You ever have one of those days, when your hair looks like a ragged doll’s, and things just don’t go well at work, and the subway is too hot so it’s sort of nauseating but too crowded to take off your coat, and the traffic is horrible, and you can’t find something you have to have to have to find in a store, but you can find a hairball by stepping in it after you’ve already taken your shoes off?  Yeah, me too. 

You know what fixes days like that?  This does.

That yarn!  That yarn has been spying on my closet.  Or Boogie and Purlewe have . . . hmmmmmm.  And there’s even a sheep inside the mug.

Purlewe is, as  usual, kind and  generous and wonderful.  And, quite possibly psychic.    

I have proof of knitting.  Normally I would fret over using a flash to photograph it, but not today.

Today I’m taking a picture so I can put on imperfect handknit socks–I finished the toe with some scrap yarn because I could not deal with being so-close-but-not-quite-done-and-out-of-flipping-yarn one second longer–and drink tea from a fantastic mug a friend gave me.  Ahhhhhhhhhh.

My friend Jayme went and finished making a whole person, and even kitted her out in a lovely hand-knitted ensemble. 

Welcome Laura, who just couldn’t wait any longer.   She came a bit early, but mother and baby are both healthy, and Laura is obviously adorable.  She was fawned over by many, many knitters tonight. 

I’m still trying to finish all of those things I’m trying to finish, which I can’t really say much about yet.  Though I can say that Carol, Mapgirl and I made a baby quilt for Laura, though I have no photographic evidence.  The quilt has been delivered, and while Laura was too busy being adored to comment on it, I think Jayme liked it.   

Right. Back to the grind.

The Beet Queen by Louise Erdrich

I’m reading Erdrich’s books all out of their published order, and this is the first I’ve read that takes place on the distant edges of the Ojibwe community, rather than swirling around within it.  The novel follows Mary and Karl Adare from their abandonment as children through their adult lives.  As is often the case in Erdrich’s novels, each of the major characters is broken in some sense.    That may be an understatement for Karl and Mary, and for Dot, Mary’s niece. 

The two strongest foils to Mary and Karl are Celestine, Mary’s best friend and sister to Russell Kashpaw, and Wallace Pfef, closeted lover to Karl and friend to Celestine and her cobbled-together family.    And they were the two characters who most intrigued me.  Celestine is open, forgiving, loving, but never quite appreciated by family or friends.  Wallace is similar–long-suffering suitor to the mercurial and cruel Karl, businessman, quiet friend, and stand-in father.   Both  are steamrollered  by the Adares time and time again, and both maintain a sense of dignity throughout.   Sita, the cousin whose place Mary usurps in the family and the family business, crumbles under the Adare onslaught while Wallace and Celestine find a way through it.

The book is ultimately about parenthood.  Karl and Mary suffer without it.  Karl fails at it.  Celestine struggles to make up for a missing father and to fight against an interfering aunt.  Wallace tried to replace his missing lover as best he can–as a godfather plus.  And Dot refuses guidance and love and her nest.

The book is sad, and lovely, and good.

I can’t tell you much about what I’ve been doing, but I can tell you that Jayme, our local wonder designer and knitting master is now a capital M Mother.  Jayme gave birth to her daughter this morning.  I’m waiting for additional specifics with a big old grin on my face.  Good going, Jayme. 

Apart from that, there’s nothing to see here.  Move along.  Don’t you have work to do, lazybones? 

I will admit to distributing a number of fun little bags to some friends.  Rachel has one, and Rho, as does Thorny.  And I actually sold one, which was exciting. 

Now leave me alone.  I’m busy, already.  Sheesh.

Edited to add: In case there’s any question, I posted this tutorial in the spirit of generosity.  It is copyrighted material, however, and thus no one is permitted to reproduce the pattern or the bags made from the pattern for profit without my express permission. Sorry if that seems brusque–just trying to protect my intellectual property.

So, you’ve made the first fabric box.  Now make the second one.

Some things to consider . . . is the pattern on the fabric you chose directional?  This one is.

