KNUTE'S KNITTING KORNER

Ask anyone under 30 to name the most famous set of female twins and they would most likely name the Olsen twins, Mary Kate and Ashley.  Ask anyone from my generation, however, and I think most would mention Esther and Pauline Friedman.  I know, I know.  Right now you’re saying, “Huh?  Who the heck are the Friedman twins?”  Friedman was their birth name.  These sisters married men named Lederer and Phillips.  Still don’t know who I’m referring to?  What if I were to mention the newspaper columns they wrote?  “Ask Ann Landers” and “Dear Abby”.  Aha!  Now you know who I’m talking about.  Only the two greatest advice columnists ever and read religiously by so many baby boomers back in the 20^th Century.

I have decided that what this world needs is a knitting advice columnist.  And I aim to fill that position.  Now I’m not talking about someone who can help you with technical knitting problems.  As a knitter I would put myself in the advanced beginner column so I’m hardly qualified to be doling out advice on technical matters.  No, what I’m thinking about is someone who will advise on matters more philosophical in nature.  It’s hard to explain exactly what I mean by this, so I think it’s best if I show you a few examples.  This advice column, soon to be published in some famous knitting magazine or other, will be called Knute’s Knitting Korner.  I’m a big fan of alliteration and Knute is the only name I can think of that begins with the letters “KN”.  So here are three sample letters and their corresponding answers supplied by Knute.  (Besides Knute Rockne, was there ever anyone else blessed with this name?)

Dear Knute,

     I play Bridge with the same three people twice a week.  One of these ladies always brings her knitting.  I think she purposely drops out of the bidding so that, more often than not, she ends up being the dummy.  Then she promptly begins to knit while the rest of us finish the hand.  This can become rather tedious when one is partnered with her.  After all, this is not a knitting circle.  It is a serious game of Bridge with a small but not insignificant bit of money involved.

                                                                                          Trumped in Tennessee

Dear Trumped,

     I had to get out my very worn copy of Hoyle to fully understand what exactly a “dummy” is in Bridge.  Couldn’t they have come up with a better term?  Silent partner or something?  Anyway, you have to understand that some people are so fond of knitting that they have to have a project with them at all times.  Why don’t you make some lemonade out of this lemony situation?  Insist that if she is going to knit at these twice a week events, then the knitting project she’s working on has to be intended for one of the three of you.  She may continue being a rotten Bridge player but at least you and the other two Bridge aficionados will get a nice scarf or hat or maybe even a sweater out of the deal.

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Dear Knute,

     I am an avid knitter and I would very much like to get into the Guinness Book of World Records with something that I personally hand knit.  Any suggestions?

                                                                                  Ready to see my name in print

Dear Ready,

       You don’t mention your age.  This is a crucial element.  Ideally, one should begin trying to set an individual knitting world record when one is 10-years-old.  The world record for the longest scarf knit by one person is 11,363 ft. 11 in.  That’s a little over two miles long and it took 23 years of knitting to complete.   You could try to top the record for the world’s fastest knitter.  Right now this is held by a lady who knit 118 stitches in one minute.  I just timed myself so I could fully grasp the meaning of 118 stitches in one minute.  The result?  23 stitches in one minute.  Other records are equally as daunting.  The longest I-cord is over 16 miles long.  The biggest knitting needles actually used to knit something by hand were 11 and-a-half feet long.  My recommendation is that you knit something totally outlandish.  A 20 foot long Cardigan sweater perhaps?  Looking forward to the next issue of the Guinness Book.

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Dear Knute,

     I recently read through all of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations and I could not find one quote that mentioned knitting.  Surely at some time, someone must have said something quotable about this noble art.

                                                                             Quincy the Quoteaholic

Dear Quincy,

The problem with Bartlett’s is that some of their most famous quotes are actually misquoted.  Rene Descartes did not really say “Je pense, donc je suis.” (I think, therefore I am.)  His correct quote is “Je tricote, donc je suis.”  (I knit, therefore I am.)   And Hamlet, in his most famous soliloquy, is contemplating whether he should knit or crochet hats for his buddies, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, when he states, “To knit or not to knit.  That is the question.”  Speaking of crochet, Alexander Pope favored this art over knitting and once said, “To knit is human, to crochet divine.”  But seriously.  Forget Bartlett’s.  You want a book full of incredible knitting quotes?  Read anything by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee.  Here’s a favorite from her book, At Knit’s End: Meditations for Women Who Knit Too Much.  “Heirloom is knitting code for - This pattern is so difficult that you would consider death a relief.”

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And now, while I wait for Vogue Magazine to make that life-changing phone call to Knute, I shall find my size 3 needles and begin this ridiculously hard heirloom shawl pattern I found on the Internet .

