. Lucky for me the yarn shop that made the pattern and had the yarn (Briggs & Little sport, the OG Canadian brand for yarn) is nearby-ish and they have been super quick to ship in the past, and so I ordered a ball of each of the red and white, then paused… hovered my hand over the cart to checkout online and… ordered more. 2 red and 2 white. That’s lots. I’m good. I added a little note that said something like “Quickest possible delivery please” noted that I was leaving on Sunday (this was Friday and let me assure you this seemed really reasonable to me) and clicked send.

Almost immediately someone awesome emailed and said no. It was too late, there’s no delivery pickup on weekends so the soonest they could mail it was Monday. Did I want to come get it, they asked? I did. I did very much want to come and get it, but Galt House of Yarn is in Cambridge and I was in Toronto and Joe had the car and so it was a no. I thought about it for a minute (I cannot stress to you how much I wanted this yarn right away) and then asked the next best thing. Could they ship it to my destination- send it North? They could – swiftly the shipping address was changed, I was assured it would arrive there at the end of the week, and I set about maturely coping with the disappointment of waiting a week for yarn I wanted right now.

Apparently I was both terrible at this and transparent about it, because the next day (Saturday) Joe offered to drive to the shop and pick it up for me. “Really?” I asked “No…” he said “I’m just trying to torture you.” That was a joke it turned out, and Joe left for the yarn shop in the afternoon. For my part, I took Elliot skating and sent a quick email to the yarn shop telling them that my glorious spouse was on his way to get the order. A little bit later – when Joe was pretty much in the parking lot of the shop, they emailed back to say that my glorious spouse was no match for their intrepid shipping staff and that they had already shipped it – a staff member choosing to do me a solid by taking it to Canada Post themselves so it would have a head start getting up North.

I sat there, and then I laughed out loud. I’d been defeated by fabulousness and fantastic people who were so dedicated to getting me my yarn that I couldn’t have it, and in that moment I snapped, and told Joe to get more. “Just get it” I texted. “Just tell them to give you a skein of red and a skein of white just like the two red and two white they shipped. Just say that.”

Now Joe’s been a knitting adjacent spouse for a long time, so he didn’t say anything. He didn’t say “Hold on, you’ve already got this yarn coming could you perhaps … wait a few days?” He didn’t say “How many pairs of these mittens are you fixing to make Steph?” He didn’t say “My bride, my sweet – are you sure?” He said nothing. He especially didn’t say anything when after reflecting for a few seconds, I texted again and said “Double that. Just tell them to sell you what they shipped.” Moments later Joe walked into that yarn shop and said that, and you know what? The yarn shop didn’t say anything about it either.

He brought home the yarn, I cast on my mittens, putting two balls into my carry on, and put the other two balls (I wound them) into my suitcase – even though there would be four balls arriving in a few days. Nobody said a single word about that either. I got on the plane, I stayed there for a week before coming home with this much of ONE mitten knit and pretty much all eight skeins intact.

Further to that, I do not feel like this was a learning opportunity and I am happy with all my choices.

Peace out. Go Canada Go.

PS – probably worth mentioning that there are one or two spots left at the Spring Retreat at Port Ludlow in a few weeks, if you’d like to talk about yarn in person, and if you happen to be more of the day-tripper type, there’s room in Debbi’s ace class where you make a custom dummy out of ducktape and an old teeshirt. email to info@strungalong.ca if you’re the type.

I am in limbo – I just finished my SISC socks, they’re off the needles and gone for a bath, and I don’t pull the next bag until the 1st of the month so I’ve got the littlest of sock breaks. I’m working on that Craghill Shawl but it doesn’t have a deadline and I’m under-motivated. The rows are getting long and I think I’m into a cheaper thrill right now.

I am really, really motivated to make a baby set but the yarn hasn’t arrived (I think it might today) and once that happens I am all in on that, since the baby might have gotten slightly ahead of me there. I need to start a sweater for Elliot (he has a special request) but the yarn for that is en route as well. I was about to wander aimlessly upstairs and turn my attention to one of the multitude of projects I’ve put down over the last months, when I thought to have a look at “The Big Plan.”

The Big Plan™ is far less fancy (or big, or trademarked) than it sounds, but like the Self-Imposed Sock Club (SISC) and The Long Range Planning Box for completed items, it’s one of my better ideas. You know how you’ll be minding your own business and you’ll see a project or have an idea or remember there’s an occasion coming up and you think “oh, I’ve got to get on that this year”. When that happens to me, I open my phone or computer and go to a note called “The Big Plan” and jot down whatever it happens to be. On there right now is a sewing project I don’t want to forget to get ahead on for next Christmas, and a note that a friend who makes soap could use some hand knit facecloths for her birthday, some ornaments I want to give as a Hallowe’en gift that it would be smart to make in the summer, that I need to gather pinecones for something else -whenever I see them through the year, and that (and this is that part that is relevant to this post) this is a year I have to knit and make another Advent Calendar, and that it would be super smart to knit a few of the ornaments each month so that it can’t get on top of me. (There’s also a note to buy the felt to make it when I see it on sale but that’s not as important to you.)