Which is why I was careful to pay attention to the design as I sewed the sides on to the base.  It seems obvious, but you’re generally looking at the wrong side of fabric as you sew, so double-check, particularly if you’re using some sort of overcasting stitch like I do.  They’re hard to pick out.   With some patterns, I’d be careful to match the pattern more closely than I did here, but this pattern is  too fiddly.

Also, make sure your corners are closed tightly.

Remember how I said not to sew the seams connecting the sides to the base all the way to the edge, so that you’d be able to sew up the side seams without trouble?  Well, you don’t want to leave any holes, either.  Double check before you proceed.

You’ve now made the two boxes you need, so let’s move on to the straps.

Line up the two long pieces, right sides together; and the two short pieces, right sides together.  And stitch up the sides.

Notice how the machine thread is still attached to the first piece and I’m sewing the second?  That’s called chain piecing, and it saves thread and time.

Once the handle pieces are sewn, you need to turn them right side out.  I use this handy contraption:

It has a latch hook on the end.  You feed it into the strap, hook it in to the side seam, and pull back the way you came.

Once the straps are right side out, press them flat.

And then run a quick little seam along each of the ends of the straps.  This will serve to reinforce them in the finished bag.

And now we assemble the parts.

Turn one of the boxes inside out and nest it inside its mate.

Make sure the corner seams are lined up, and that the two boxes are fitting well together.  Now start pressing down the top hems.

Once the hems on the top of both boxes are even and pressed nicely, start pinning everything together.  You’ll want to place the straps on opposite sides of each other and fiddle with them until you like how they’re sitting, and then pin them in place while also lining up the pressed top edges of the two boxes.

To pin the suede lace in place, you’ll need to rely on friction rather than actually pinning through the suede.  The photo below is fuzzy, but you can see that the pin passes through the fabric close to either side of the lace.  Once you have everything pinned together, stand the bag up and make sure things look right.  If they don’t, adjust whatever needs it.

Now sew it together.  For this, I’m going to abandon my policy of using contrasting thread so you can see what I’m doing, and instead match thread as closely as I can to the sides of the bag.  In this instance, that’s a light blue for the top thread and a dark blue for the bobbin.

I’m using a straight stitch, sewing slowly, and pretty darn close to the edge of the bag.  Also, I go extra slowly over the suede laces, the side seams, and where the handles attach.  So, really, that’s most of the top seam.

And that’s it.  One bag down, nine million, nine hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine to go.

Edited to add: In case there’s any question, I posted this tutorial in the spirit of generosity.  It is copyrighted material, however, and thus no one is permitted to reproduce the pattern or the bags made from the pattern for profit without my express permission.  Sorry if that seems brusque–just trying to protect my intellectual property.

You ask, so I give.

A few people asked for a tutorial on making these sock bags I’ve been churning out, so here you go.  I’ve also set up an etsy shop to sell a few, so if you want one and really hate sewing, check it out.  Also, this is a very picture-heavy post, so I apologize to anyone with a slow connection.  I am breaking the tutorial up into two posts so I don’t sink you all completely.

I make each bag out of small amounts of two cotton quilting fabrics, some cotton twill or denim, and a foot of leather thong.  I use scraps, because I have tons of them.  If you need to buy fabrics, two fat quarters* will be plenty for the exposed parts of the bag.  For the denim or twill, you only need a very small amount–one or two 6″ square pieces, depending on the thickness of the twill.  So buy a small remnant, no
matter how ugly; pester a friend who sews for some scraps; or chop up those trashed, holey jeans your mother doesn’t want you to wear anymore.

Supplies:
two fat quarters of quilting cottons in coordinating colors and prints
matching thread (one spool to match each quilting fabric)
Enough cotton twill to make one or two six inch squares
12 inches of coordinating leather thong or ribbon

Tools:
a self-healing mat (optional)
a rotary cutter with a sharp blade (optional)
shears
a six inch square (optional)
a straight edged ruler
an iron
pins
sewing machine (optional) or sewing needles

Let’s go.

