Back in January I started knitting socks. After many trials and even more errors, I eventually got the basics figured out -- with lots of help, of course, from a couple of websites and a handful of books -- and stuck with it until I finished the most recent pair for Dad's belated birthday gift. Since I started learning how to knit socks I decided to put off doing battle with sweaters because they seemed horribly complicated, especially since most of the patterns in my books involved knitting separate pieces and sewing them together; besides, I was happy with the challenge presented by a pair of socks -- what in the world did "turn the heel" mean? and how the hell do I juggle four knitting needles to do this? -- and unready to tackle the task of knitting a sweater.
About a month ago I finally finished that last sock after about... four months? (see the Green Sock picture) and I decided I wanted to knit Stuart a sweater. After a bit of dithering about colors -- finally settled on darkish gray with a stripe of medium blue (so called "Country Blue" by the manufacturer -- I bought five skeins of acrylic yarn and went to work using a pattern I found on a knitting pattern directory website. The pattern, rather than being for separate pieces, was for a sweater knitted in the round on circular needles, and the only parts needing to be attached would be the sleeves.
It's pretty straightforward at first: knit the body as a tube, knit the sleeves as tapering tubes, and then get stuck on how to divide the body so the cabled panel I added falls in the middle and not on the side or in the back. After much fiddling with safety pins and a calculator, I got the sleeves attached at the proper places and grafted the inside edge of the sleeves to the bound-off edges at the sides of the body.. and then I knitted, and knitted some more.. and found out that my circular needles were too short to accomodate the body and the sleeves. Off to Ben Franklin's I went, and returned with a pair of nifty 36 inch circular needles... and then struggled with getting the sweater off the old needles and onto the new ones.
So far so good. Now what? The instructions had, by this point, become increasingly arcane. Like math or science, knitting has a jargon unique to the craft; this jargon is confusing to those not conversant with knitting, and occasionally confuses even those who are somewhat conversant with same. The raglan decreases were fine, but then the neckline got confusing. Turning a sock heel back and forth to create short rows and a curved heel cup? That's easy because you do exactly what the instructions on the pattern tell you to do -- and hope you don't make any mistakes in the meantime.
The neckline of the sweater involved a similar process: bind off a certain number of stitches, turn and knit or purl back across to the other side, bind off more stitches, turn and knit or purl back the other way, and so on and so forth until you get the right number of stitches. A number of e-mails in varying tones of desperation over what I term teething problems flew back and forth between the pattern's author and me, and finally -- FINALLY -- I thought I was close to finishing the sweater's neckline. Between e-mails, however, I found myself forced to unravel about two inches of sweater because I'd done too many raglan decreases. And while unravelling said two inches, I was also cooking curried chicken and rice in preparation for a small dinner gathering, and running betwen the kitchen and living room to make sure the unravelled edge of the sweater didn't find itself in the cat's capable paws...and being further unravelled.
Once the curry was done, I sat down and spent a laborious half hour picking up every single stitch with a teenie little crochet hook and putting it back on the circular needles so I could correct my error. Much scratching of the head, and scribbling on the pattern, and more scratching of the head, and some knitting.. and finally the guests arrived and I, still wearing my apron, answer the door, distribute lemonade, and trail yarn all over the house in the process. Fortnuately I didn't succeed in creating a gray acrylic spider web all over the dining room, but I think the cat came close to being mummified when she decided to roll around in the pile of loose yarn. Dinner went off without a hitch, guests stayed for key lime pie and coffee, and finally I get some down time. I left the sweater in the upstairs guest room and didn't do anything with it until later this afternoon.