THE KNITTING INDUSTRY - PART TWO

When we last encountered our young (?) hero he had eliminated sheep farming from his list of possible careers in the knitting industry.  Actually, in my mind there are already a few facets of the industry that will not be given serious consideration.  But one must be fair and at least explain why some of these careers hold no appeal whatsoever.  For example: the very next step in wool production, after being a sheep farmer, would be the spinning of yarn.

I love how the term spinning yarn has two different meanings.  First, the actual process of taking a raw fiber and converting it into a knittable product, and second, the telling of tales.  Concocting fanciful stories, if you will.  Or to put it in a very blunt manner, lying.  Usually for the purpose of entertainment, of course, but still, it’s basically lying.  One day I’ll have to do some research as to how the term “spinning a yarn” came to have such a completely different meaning.   I’ll tell you something.  I do have a minor talent for this second interpretation of yarn spinning.  Maybe another time I’ll go into the details of why and how this is.  But right now we must focus on the literal definition of yarn spinning and why it is not something I’ll be taking up soon.

My immediate mental association with spinning yarn is a rather bizarre one.  I start to think of Franz Schubert.  That’s right.  Franz Schubert, the Stephen Sondheim of his day.  Franz Schubert, the greatest classical composer of songs ever.  It would take too long to explain how and why I know this, but let me tell you that one of the greatest songs this 19^th century genius ever composed was a German song (or lied, as the Germans call it) titled Gretchen am Spinnrade.  In English that would be Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel.  To analyze and explain why this song is a masterpiece is another thing that would take too many paragraphs.  But here is a fact.  At its core, the song Gretchen am Spinnrade is utterly depressing.  So let’s follow the dots that my mind instantly connects.  1.) Spinning yarn    2.) Franz Schubert   3.) Gretchen am Spinnrade    4.) Depression   It’s sort of the same way my mind works when I hear the word “gin”. 

1.) Gin    2.) 16 years old    3.) Ridiculous dare    4.) Queasy stomach    So in less than a second my mind associates gin with queasy stomach and spinning yarn with depression.  Freud would have had a field day with me.

Despite this mental block I have against spinning yarn, I will acknowledge that there is something rather mystical about it.  And we’re talking about hand spinning or using a spinning wheel here rather than industrial spinning.  I’ll leave industrial spinning to the industrialists.  But I suspect that in manual spinning there’s a strong link to the past, to a time when people had to spin yarn out of necessity.  This aspect of spinning must give immense satisfaction to the many who take it up as a hobby or to those happy few who do it as a living.  And in the same way that there is something very Zen about knitting, I’d wager that spinning has an even more intense meditative quality to it.  I also must admit that the idea of knitting yarn that you yourself have created has a strong appeal.  It would double that wonderful sense of accomplishment one gets when finishing a knitting project.  You know what?  I’ve almost convinced myself that this would be a worthy and noble thing for me to take up.  I might even ask Cathy to buy me a spinning wheel for my birthday so I could spend hours spinning at the store and having customers say, “Look at that man spin!  Spin, crazy man!  Spin!”  But then that ultra-sad image of poor broken-hearted Gretchen at her wheel pops into my mind and the romantic illusion of spinning yarn vanishes as fast as that evil bottle of gin did back in 1971.          

THE KNITTING INDUSTRY - PART ONE

Now that I have accepted knitting as a worthy way of passing time, I find myself thinking of expanding my horizons.  I am contemplating finding a second career somewhere in the knitting industry.  There are so many possibilities.  I’m sure I will find one where I can excel.  I will give strong consideration to every aspect of the industry before I choose.  In today’s little essay I will focus on a most essential element in the production of yarn: Sheep Farming.

About 25 years ago, I remember reading an article by some famous Literary Critic.  In it he listed what, in his opinion, were the 10 greatest novels ever written.  He went on to elaborate on why those 10 masterpieces were a mandatory read for all educated people of the world.  I instantly noticed that I had only read three of the ten.  And these had all been mandatory school assignments.  I vowed to read the other seven before another year passed.  Well, here it is, 25 years later and I’ve only added two more to the list.  But one thing I did do was to find out what each of the books that I had not read was about.  One of the books on the list was by Marcel Proust.  Back then, the common translation of the French title, "A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu", was "Remembrance of Things Past".  Nowadays I believe it’s called "In Search of Lost Time".  No matter what it’s titled, it is one very, very, very long novel.  I don’t think I’ll be adding it to my reading list soon.  There is one famous scene in this book that literary types gush over. In this scene a character takes a bite out of a Madeleine (a cute little French sponge cake) and a monsoon of memories comes flooding forth from his brain.  These pleasant recollections all had to do with a time during his childhood when he had similarly eaten a Madeleine.  Well, just the other day, I had my own little episode of involuntary memory.  I was knitting away on a project and I was glancing at the yarn label.  100% wool, it stated.  I started wondering about the sheep that had produced the very yarn I was knitting.  Did it have a name?  Did it mind having its protective coat stripped from its body?  Did it mind that its pleasing natural color had been dyed into a sultry blue?  And then it hit me.  Something I hadn’t thought about in decades.  My grandparents were farmers.  They had raised, among other things, sheep.  When I was eight-years-old, I had spent a depressing summer on their farm desperately wanting nothing else but to return to my comfortable home in Chicago.