So- in this perfect moment of in-betwixt idleness, I’m going to fill my needles with a few of those little things and tuck them away (in The Long Range Planning Box, obviously) so that November Stephanie has only nice things to say about me.

If you’d like to play along, today I’m making a teeny hat and a maybe a tiny sock. I bet the baby sweater yarn is here when I’m done.

The kettle has just boiled and I’ve made myself a cup of tea. It is frigid outside. Absolutely bonkers cold and it’s only going to get colder and more snow is coming. (There is already rather a lot.) Each morning as I leave to “walk to work” I’ve been grabbing my skates from their hook by the front door and they hang over my shoulder cheerfully swaying as I walk a few minutes to an outdoor rink in a local park and have a few turns on the ice before heading back home. If this sounds ridiculously romantic, well it is – especially if you can ignore that I am an absolute crap skater, though practice can only help.

(Last week Elliot and I went for a skate and he’s just learning so spends as much time falling down as he does gliding around. After a little while he said “Wow Grammy you are such a good skater!” and then promptly fell down again. I can honestly say that nobody has ever, ever said that about my skating before and I highly recommend taking a young learner with you if you struggle with your self-esteem. I do not recommend taking them more than a few times though because by next week he’s going to be better than me for sure.)

Today was cold enough that I didn’t take my skates, I couldn’t imagine the minutes without mittens putting on and tying them up and I just went for my walk. I always listen to audiobooks as I walk (or clean, it’s the only way I can bribe myself into doing it) but today I didn’t because I wanted to think without interruption. I walked along, bundled in knits top to bottom (and saw several people wearing leg warmers and thought about knitting some but I think I will wait and see if that urge is still there when it’s not -25 since I have never wanted them before) and thought long and hard about what I wanted to write today.

Today is my Twenty-second Blogiversary and that means that 22 years ago I sat down and wrote and posted my very first blog entry and the minute I did that I stepped through the door it cracked open and nothing has been the same since. I tell you some version of that every year on this day and I always look for a different way to say it, and that’s what I was thinking about as I walked. It was still what I was thinking about when I came home and knitted a little bit, and made some soup for lunch.

(These are my Self-Imposed Sock Club socks for January- I tried to take them outside so the light would really show off the colours but there was nowhere that wasn’t too %^&^%ing snowy so I put them on the spare bed. Enjoy. Yarn is Indigodragonfly in Spoken Four, last years Bike Rally fundraising yarn, and the pattern is Defying Gravity and it is very fun.)

In the end I decided to tell you about something that happened not too long ago. I was at an event with lots of other knitters and we were knitting and chatting the way we do, and the way only knitters can. (Everyone else takes it so personally when you’re reading a chart, I’m listening to you for crying out loud.) The topic of The Blog came up and someone said they really love The Blog and someone else said “Well, sure but the blog is dead.” Now – before you get your back up on my behalf (I love that about you) there is no need. A big part of me can agree with them. For sure this space isn’t what it was. Like all things there is change and I get it. Gone are the days that I posted five times a week. I hear them, I respect that and I didn’t say anything or feel hurt. I did start thinking though, because while that little piece of me could see their point, a larger part of me wanted to push back hard because in my heart, that feels like a ridiculous statement.

It stayed with me, and I’ve reflected on it often. (Don’t worry it wasn’t that long ago, I’m not consumed.) I can’t tell you how desperately I feel like The Blog is not dead – is it just wishful thinking – something I’m holding onto because I’m not great at letting things go? This is one of my best and worst traits, so I always consider it. I’m GREAT at holding on by my very fingernails and this has both caused me loss and saved things that were important. Was this just my point of view? It wasn’t until I started to write about this that I realized the answer.

As I wrote that this person had said the blog was dead, I noticed a detail. Do you? When I wrote it as I heard them, I typed “the blog”. When I wrote about my feelings that it was still here, I hit that shift key. The Blog. I have written before about what the family and I call you – you are The Blog. We’ll ask ourselves what The Blog would think, or wonder if The Blog would like something. Around these parts The Blog isn’t software, memory, words and pictures. The Blog is me writing to you. Your comments coming back to me – connections made here and in real life. It’s me working on something you made me interested in, it’s you trying a technique I wrote about in 2017. It’s me having a snapshot of you in my mind because I’ve built it out of a collage made of your hundreds of comments over the years. It’s you knowing that Amanda can play the violin – or how this family fared during the pandemic. It’s me understanding what you love because I love it too – it’s you knowing Charlotte’s name. It is you introducing yourself to me in another town and me not really knowing who you are until you tell me your email address or username – and then in that moment having you bloom into the person I know from this town, that you’re a neighbour in The Blog. I’ve seen your socks.

I guess I think too that The Blog isn’t dead because at least once a week I get an email from someone who is reading the whole thing- from beginning to end and they want me to know that they really had their scene scrambled when their mum died too – or that it was helpful to read things I wrote about being a young mother – and that the things I wrote about the value of parenting made them feel better about how absolutely trashed the house their happy kids are playing in. Or they write and tell me something they thought about when they were reading about one of my multitude of insecurities because they thought I might feel less insecure when I read it. (They are usually right.)