Wash, dry, and press your fabrics.  I run a quick zig-zag stitch over the edges of fabric before washing it so it doesn’t fray too much in the machine and make a mess while washing.  It saves fabric and washing machine repairs.

Now let’s start cutting.

See that fraying?  If the folks at the fabric store tore the fabric rather than cutting it, you’ll find that the edges are a bit tattered and pulled off grain.  For a bag like this, that won’t be a huge problem, but I trim them off with the rotary cutter out of habit because it makes for better patchwork.  Geometric things are easier to assemble and sew if the edges are clean.

Also, I look seriously at scraps.  Anything below a certain size gets composted, and anything above a certain size goes back into the stash.  This piece wants to be part of a log cabin.

Cut five six inch square pieces out of each of your quilting cottons–those make up the box that is the body of the bag.

And cut one or two six inch squares of twill, depending on how sturdy you want the base of the bag to be.  I want mine to be burly, so I’m using two.

Now cut the strips for the handles.  You need one that’s two and 1/2 inches wide and 10-12 inches long (your choice) in each fabric, and one that’s two and  1/2 inches wide and six to eight  inches long in each fabric–that’s a total of four  two and 1/2 inch wide strips, two long and two short.

Now we start assembling.

Line up a piece of twill to one of the squares of quilting cotton.  In this instance, you want the front of the quilting cotton facing out–this is unusual.

Now sew them together all the way around

with a straight stitch, leaving a narrow seam allowance.

You’ve just added a reinforcing lining to the bottom of the bag.  Now flip it over, line up a square of the same quilting cotton on top of the base, with the right sides of the print facing each other, and sew them together along one side.

A few things: first, I’m using a dark thread so you can see what I’m doing.  You should match your thread to your fabrics.  Second, see how I didn’t start the line of stitching right at the corner?  That’s important.  You want to start and stop your stitching a bit in from the edges to you can sew all four sides together neatly.  Third: I’m using a combined straight and zigzag because I am very paranoid about fraying.  You can do the same if you like, but you don’t necessarily have to unless you decide to use linen instead of cotton.  Linen must have all of the edges over locked or bound or it will fray away to nothing and break your little heart.  Ask me how I know.

Sew on the other three sides in the same way.

And now sew the four sides together at the corners, and turn it right side out.

There’s the first box of two.

Now do it again with the other quilting cotton.

Part two of the tutorial is here.

* A fat quarter is a chunk of fabric marketed to quilters.  To make a fat quarter, someone will cut a half yard of fabric and then split it vertically instead of horizontally–hence a fat quarter, as opposed to a skinny quarter, cut from selvage to selvage.  The size of a fat quarter varies from shop to shop, but most are either 18′ to 20″ high and 21″ wide.

Dale Loves Sophie To Death by Robb Forman Dew

I was 17 when I first tried to read this book, and none of it stuck to me.  I didn’t understand the protagonist’s need to spend time in her small home town when it obviously made her sick, or her need to reconcile with a father who was distant and trying; I hated the husband for his disloyalty; I blamed them both for all of their failings and failures, and I saw no reason for those two people to be married. 

Oh, what a difference over a decade makes.  With some experience, and age, I get it now.  I know why people go to home instead of away from it.  I know what it feels like to suddenly remember you’re not still a teenager, and that your adult choices are yours even if they’re not all perfect.  I have watched how a hyper-critical group of outsiders can tear women apart for each and every decision they make as parents and wives and daughters.  Some books really do make more sense to adults, and this is one of them. 

Dew has a very light hand with her prose, which I particularly appreciate.  I wish I had one, or that I could maintain that skill for more than a page at a time.  And she remembers to love her characters even when they’re wrong or lazy or average.  I hope I can be a tenth the writer she is one day. 

Good Faith by Jane Smiley

I’m generally a big fan of Smiley’s, but this novel was tough for me to get through.  I just don’t like the "me me me" eighties much as a setting, and I thought most of main characters in the book were either jerks or patsies.  The protagonist, if you can call him that, is nice enough except for the adultery and deceit and idiocy and refusal to grow a spine or brain.  Most of the other characters in the novel are either smarmy or downright bad in one way or another.  When the big bad end comes, it almost felt like a triumph to me, because the dummy pretty much begged to be taken. 