Now, the blasted neckline has driven me nuts since I finished the raglan decreases. I've already unravelled it once, and this evening, I finished the upper part of the shoulders and discovered I'd made another error: too many stitches left after the raglan decreases and not enough stitches in the front to correct it, and I have no idea where I made the mistake. In a fit of stubbornness, I continued knitting until I had to pick up the bound off stitches at the top of the neckline... and found out that it was a harder task than I'd originally thought. It's easy on a sock because you slip stitches at the ends of the heel flap rows; this creates a chain of loose stitches that are easily picked up when it comes time to knit the foot. A sweater, though, has no slipped stitches to pick up -- this pattern doesn't, at least -- so I decided to pick up every other stitch and start working on the ribbing for the turtleneck. Several episodes of "Are You Being Served?" later I found myself binding off the top edge of the neck. Since the rest of the sweater fits me -- something of a tight squeeze, but I'm quite a bit chestier than Stuart is.. after all, I'm a girl! -- I figured I'd try it on and see how the neck fit. Horrors! The neck wouldn't go over my head! So more unravelling and picking up the loose stitches with the crochet hook and circular needles. What to do, what to do? It seems like I need twice the number of stitches I picked up before I started working on the turtleneck ribbing.
For the time being, the sweater will be resting -- as will I -- in a comfortable bed until tomorrow morning. I hope it sleeps well!
Friday, August 4, 2006
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Spinning the wheels
Before I started knitting I never thought I'd become obsessed with fiber. When I made my New Year's resolution I thought knitting was a harmless -- barring the occasional poke from a misplaced knitting needle or safety pin-cum-stitch marker -- hobby that wasn't at all addictive. That was obviously before I wound up with a fifty gallon tub of acrylic yarn. And then I discovered the joys of wool yarn... and alpaca... and silk... and blends of the three. *gulp*
Acrylic yarn is fine. Really. Sure, it pills, but it's inexpensive and easy to find, and it's good for practicing before you get down to the nitty-gritty task of knitting a pair of socks or a hat. Wool, on the other hand, seems to be more difficult to find except for the folks who have websites selling it; there are only two shops within an hour's drive of where I live and one of them is no longer hospitable for reasons I won't go into. Suffice it to say that I choose not to do business there anymore. Anyway, I now also have a rather large amount of wool yarn that I'm working my way through in the form of numerous pairs of socks and a shawl, and a baby blanket for an acquaintance.
In my recent posting about the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival, I mentioned that I'm now the proud parent of a drop spindle. While at the fair, I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be fun to spin and dye my own yarn?"
After several fumbling attempts at spinning, and much laughter and humorous self-mockery, I found a lovely (small!) group of handspinners on Yahoo. Yahoo, it seems, has groups of people discussing literally every topic under the sun. This particular group is made up of spinners with varying degrees of expertise; some of them use both a wheel and drop spindle, some prefer the drop spindle, and so on. Upon joining the group, I peppered the members with questions like "How do I get the bloody thing started?" and once I got it started "How do I keep it from untwisting?"
It's much more complicated than it seems at first glance, but once you figure out the general idea, all it takes is patience and practice. A couple of listmembers e-mailed to point me toward a website that has video clips of people demonstrating the basics of spinning with a drop spindle (http://www.icanspin.com/); they were kind enough to answer my questions anyway, and one even offered to meet and give me spinning lessons.
To date I have one small (very small) skein of cream-colored yarn that represents my first effort at spinning; I'm sort of keeping it as a trophy. This afternoon, though, I started spinning with some of Stacey's gunmetal blue roving; I've still got bugs to work out, like how to pull the fibers without breaking the line, and how to keep the spindle from unwinding while I'm getting the next bunch of fiber ready to start. Okay.. more bugs than I thought, but I'm slowly getting better at this. Someday, though, I also hope to get one of those beautiful Ashford spinning wheels, maybe one of the cute upright ones with a nice cherry finish. Ahh... pipe dreams. For now, anyway.
As far as the dyeing part of the project, three days ago I planted seeds in the newly constructed raised bed on the other side of the vegetable garden: coreopsis, bull's blood beet, purple basil, and amaranth. My indigo, woad, and safflower seeds have vanished, however, so no blue dye for me in the Fall! Some of the plants take about two weeks to germinate, and take a couple months to mature, so at the end of the season, I'll have yellow, purple, and reddish-rusty plants to work with. Which means I still have plenty of time to master the art of drop spindle spinning.