A little while ago someone who reads this blog and leaves comments sent me an email and thanked me for a recipe I put here years ago. It was great that she wrote because it just so happened that I was finishing a book she had recommended in a comment.

Another yarn break – I’m knitting Craghill. I think it’s pretty gorgeous.

Essentially – I have never thought of The Blog as something that just I do. We are woven together in this place, knit into one fabric, use whatever textile metaphor you’d like to this is twenty-two years of books and recipes and patterns and bad socks and good sweaters and baby blankets and together we are The Blog, and you just don’t feel dead to me at all. As a matter of fact, I think we’ll be just fine.

Much love, and thank you for everything. Meet you here soon.

Stephanie

PS: This year I’ll ride my 15th Bike Rally. To be honest it was a harder decision this year but in the end the world could use all the good acts it can get. It has become tradition to kick off my fundraising on my blogiversary, so here we are. It’s also become tradition for your donations to be the number of years we’re celebrating here, or some multiple – 22, 44, 66… that way the fundraising staff processing them is super bewildered, especially when the explaination is simply “That’s the knitters.” The link to my page is here if you’re so inclined, and it’s also a great day to recognize Ken, the patron saint of The Blog, since he’s the one who gave it to me in the first place. His Bike Rally link is here.

I think by now we’ve all seen a version of that meme, the one where a person says “oh, wow- what a long week it’s been” and someone else says “Sharon, it’s Monday.” That right there, that exact thing is how I feel about the winter right now. Winter has never been my favourite, which is a terribly sad thing for a Canadian but I’ve worked really hard over the years on coming up with some ways to feel better, to like it better – I don’t think I’m ever going to be the sort of person who looks out a window as the first autumn leaves flutter from the trees and joyfully exclaims OH WOW it’s almost winter, but I did think I was getting a grip. I have Winter Systems™, I’ve found a winter sport I like – I have become an okayish skiier to be sure and that does make it feel like there’s a reason for winter. I’ve learned that I need to get outside in the winter, to let whatever meagre light there is shine on me, a few years ago I started walking to and from work in the winter, even though I work at home. I get up, have my coffee and then dress and go around the block back to the house and start work. I go the other way when I’m done at my desk and at least that gives me a sense of rhythm and a little bit of outside time. I lean into candles and twinkle lights and try to embrace the idea of a season of rest and renewal, preparing for the hustle of summer. I walk in the snow. I go to the gym and run on treadmills and ride inside bikes and I lift heavy things. I knit heaps. I read a lot, and up until the last few years I write a lot too.

Enter this winter which is slowly kicking my systems into a frozen demoralized heap. Hold on, I’m snow washing some woollies and it’s time to bring it in before it’s dark. (See? It’s not like I don’t try to make the most of it.) Do you know about snow washing? Essentially you just put your woollies in the snow and you can put snow on them or, if you time it right you can just let nature do that part. Leave it there for a little bit, then go back out, rub a little snow around on them, give them a proper shake and bring them inside. They’ll be fresh, clean(er), smell good and you’ll have given at least one day of the (*&^%^Ying winter a reason for existing.

it hasn’t helped that this winter is particularly dark (both metaphorically and meteorologically) So few sunny days, some weird rainy days that are worse than snow, the news is terrible every time I look at it, that miserable rain was mixed in with frigid days that are too cold to do anything really, or days like today that are snowy and paralyzing. It seems to me that this winter I get up and it’s dark, the hours pass gloomily while I turn on lights and make tea and then before you know it the night is coming and though it’s only 4:30 or so it feels like the day is shot. Hibernating has never made more sense but it’s not doing much for my mood.

A few days ago I woke up and it was too dark to do anything (again, here I write both meteorologically and metaphorically) and I finally decided to do something about it. I immediately went for a walk (two, I walked to and from “work”) and have everyday since. I grabbed some delicious knitting I’ve been meaning to get to and keep putting off – The Craghill Shawl, using some (sadly discontinued) Weld from Hudson and West. It is squishy and gorgeous and giving me a lot of happiness right now, the yarn equivalent of eating a bowl of oatmeal and that gold colour is like a ray of sunshine.

We made a ski date (sort of) and though we don’t have a ton of cash, I have not ruled out taking all my aeroplan points and getting the *&^% out of here. (Realistically there’s too much going on here to do that but it is a really great fantasy that is working for me.) I doubled down on planning meals we like, I went for a walk again. I texted a friend. I made my favourite tea – the one I’ve been hoarding for … when? Can’t imagine what I was saving it for if it’s not now. I tuned my wheels on St. Distaff’s day (the 7th January) and got something yummy on that too.

I cleaned a drawer. I trashed the book I was reading that I didn’t like. I made sure my daily vitamin has enough D in it. I decided to order some yarn and I ate an orange.

I wrote to you.

In short- I decided that I’m not going to wait for this winter to get brighter, I’m turning the lights on myself. Did I miss anything that might help?