I think we can all agree that farming is a noble profession.  Without farmers the world is doomed.  But working on a farm?  Oh my!  Here are some things that knitting with sheep’s wool made me inadvertently remember about that summer.  Watching a hog get slaughtered can traumatize a young boy to the point where he will not eat bacon or ham for a long time.  Waking up very early in the morning to help milk the cows has a negative impact on the quality of one’s sleep.  Milk directly from a cow, even after it’s boiled, tastes awful.  A rooster will attack you if you look at his chickens in a funny way.  Sheep are dirty (I will refrain from listing the many disgusting things that stick to their wool.).  Sleeping in a bedroom that doubles as a storage facility for barley makes one detest that particular grain.  Until one learns to appreciate beer, anyway.  So many other nasty things I could list about that summer.  Granted, the whole time wasn’t a total downer. I still cherish some memories from that particular summer, though they mostly had to do with learning how to shoot marbles.  Thankfully, it wasn’t sheep shearing season when I visited.  I might not have had a pleasant reaction to such a spectacle.  To this day I've only seen a display of that peculiar craft on television.  From the sheep’s perspective it is not a walk in the park.  I, for one, would not relish the idea of having a barber forcibly give me an all-body crew cut.  Check out sheep shearing on YouTube if you’ve never seen it being done.  Nevertheless, we have to face facts.  No sheep shearing, no pretty yarn to knit with.  But as far as sheep farming being a new vocation?  I’ll pass, thank you.

A WOOLY LOVE SONG

I’m still on a high from writing my previous post which dealt with my yet-to-be-knit Vicuña sweater, so I thought I’d conclude the thought with a song.  Feel free to sing this out loud as I already have.  Just make sure no one is looking.  It is sung to the tune of “Maria” from the musical West Side Story.

Kudos to Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim who wrote the original song and many thanks to Mad Magazine, THE major source of comedic inspiration for any boy who grew up in the 1960’s … and I’d bet a few girls too.

                                                                      VICUÑA

Vicuña, I’ve just knit a hat of vicuña.

And suddenly I feel

That I cannot conceal my glee.

Vicuña, I’ve just knit a scarf of vicuña.

And suddenly my neck

Is saying, “What the heck!?” to me.

Vicuña, even though you are quite expensive,

I don’t mind being apprehensive.

Vicuña, I’ll never stop buying vicuña.

Vicuña, vicuña, vicuña, vicuña

Vicuña, vicuña, vicuña, vicuña, vicuña.

Vicuña, no more rayon or silk or cotton.

Other wools, they’re so misbegotten.

Vicuña, I’ll never stop buying vicuña.

The most beautiful yarn I ever knit:

Vicuña.

I’m going to sing this to Cathy every day.  To get me to stop she’ll have to buy me the16 skeins of yarn I’ll need for my Double Extra Large Vicuña sweater.  I better start looking for a nice pattern.         

THE HOLY GRAIL OF SWEATERS

With apologies to King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, for our purposes, the Holy Grail is that which is magical and practically unattainable. So how does one go about knitting such an impossible masterpiece? Well, first we have to talk about what most knitting projects are made from. That would be yarn. And the most common source of natural yarn would be animal fibers or wool. We’ve all knit with yarn made from sheep's wool. And most of us have probably knit with alpaca. Those blessed with tons of patience might have already tackled a few projects with the more common exotic yarns: Cashmere or Mohair, both from goats, and Angora from rabbits. The less common (and more expensive) exotic yarns would include muskox (Quiviut), yak, camel and bison. There are also other unusual sources. I’ve seen yarns that contain possum and mink. Llama yarn also exists but one doesn’t see it often. Actually, one could spin yarn out of any animal fiber. Dog, for example. No lie. There’s even a word for yarn spun from dog hair. Chiengora. How charming. Silk is, technically speaking, made by an animal but not really an animal fiber. Major essays could be written about all of these sources of yarn, and one day, maybe I’ll take up that challenge. But today I’m here to specifically write about one particular animal fiber. The Rolls Royce of wool. Vicuña.