Acrylic yarn is fine. Really. Sure, it pills, but it's inexpensive and easy to find, and it's good for practicing before you get down to the nitty-gritty task of knitting a pair of socks or a hat. Wool, on the other hand, seems to be more difficult to find except for the folks who have websites selling it; there are only two shops within an hour's drive of where I live and one of them is no longer hospitable for reasons I won't go into. Suffice it to say that I choose not to do business there anymore. Anyway, I now also have a rather large amount of wool yarn that I'm working my way through in the form of numerous pairs of socks and a shawl, and a baby blanket for an acquaintance.
In my recent posting about the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival, I mentioned that I'm now the proud parent of a drop spindle. While at the fair, I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be fun to spin and dye my own yarn?"
After several fumbling attempts at spinning, and much laughter and humorous self-mockery, I found a lovely (small!) group of handspinners on Yahoo. Yahoo, it seems, has groups of people discussing literally every topic under the sun. This particular group is made up of spinners with varying degrees of expertise; some of them use both a wheel and drop spindle, some prefer the drop spindle, and so on. Upon joining the group, I peppered the members with questions like "How do I get the bloody thing started?" and once I got it started "How do I keep it from untwisting?"
It's much more complicated than it seems at first glance, but once you figure out the general idea, all it takes is patience and practice. A couple of listmembers e-mailed to point me toward a website that has video clips of people demonstrating the basics of spinning with a drop spindle (http://www.icanspin.com/); they were kind enough to answer my questions anyway, and one even offered to meet and give me spinning lessons.
To date I have one small (very small) skein of cream-colored yarn that represents my first effort at spinning; I'm sort of keeping it as a trophy. This afternoon, though, I started spinning with some of Stacey's gunmetal blue roving; I've still got bugs to work out, like how to pull the fibers without breaking the line, and how to keep the spindle from unwinding while I'm getting the next bunch of fiber ready to start. Okay.. more bugs than I thought, but I'm slowly getting better at this. Someday, though, I also hope to get one of those beautiful Ashford spinning wheels, maybe one of the cute upright ones with a nice cherry finish. Ahh... pipe dreams. For now, anyway.
As far as the dyeing part of the project, three days ago I planted seeds in the newly constructed raised bed on the other side of the vegetable garden: coreopsis, bull's blood beet, purple basil, and amaranth. My indigo, woad, and safflower seeds have vanished, however, so no blue dye for me in the Fall! Some of the plants take about two weeks to germinate, and take a couple months to mature, so at the end of the season, I'll have yellow, purple, and reddish-rusty plants to work with. Which means I still have plenty of time to master the art of drop spindle spinning.
Sunday, May 7, 2006
MSWF 2006
It's an hour and a half drive through the country and down I-70 to a little place called West Friendship, which is between Frederick and Baltimore. Every year, this little town hosts a giant trade show-cum-county-fair called the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival; visitors and vendors come from as far away as California, and I wouldn't be surprised if some come from abroad to show their wares and to see the sights. And, wow, there's a lot to see: people selling spinning wheels, yarn, dyestuffs, handwoven fabric, garments and blankets made from handwoven fabric, knitting and crocheting supplies, looms, wool rovings for spinning, fleece and carding machines, and almost everything in between that has to do with sheep and wool. And then there were the weaving, knitting, and crocheting workshops and the lectures on Navajo weaving and on sheep as an integral part of Navajo life, and even an entire building set aside to exhibit Navajo work. That was pretty amazing and worth the trip all by itself! The colors and patterns are something that have to be seen rather than written about because they're so incredible.