Well, spoiler alert… Ranunculus fits just fine. This was not at all a guarantee, despite the rather ridiculous number of times that I checked before binding off and going back to do the neck. I felt compelled to pop back and tell you all how it was fitting, not just because I mentioned that I was worried it was going to be too short, but because the very last picture I posted of it on instagram looked like this.

Let’s back up to how I got there – which I admit was a very dramatic moment – one where I went to pull a finished sweater over my head and lo, it did not go. On the upside, I did stop worrying about the length for a while. Here’s what happened. I told you all in the last post that since I changed the gauge on this sweater (I went down a needle size or so to make a fabric I like better. What the heck, it’s my sweater.) That meant though, that I wasn’t at all sure how many I wanted to cast on for a top down sweater, so I skipped it. I cast on provisionally after the neck, and just started working the sweater. When I was done, I came back, picked up all the stitches, and worked the neckband.

Here’s the thing though. Did I do any figuring? Did I follow up on my original thought and have a little chat with my inner knitter about how I was worried it would be too small because I went down a needle size, and perhaps reflect upon how none of that had changed? Yeah verily, did I look upon the knitting and think “Well Stephanie, this is exactly the moment one knits a swatch for” and having though that, picked up the swatch that I did indeed knit, and count how many stitches it would take to go around my noggin? Did I?

No, gentle knitter, I did not. Even though the swatch sat nearby, even though (sort of unbelievably) I had a tape measure nearby… nope. I just took a look at that neckline and decided to just smash the question with the weight of my experience and thought “Looks right.” and just went for it. It was not right. (See above.)

Anyway, obviously I ripped back the cast on, and all the ribbing, and then I did the math and NOW this sweater both goes over my head and …

It is the right length. I knew it.

Sweater: Ranunculus, Yarn; (Cottage Fingering, 50% Merino, 20% Linen, 15% Silk, 15% Cotton) Modifications, changed the gauge, provisional neckline, fewer stitches for the neckband itself – oh, and I only did the short rows in the back, and I made them wider. It fits me better that way.

For now, I’m off to bed. Jen and I are going on a training ride in the morning, and I have to get up at 5:30am to make it happen, and that is not a thing that is really in my wheelhouse without getting to bed early. If I survive, I’ll pop back and tell you a story about some socks.

(PS. If you wanted to sponsor me or Jen tomorrow to encourage two rather old soft women to ride like the wind, you can do it by clicking on our names. We start to ride at 7, and can use whatever encouragement you can offer. )

Stephanie

Jen

I was in a yarn shop a while ago and I saw a sweater and I loved it. It was short sleeved and summery and knit out of this great yarn (Cottage Fingering, 50% Merino, 20% Linen, 15% Silk, 15% Cotton) and thanks to that plant/silk ingredients, it had fantastic drape and weight. It was oversized but a little elegant, and looked super wearable. For years and years I’ve been smitten with this sort of “post-apocolyptic my clothes are all rags but I still look fabulous like the matrix” vibe, but me being me I’m pretty sure that all I ever manage is the first part of that phrase, but it never stops me from buying stuff that I think might take me over the line. The point is that I was in this shop and this sample was so great, and so I looked at the tag and was absolutely stunned to see that it was a sweater that I’ve looked at a thousand times and had no interest in – Ranunculus. (That first picture alone – the waif in the giant version was enough to put me off.) This version though… before I even knew what happened to me I had the yarn in my bag.

Some months later (like a couple weeks ago) I decided that I would knit the thing. I’ve got a shelf in the stash room where I put things that are “next” and it’s been taunting me from there so I dove in and swatched, wondering if that would take the edge off. It didn’t. It did convince me to go down an needle size and redo a little math so it would be a slightly tighter gauge but still give me the ease I wanted, and that convinced me to cast on provisionally at the beginning of the yoke and come back to the neckband at the end. Off I went.

It’s a fun knit, I give you that – I can see why so many people have made it. Fun little stitch pattern on the yoke, big needles… the yarn is a bit slow, so it could have been faster, but I was at the divide in no time, and cruising cheerfully down the body and almost ready to start the ribbing when the trouble started.

The trouble took the form of the voice of my inner knitter and she said “It’s too short”. Is it? I thought? My inner knitter has a lot experience so I stopped and measured. It was not too short, so I knit a couple more rounds to reassure her, and then started to think about the ribbing again. “It’s still too short” she muttered. I measured it again, this time lying it on top of a sweater that I like the length of, comparing the total length of the sweater. It was not too short, so I did a few more rounds to humour her and got ready to do the ribbing. (Oddly, the sweater didn’t seem to get any longer when I added those five rounds, which should have been a clue that something else was going on.) Debbi and I were together for the retreat at Port Ludlow at the time, so I announced the milestone. Debbi creased her brow and said “Huh. Really? It looks too short.” Now Debbi has a ton of knitting experience as well, so that smartened me up again.