That said, it’s well written and I’m guessing well-researched.  As much as I like history, I think I’d rather study dryer lint than suddenly start researching the S&L scandals of my childhood, so I’m going to go ahead and trust the author.  I’ll keep reading her novels, without a doubt, but I doubt I’ll re-read this one.

I’ve been making small things, quickly.  You’ll have to forgive the flash photography–no sun in Virginia today.  The colors aren’t quite right, but you’ll get the point.

All of the bags I made this weekend have the same basic dimensions.  I made several of the shorter, square version because it just seems good for socks, and I like how most of these stand at attention if I decide to sit them on a table and open them up.  And the 5 and 1/2 or 6 inch square bases fit  standard DPNs nicely.

This one was a labor of love.  The patterned fabric is a rayon print covered with images from Alice in Wonderland.  I cut it off the bottom of a very long dress I got as a teenager, and I dole the remaining scraps out very slowly.  I think I still have the dress hiding in a closet somewhere.  If rayon was easier to keep on grain, I’m sure I would have hacked it up and used it for something else by now.  This bag isn’t as crisp as I’d like, and it was a pain to force into something geometric, but the fabric is unbeatable.  I used a blue twill as a lining to give the bag some body.

See how nicely the needles fit?

This bag makes me think of Charles Rennie Mackintosh and William Morris.
Green side:

And purple:

I love how crisp it is.  And this bag, which makes me think of a Scot and a Brit, is stuffed with Welsh yarn.  I guess I owe a bag to Ireland and Cornwall and Mann and Brittany and Galicia . . .

Partially finished bags include one of water:

And one of coffee:

And one of leaves:

And one of, er, a batik I really really love that is in a pattern that’s been in use for thousands of years and some deep purple silk noile, so let’s blame this one on the Silk Road:

Also, I made a Baby Surprise Sweater.  Yarrow chomped on the yarn a lot before I started the sweater, so that forced the random striping.  Unfortunately, there are still some weak spots in the yarn, and there are really a lot of ends hidden in this,  so I don’t think it’s fit for an actual baby.

It is, however, perfect for a stuffed duck.  And since one of my nieces has a serious jones for some duck clothes, it’s a rather serendipitous item.  I developed a strong understanding of an iconic pattern that I can now repeat in undamaged yarn, and, er, a stuffed duck will feel very pampered.  Now to find the right buttons.

You know what’s even better than working from home?  Being informed that the powers-that-be want you to charge eight hours but only work five.  I never ever ever want to go to an actual office again, I’m so spoiled now.

Today’s early quitting time could not be a nicer gift.  Since Scott and I grew up in this part of Virginia, we anxiously await stealing time with all of our far-flung friends who decide to come home and visit their folks over Thanksgiving.  Which means that I start thinking about possible guests and what they may want.  Which means I start obsessing about the house and cooking.  I know that none of our friends or relatives will perform any white-glove tests in our home, or demand a specific food, but taking care of this huge, valuable present Scott and I bought each other seven years ago is never a bad idea, and I use welcoming  people I love as an excuse.

I also try to use some of that manic energy to improve parts of the house that only matter to me, since I’m here far more than any of our friends or family.  To that end, I decided that the closet in my studio needed an overhaul.  It’s a crappy closet, as most closets built into knee-walls are.  I tore every single thing out of it, banished old shoes and clothes, donated bags and bags of clothing and shoes Scott and I don’t need anymore, and re-purposed some old shoe shelving to hold spinning supplies.

For the first time, this frustrating closet, with the worst hanging system in the world, a small door that offers poor access to the sloping right side, and a puny shelf above is actually working the way I want it to.

The ironing board is accessible, the only things hanging on the nearly-useless j-bar are a few garments I need to mend or iron, and my spinning and felting fibers are all laid out on labeled (labeled!) shelves.  In the section hiding to the right are whole fleeces waiting for processing.  Now, I just need a working doorknob to protect all that fiber from a wool-stealing cat.