And then there were the animals. There were people selling and showing sheep and angora bunnies, there was a pen where a fellow gave lectures on alpacas, and another pen where a pair of very haughty llamas stood and sneered at passersby. The alpacas are about half the size of the llamas and seemed to have sweeter natures than their larger cousins; the llamas were haughty and disdainful... and big. I had no idea they were so big before seeing one face to face. There were also six barns full of sheep of various breeds, including one that's about twice the size of any sheep I've ever seen, and something called Jacob sheep with two sets of horns. I'd never seen or heard of such a thing before, but they seemed fairly goodnatured, as did the merino rams I met. They were very sweet, the rams, and looked very wise and solemn. Of course a good many of them had just been sheared and were wearing little blankets to keep their coats from getting grubby, and there were some farmers who were busily giving their fleecey friends haircuts while people stopped to chat and ask if they could pet the sheep. The sheep took it all very well, I think, though several of them said, "Baaaaaah!" in a way that seemed to mean "Don't you have anything better to do than gawk at a nekkid sheep?! How humiliating!"
And yarn, Yarn, YARN! Yarn everywhere in hundreds of colors, textures, and fiberblends. Yarn dyed with cochineal beetles, yarn dyed with indigo, yarn made from banana fiber and soy fiber and recycled sari silk, yarn from Wales, yarn from Ireland, yarn twisted in skeins, yarn on cones, yarn knitted into socks, hats, and shawls, yarn felted into scarves and hats, yarn in bagged kits for sweaters and mittens, yarn being spun from wool rovings dyed in just as many colors. There wasn't a single thing in the whole place that wasn't beautiful, animals included. The range of textures alone was enough to intoxicate; the colors were beyond description. One of the vendors dyed her own yarn with plants: indigo, woad, madder, and so on. Some of her yarn was double-dyed, like osage orange (which yeilds yellow-green on its own) dipped again in indigo to make a variegated aqua.
Since I picked up knitting at the beginning of the year, I've begun to appreciate the work involved in fibercrafts, and I've become more interested in taking a stab at doing a bit of dyeing on my own. For my birthday, my mother got seeds for some dye plants -- indigo, woad, beets, safflower, and a couple others -- and I later got some books on how to use those plants in conjunction with mordants that change and fix the color. In mid-January I made my first forray into the world of dye, using KoolAid on merino wool yarn. That turned out well, though in the future I may use more KoolAid and be more careful with stirring it until all the powder dissolves so I get a more uniform color.
People who knew I planned to go to the Sheep and Wool Festival exhorted me not to spend too much money, and at the same time to buy good stuff. I'm pleased to say that I managed to do both and that I didn't give in to the temptation to buy a dozen of everything including angora bunnies. After going from one vendor to another in a daze caused by sensory overload, I stumbled across a stall run by a young woman from New Jersey. She was selling yarn, drop spindles, and enormous batches of dyed wool rovings for spinning; her prices were excellent, as were the items she offered for sale, and I told her I thought so. She was pleased at the compliments and told me that she felt that it was her responsibility to pass on the good deals she got while doing business with suppliers. After taking another good look at the wool, I chose a beautiful gunmetal blue -- the last one, I think she said, in that colorway -- and then asked her about the drop spindles.
I still don't know much about how they work, but as far as I know the oldest forms of spinning were done on similar drop spindles by ancient cultures. A spindle is, in essence, an oversized wooden top with a notch in the dowel to keep the yarn from sliding off; as the spindle falls, it spins and twists the fiber into yarn which, in turn, is wound around the spindle shaft. Apparently, if you don't want to go buy a spindle, you can make one with one of those AOL discs that frequently show up in the mail, a dowel with a pointy end, and a cup hook to hold the yarn; the heavier the spindle, the thicker gauge of yarn you can spin. There were several woodworkers who specialized in spindles made from exotic wood, and there were even some made with enamelled faces; I opted for a less expensive, less exotic, less complicated spindle. I'm a novice, so I thought it'd be best to start out slow and work my way up.