“Really? I said? I’ve measured it twice… It’s totally the right length -remember it’s getting ribbing so it will be longer than it looks now…” Debbi brought out the big guns and raised an eyebrow, and then suggested I try it on. I dutifully got some knitters cord and slipped it on, then popped it over my head. It WAS too short, but by the length of the ribbing so it’s perfect. I knew from my swatch it was going to relax but not really grow, and I told Debbi that. “It’s the right length” I said, admiring it in the mirror again.

“Great” Debbi said, but she didn’t mean great. She meant she thought the sweater was too short. I knit a few more rounds, then measured it again, then held it up to the other sweater again, then tried it on again. It was the perfect length. Debbi and my inner voice shrugged and I started the ribbing. The whole time I was knitting that ribbing, it wouldn’t stop dogging me. Every few rounds I repeated the ritual. Measure, compare, try on. It took forever to knit it because I kept stopping to do all this – and the whole time it wasn’t just Debbi and my inner knitter who thought it was too short – at my birthday party I cast off and was about to start the sleeves and I held it up to show off to Amanda. She made a face and said “I’m surprised you wanted a cropped sweater…” I looked down, trying to reconcile what she’d said with what I was seeing. It isn’t a cropped sweater – it ends at my hip bone. I measured again. I compared again, I tried it on again. It is the right length. I don’t know why it doesn’t look like it is, but it is. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t have have a neck band yet – or that it is very wide. It has tons of ease and maybe the proportions are making all of us think that it should be longer if it is wider?

I’m about done the sleeves now (I think they are too short as well) and have thought constantly about unpicking my bind-off (I’d rather not it’s slubby yarn and a super pain) and adding more length, but I’m committed to staying the course. I’ve been down this road before and I have a too-long sweater upstairs to prove it. I have swatched. I have measured. I have compared, I have tried on. It is the right length. It is not too short. I don’t know what game this sweater is running, but I’m not falling for it.

Right?

If you have been around here for any amount of time at all, never mind the full two decades that I have been at this blogging thing to some degree, then by now you should know that I don’t work on my birthday. I used to explain it at job interviews and other than the years that my kids were little and there’s no choice (and one year at the June Retreat in Port Ludlow- but that’s hardly the same kind of work) I don’t do it. That means that technically today should be spent in traditional fashion, which is doing as I darn well please, but I am breaking away from my regularly scheduled festivities to tell you about this year’s Team Knit for the Bike Rally, because there is nothing I would like more for my birthday than a donation to this terrific cause.

Now, I know there’s a small chance that a few of you don’t know me very well (hi instagram) and so let me take a minute to explain what the Bike Rally is, and what’s going on anyway – we’re going back to basics. The Bike Rally is a 660km (bike ride, not motorcycle) from Toronto to Montreal, in support of three great ASOs. (AIDS Service Organizations, that’s people that help people with HIV/AIDS. The one here in Toronto is called PWA, and that’s short for People With AIDS.) Every year a couple hundred people get on their bikes and ride that great long way (they’re the riders, like me) and other people move their stuff and mark the route and cook the food and keep them safe (that’s the crew, like Cam this year) and other people donate money to cheer them on, and to show gratitude that they themselves don’t have to ride bikes that far to make a change in the world. (That’s you.)

We’ve been doing this for years and years and years. Ken started it, and the rest of us have been doing it fewer years, but still a really long time. (Every person in my family has done the ride, except Joe, who I think we can all agree is sort of crew.) ALL of Team Knit (with the exception of Fenner this year but she’s practically a baby) hold this cause in such high esteem that we have held some sort of leadership role or in the case of me and Cam and I may have really maxed this out) MANY leadership roles to keep it rolling. That means that not only are we committed to riding when we can – which is a ridiculous amount of time when you think of the training and fundraising and then the week to actually ride… but decided that this needed more of our time when we’re not riding. That’s an endorsement, right?

These ASOs provide practical, meaningful help to people who have HIV or AIDS and were a response to the under-response of the AIDS crisis that began in the 80s, and over the years what they do and who they do it for has shifted. What was originally a tragedy centred on the gay community and the death sentence that was AIDS has become something really different these days, and in fact globally (and here) women make up the majority of people with HIV/AIDS, and the rate of new diagnosis is higher in women, immigrant women, and first nations women, and women of colour. Across the board HIV infection is associated with underprivilege, discrimination, fear, poverty, lack of power, lack of sexual power or decision making ability, and access to prevention/treatment meds.

Nowadays science (with certainty) that U=U, and that means that if treatment for HIV/AIDS has the amount of virus in your blood Undetectable then it is Untransmissible and you can’t give it to anybody. Not everyone knows this though, and grownups and children can face tremendous stigma and shame, not to mention that the medicine that gets you there is expensive and in many parts of the world, difficult to access, or stigmatizing to access. (If you’re not sure about that, just imagine living in Canada or the US, and having to have your whole neighbourhood and community (including the other parents at your local school or the local dating pool) see you turn up at the HIV/AIDS clinic to access meds for you or your child, and know that’s how it is a lot of places if you seek help.)

Anyway, Team Knit thinks that’s trash. Furthermore, I don’t know about you but the world is such a complicated and heartbreaking place lately, that I am relieved to come up against a problem that we’re already equipped to relieve if only we had the money.