The diameter of a wool fiber is measured in microns. A micron is one millionth of a meter. An average human hair, for example, measures approximately 100 microns. The lower the number of microns, the finer the wool. A wool that is exceptionally fine will measure in the low teens. Cashmere, Angora, the finest of Alpaca and the highest quality Merino sheep are examples of wool that measure in the 12 to 15 range. Quiviut averages around 11 microns. Cathy actually carries a few balls of Quiviut blend in the store.  I'm not sure if I’m allowed to touch it. Vicuña (pronounced vee-coo-nyah) measures from 6 to 10 microns. To say that Vicuña is of a fine quality is to say that Shakespeare wrote some nice plays, that Beethoven came up with some charming melodies, that Picasso drew some pretty pictures, that Michael Jordan knew how to shoot a basketball. It is a trip to the moon just to be able to say that one has touched this yarn. And to say that one has actually knit with Vicuña must be what achieving Nirvana is all about. So lookout, Nirvana, ‘cause here I come!

There is one small impediment, however. You can’t expect to pay the same price for a Rolls Royce that you would pay for a Minivan. Online sources show a woven Vicuña scarf retailing for $1,500. A man’s overcoat goes for $20,000. Unless you’re in the Bill Gates category of wealth, these are prices that make one pause. Currently, quality vicuña yarn costs around $300 dollars an ounce. This ounce will provide one with 200 yards or so of unsurpassed luxury. With it one could make half a hat or a small portion of a scarf. But what the heck. If I’m going to knit with Vicuña, I’m not going to mess around with a hat or a scarf or, heaven forbid, socks! I’m going to make me a Double X sweater. Excuse me a sec while I go do the math.

Uh-oh!

According to my calculator, a 100% Vicuña Double X sweater knit in a simple pattern would cost around $4,800 in yarn. But I will not be deterred. I think it’s time to ask Cathy for a raise.

RETIREMENT INDEED!

     This is not how I envisioned my retirement.  I had the traditional expectations of eating bonbons, watching soap operas, catching up on my reading, learning a foreign language, and resurrecting my dreams of a career in music.  Specifically, any chocolate that has coconut inside of it, All My Children, finally finishing James Joyce’s “Ulysses” (after three failed attempts), French, and becoming a decent jazz pianist.  But someone wasted no time in throwing a monkey wrench into these well thought out plans.  That someone would be my wife of thirty two years, Cathy Montoya, proprietor of Montoya Fiber Studio.  She wasted no time in pointing out that no one makes chocolates with coconut anymore, that All My Children is no longer on the air, that no one has ever actually finished reading “Ulysses”, that I’m already fluent in Spanish and only show-offs learn a third language, and that I’ll never play like Oscar Peterson no matter how hard I practice.  She also informed me that I would now have time to learn how to knit and also, time to help her in the store.  I protested, of course.  I claimed that knitting was not on anyone’s list of manly arts, like carpentry or auto mechanics or welding.  She countered by providing me with a rather suspect list of famous men who had been serious knitters:  Marco Polo, Leonardo da Vinci, Benjamin Franklin, Franz Schubert, Otto von Bismarck, Babe Ruth, Harpo Marx, Aldous Huxley, Paul Robeson, Pope Pius XII, John Lennon and John Belushi.  Yeah, right.  Aldous Huxley?  Still, I couldn’t find any proof that Cathy was lying about these illustrious men so the next thing you know, I had gone and knit myself a scarf in a very uneven garter stitch.  And then, before I could realize what was happening, I found myself behind the cash register a couple of days a week.  Not only that, but also knitting in public.  Yikes! 

     Well, it’s been nine months now since I retired and in those nine months I’ve learned a whole bunch of knitting techniques that I’ve incorporated into five hats, three scarves, two neckwarmers, one mitten (not a pair of mittens, just one) one afghan, and a couple of odd-shaped pieces knit in hardware store rope.  Currently, I’m working on two large blankets of my own design, five radically different scarves that I’ve promised to make for my sister’s fiftieth birthday in October and something called a Rasta Cap for my nephew.  I’m also not ashamed to say that I’ve demanded that Cathy teach me how to crochet. 

     So now it’s a new year and out of the blue Cathy says to me, “Fred, you have to start a blog for my website.  Something that talks about knitting from a man’s point of view.  You never know, it could attract some male customers.” 

     Dear God, will the demands never end!!

     So look at me.  Here I am at the computer, typing up my first little essay.  I do have a few ideas regarding future contributions to this blog:  What’s the best music to listen to while one knits.  Why I only knit one mitten and never even started the second.  Why I dislike double pointed needles. The ridiculous amount of math involved when one comes up with an original design.  How I would go about writing a murder-mystery involving knitters, kneedles and yarn.  The secret passion I have for mohair, that most seductive of yarns.  My theory on why Cathy taught me the English style of knitting rather than the Continental style.  And a whole bunch of other yarn-related stuff.  So check out the website now and again and you’ll read about my personal perspective on the manly art of knitting.

     Right now I think I’ll take a well-deserved break from my #15 needles and my Brown Sheep yarn and maybe start reading “Ulysses” --- for the fourth time.