This year Team Knit is a group of knitters that are once again going to get on their bikes and try to make things better, and we are:

Me

Ken

Jen

Fenner (that’s Jen’s kid)

Cameron (Cam’s crewing instead of riding this year, he’s still committed to the cause, still giving up a week of his life to be with us, and though he’s not able to ride this year, you can still donate to him.)

We’re regular knitters, not pro-cyclists or anything, and each of us has so far been on ONE training ride (and they were short) so may the force be with us. (This is the first year that the Rally hasn’t just struck fear in the hearts of one or two of us, but ALL of us. Except Fenner, who has the strength and enthusiasm of youth, which is a whole other kind of amazing thing. You know many teens who would do this?) We ride August 3rd and we would love your support. For years I’ve been writing about the magic of cumulative action, the concept that while one small donation might not mean much, many small donations can make a whole sweater, I mean… an entire cultural shift, but you see how knitters are particularly good at understanding this. Absolutely anything helps, and for years and years we’ve stunned people with what Team Knit (that’s us together with you) can accomplish, especially when we remember that there are many, many ways to help.

It seems like such a good time to come back to basics doesn’t it? People helping people, making change where we can, relieving suffering where we are able. (Sounds like a birthday party to me.)

Let’s go.

(PS I am 57, for those of you who like to donate my age out of sheer moxy.)

Sometimes when I talk to people about these blankets they ask me if I ever get tired of thinking them up, if it’s tricky to come up with a different blanket for each baby in this family and Finn, let me tell you this – it is never. You are so unique and special to me that your blanket ideas came as quickly as they ever do- even if your blanket didn’t. (Sorry about that, your birthday bunched up with another baby blanket that needed knitting, then you were early, and your blanket was late and then Canada Post/PostNord Denmark both have some answering to do.) When I thought about you and your parents and family, it was so easy to dream up a blanket as special as you all are.

You, sweet wee Finn, are the baby in this family I am the farthest from, have ever been the farthest from. I am here in Canada and you are in Denmark, and the stitch pattern I chose for the centre of your blanket is my attempt to reconcile that. Some people see a flower, others a bee, and I bet a few years from now you’ll have your own ideas – but I see (and knit) Polaris, the great North Star, a symbol of what the places we live in have in common. I was just going to type “did you know Finn…” and then I remembered you are new here and certainly do not know, so I’ll just tell you.

The North Star sits over the celestial North Pole (and Santa’s house, we’ll get to that later this year) and because of this, the way it sits at the top of the world, it appears mostly stationary in the sky – all other stars appear to rotate around it and it makes it easy to navigate by if you live in the Northern Hemisphere. Find that star, and straight down from it is true north.

This made me think of you because that’s the way it goes in families, for a time now while you are little, you are the star around which we all rotate, and then for the rest of their lives, you will be the most important point your parents navigate by. From the day you were born everything changed for your mum and dad, and from that moment forward they need only look at you to know the way. Further to that my sweet guy, though you are far away you are a child of the North like the rest of us and somehow that makes you feel closer.

Around that is the ring stitch – and this little Finn, is the only stitch that has appeared on every blanket that I have ever knit. It is a circle of tiny perfect rings that goes around the whole blanket, meant to be a symbol of your family and their love around you. If you need help any day of your whole life, look no farther than your amazing grandparents, great aunties and great uncles, your aunties and uncles and your cousins and everyone else in this family by birth, or because they belong and we chose them. They are a team that is always here for you. (Btw I’m great at unusual solutions to problems, and your great uncle Joe is absolutely who you want to call if you’re in jail. Don’t worry about the Denmark thing, he’ll figure it out.)

Around those little rings is a border you share with your cousin Maeve – the last baby in this family who felt far, far away to me. (By the time Sasha came along, I was a bit more used to them being all the way across Canada.) It’s suns and moons, a little nod to the idea that no matter how great the distance is between you and the rest of us, it’s still the same moon we look up at, still the same sun we play under. That you share a border with Maeve also turns out to be a bit of kismet, since it looks as though she may love you more than almost anybody, something I hope is a hint of a fabulous bond down the line.

Past that (your blanket is as big as any of them ever have been, despite my attempts to restrain myself) a border that means something to me, though I have as much trouble articulating it now as I did when I sketched it. There are large motifs with nupp centres and larger circles, giving way with each generation to something less complex, until the last round has just an encircling of little nupps. My idea here was to stretch and try to represent the unique moment your larger families are in… so many generations. Your maternal Great-grandmother counted her progeny for me one day before I knit this, noting that you would be the 28th person in her family because she and Old Joe got married and I tried to visualize all those people, and I know that your dads family brings so much more complexity to this – all these people who you come after because of dates and dreams and accidents and effort. You are the icing on an almost 60 year old cake, and you and your cousins are that newest cute little generation of nupps at the last. It’s a snapshot of who your family is right now and how remarkable that is.

After that (I told you it was big, we’re almost done.) A little chain of daisies – because like your dad Adam you are Danish, and that’s Denmark’s national flower. Also partly for the synergy between your mum and your aunt Savannah and all their Canadian summers trying to make daisy chains. One way or another the two of them will have you in a field with these flowers in your hair sooner or later, and when they do you and your dad can beam with nationalistic pride.

Finally darling Finn, the last border. Like so many of these blankets… it is a wave. First for the wave of love that welcomes you, for the waves of strength that encircle you, for the wave of luck that brought your parents together, but mostly for the wave of strength in your mum, my niece Kamilah, and the wave of water she brought you forth on, sweet and strong and rather obviously no longer the little girl that skips in my heart when I think of her. Your border is knit in garter stitch, and not to geek out in the knitting department too much, but the symbolism in that is safety, strength, comfort, resilience, endurance and shelter. You’ll find a lot of garter stitch in your blanket if you look for it Finn – and it’s there for a reason. I hope the magic of knitting acres of it brings all those charms to your life and more.

Although we haven’t met, my little darling… I hope that every time you are wrapped in your blanket or it is laid over you on a cool day, every time it is spread beneath you so you can watch the leaves flutter or see the birds swoop by – I hope you can feel so much love in all the stitches.

Welcome wee Finn. You are a most wanted, hoped for and dreamed of child. You are perfect.

Love always,

Great-Auntie Stephie

(PS. Please thank your talented grandmother Kelly for taking the beautiful pictures of you enjoying your blanket. You lucked out in the grammy department.)

We haven’t met yet – but as we speak you are far away across the country, wrapped in a symbol of my tremendous affection for your wee self – your baby blanket. I know you’re very, very young and quite new around here and you don’t know much about knitting, but but let me tell you a thing or two about having a baby blanket. They take a long time to make. Many, many hours, days and weeks go into making a knitted thing for someone, and that means that whomsoever made the knitted thing for you thought of you for all of those hours and days and weeks, and thought that you were deserving of having that much of their life and time dedicated to you. You’re that important, wee Jack.

In your case, I also think particularly well of your Mum and Dad. Me and Joe (you’ll learn about him later, he’s very fun and loyal and rather hairy, sort of like a very big, very clever dog- You’ll learn about dogs later too) met your parents when they’d only recently come to Canada, and they were so young and nice and their own parents were far away, so we took an interest. We know we weren’t going to be a huge help because Joe and Lucy (you might have heard those names, that’s what we call your mummy and daddy) were still quite far from us too. We were at least in the same country though, and we thought that might be something. Turns out that really you’ve lucked out in the parent department, and they’ve got on perfectly. We drove across the country for their wedding and gosh, what a day. I know you probably have other things on your mind, but know that if you grow up to be as kind, funny, loving and constant as your father, you’ll do just fine – and if you turn out like your loving, thoughtful, sincere and charming mother that wouldn’t be a crime either. They are just the best sort of people -Anyway, on to the blanket, eh tot?

I have made many baby blankets Jack, and each and every one of them is unique. I think long and hard about how you got to be here, the things I think will represent your special story and things that will (when you are bigger, I understand that symbolism is lost on most people who are only days old) help you build a sense of the family you were born into, and the person you will become.

I start with the centre Jack, and yours is a field of leaves – meant to invoke the out-of-doors your parents love to be in, no matter where they roam in the world. Everywhere they are- in Norfolk or Banff, Queensland or Ontario, all places of the world I know they will share with you as you get bigger, a canopy of trees is overhead, gardens grow nearby and the smell of green and growing things drifts over your family. I know it’s coming to the end of a long Canadian winter and that’s all you’ve known, my wee beast – but the sweet and brief summer is coming, and you’ll love leaves when you meet them. These leaves also are a nod to your growing family tree – the branch that your parents have started, and the new leaf that is you.

Around that field of leaves is a tiny border of bitty hearts – for the month of February you were born in, and because even before you were born Jack, you had become the centre of your parents hearts – their dearest little love.

Sweet bairn, around that is a border of an old English pattern called Rose Trellis. See the roses climbing on the diamonds? This pattern is meant to invoke an English garden, and to remind you of your grandmothers. I am a grandmother, and I am here to tell you that their love is something you can count on now and every day that they live. There is an Italian proverb that says “If nothing is going well, call your grandmother” and Jack, this is great advice. I’ve met both your Grandmothers and I can tell you this: Not a day will go by that they will not wish to have you with them, and not a day that either of them would be willing to cross the sea if you asked them to. Distance is nothing to a grandmothers heart, and having a little grandson myself, I don’t think it’s much to a grandkid either. Your grandparents are going to be your strongest supporters and your biggest fans and you can count on them. I know that they feel so lucky that you have been born.

Beyond the very English garden looms the very Canadian Rocky Mountains. You are a first generation Canadian Jack, the child of immigrants and now a native citizen of the most beautiful country in the world (at least most Canadians think so) and you’ll grow up with those very mountains looking on you every day. We met your mum and dad because of those mountains, They live here because of them, and they were wed on the side of a mountain with the glorious range all around. Your parents are at home here – amongst the bears and the glaciers, the snow and the wildflowers, the striking blue lakes, the shimmering rivers and the spectacular peaks and trees. I am quite sure there will be some considerable debate about if you will be a skier or a snowboarder Jack, but Joe and I have already decided to stay out if it. Your orientation won’t matter to us at all and we can love you no matter who you are or what you love. I can’t wait to see you grow the same sense of belonging for the great wild places of this country – just as your folks and many aunties and uncles have. You live in a remarkable, beautiful place, and it is the sort of place that shapes people.

The border of your blanket- the part that goes all around the outside, is made up of waves. Great cresting waves, to symbolize how much of who you are and were you come from is reflected by your relationship with water. It goes without saying that your parents have a wonderful connection to the water around where you live – if your mum hasn’t already thought about when she can get you in a canoe I’d be surprised, and already you’ve met a great deal of water- albeit rather frozen. These waves are for the water near where you live, that your parents love to be in and on, they are for the water they crossed to come to Canada and the waves are to remind you that this is all that separates you from your English family – who live across the pond and many, many waves. For the English seaside you’ll visit, for the beaches and oceans you’ll see – and finally, for the water you came from yourself, born on a wave, already shepherded by your strong and lovely mum.

All of this together in one knitted thing is all that I hope for you wee Jack. The strength of mountains, the constancy of lapping waves. The sweet green leaves of the world all around you, and the enduring help of a family, as beautiful as roses and your own garden. This blanket is soft and it is big enough that you will fit under it your whole life, and I hope it’s a long-serving reminder of all the gifts and strengths you were born with.

You are a most welcome, hoped for and loved child, welcome, welcome, welcome.

Love,

Stephanie

I was just sitting here wondering how I catch you all up on everything from the last little bit because there has been so very, very much and I thought I’d start there. Holy cats, wing of moth, what a lot has happened – or maybe it’s not really that much and just feels like it because of one enormous thing that’s made everything else so much trickier.

As I mentioned in my last post, I have been feeling like trash. No- wait. Hot trash. I’ve been catching everything that goes by for ages and never feeling like I catch up health-wise which leads to me feeling really behind on everything else (because I am) which was stressing me out and making me feel worse, and then I had several really scary … episodes, is I guess what you’d call them, and the whole thing culminated in a really terrible trip to the ER on Family Day weekend, which then wound up being emergency major abdominal surgery two days later. 0/10, do not recommend, and it was such a traumatic experience that I don’t even want to write about it yet.

I do recommend having fantastic kids and a great husband who all busted a move taking care of me and replacing my efforts around the house once I got home. I felt so crummy for the first week afterwards that not much of anything happened, though when conscious I did make really decent progress on that baby blanket I was working on the last time we spoke.

I was supposed to fly out for a visit to a friend just a week after surgery, and then go on to the Spring Retreat at Port Ludlow, but my surgeon said I couldn’t fly for two weeks so I rearranged everything, cried into my pillow a little, and then put all my efforts into making sure that I was in the best possible shape to go and work at the retreat. (Also, I finished that baby blanket, I’ll show it to you when the recipients are in possession of it. It’s still making it’s way to them and I don’t want to spoil the surprises.)

Let me tell you – the day that I headed to the airport to wing my way west, I was not my usual chipper self. I managed to get it together by the time I got there, and Debbi’s a formidable powerhouse who made the whole thing possible but I am convinced that it was the power of my will and how much I love the retreats and the knitters that come to them that got me through that thing.

When I got home I went to bed and… well. I stayed there for about 24 hours – I think I slept almost 14 hours straight, and when I got up I was determined. I was saying all sorts of things like “enough is enough” and “time to get it together” and boy was I sick of not being well. I was tired of the restriction that I can’t lift anything, tired of being exhausted by the end of every day – absolutely fed up with wasting time on crap like naps and early bedtimes and stupid rests with lame cups of tea. I got up and I gave the week my all. Determined to muscle through we celebrated Charlotte’s birthday and gathered to observe the anniversary of her death, and I cooked and cleaned and organized and I suppose what happened was predictable.

It didn’t work. All I’ve been trying to do is go, go, go, and all I hear from my body is no, no, no, so for the next few days I’m going to give up, as gracefully as humanly possible. I’m going to knit. I’m going to work quietly at my desk. I’m going back to rests and naps and lame cups of tea. (I actually like tea, I don’t know why I’m so mad at it.) I’ve started another baby blanket, if you can believe it – one more epic and then I think there’s a lull in the baby train for a bit. I’m only at the centre for this one, if I can truly rest and knit today then I’ll be blocking it tonight, and pick up all around for the edging tomorrow.

This one’s got a pretty epic set of borders, so the middle is comparatively wee. Tonight while it’s blocking (do you hear that optimism it is so impressive) I’m going to work on my SISC socks.

Shocker – I’m behind on these. The rules (they are my rules so I can break as many as I want) of the Self-Imposed-Sock-Club say that I’m to knit 10 rounds per sock per day – but it turns out that there’s an invisible asterisk by that rule, and it reads “unless I am rushing a blanket”. So.. behind I am, and it feels right and valid – at least when it comes the socks.

Sigh.