Mom discovered that one of the stalls nearby carried natural dyestuffs including cochineal beetles (dead and crushed to powder) and insisted on buying some because it's hard to come by. She also decided I needed some of the osage orange sawdust since we both really liked that yellow-green-celery color that comes from using Alum with it. And it turns out we have a box of red henna powder in the bathroom -- I'm not sure why or where it came from -- but it works as a dye for wool, apparently, and that's where it's going to go. And when I finally start those seeds, things will definitely get interesting.
Here's hoping there won't be a drought this year! If there is, I'll still be able to... dye happy. :-P
http://www.sheepandwool.org/ Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival website.
And then there were the animals. There were people selling and showing sheep and angora bunnies, there was a pen where a fellow gave lectures on alpacas, and another pen where a pair of very haughty llamas stood and sneered at passersby. The alpacas are about half the size of the llamas and seemed to have sweeter natures than their larger cousins; the llamas were haughty and disdainful... and big. I had no idea they were so big before seeing one face to face. There were also six barns full of sheep of various breeds, including one that's about twice the size of any sheep I've ever seen, and something called Jacob sheep with two sets of horns. I'd never seen or heard of such a thing before, but they seemed fairly goodnatured, as did the merino rams I met. They were very sweet, the rams, and looked very wise and solemn. Of course a good many of them had just been sheared and were wearing little blankets to keep their coats from getting grubby, and there were some farmers who were busily giving their fleecey friends haircuts while people stopped to chat and ask if they could pet the sheep. The sheep took it all very well, I think, though several of them said, "Baaaaaah!" in a way that seemed to mean "Don't you have anything better to do than gawk at a nekkid sheep?! How humiliating!"
And yarn, Yarn, YARN! Yarn everywhere in hundreds of colors, textures, and fiberblends. Yarn dyed with cochineal beetles, yarn dyed with indigo, yarn made from banana fiber and soy fiber and recycled sari silk, yarn from Wales, yarn from Ireland, yarn twisted in skeins, yarn on cones, yarn knitted into socks, hats, and shawls, yarn felted into scarves and hats, yarn in bagged kits for sweaters and mittens, yarn being spun from wool rovings dyed in just as many colors. There wasn't a single thing in the whole place that wasn't beautiful, animals included. The range of textures alone was enough to intoxicate; the colors were beyond description. One of the vendors dyed her own yarn with plants: indigo, woad, madder, and so on. Some of her yarn was double-dyed, like osage orange (which yeilds yellow-green on its own) dipped again in indigo to make a variegated aqua.
Since I picked up knitting at the beginning of the year, I've begun to appreciate the work involved in fibercrafts, and I've become more interested in taking a stab at doing a bit of dyeing on my own. For my birthday, my mother got seeds for some dye plants -- indigo, woad, beets, safflower, and a couple others -- and I later got some books on how to use those plants in conjunction with mordants that change and fix the color. In mid-January I made my first forray into the world of dye, using KoolAid on merino wool yarn. That turned out well, though in the future I may use more KoolAid and be more careful with stirring it until all the powder dissolves so I get a more uniform color.
People who knew I planned to go to the Sheep and Wool Festival exhorted me not to spend too much money, and at the same time to buy good stuff. I'm pleased to say that I managed to do both and that I didn't give in to the temptation to buy a dozen of everything including angora bunnies. After going from one vendor to another in a daze caused by sensory overload, I stumbled across a stall run by a young woman from New Jersey. She was selling yarn, drop spindles, and enormous batches of dyed wool rovings for spinning; her prices were excellent, as were the items she offered for sale, and I told her I thought so. She was pleased at the compliments and told me that she felt that it was her responsibility to pass on the good deals she got while doing business with suppliers. After taking another good look at the wool, I chose a beautiful gunmetal blue -- the last one, I think she said, in that colorway -- and then asked her about the drop spindles.
I still don't know much about how they work, but as far as I know the oldest forms of spinning were done on similar drop spindles by ancient cultures. A spindle is, in essence, an oversized wooden top with a notch in the dowel to keep the yarn from sliding off; as the spindle falls, it spins and twists the fiber into yarn which, in turn, is wound around the spindle shaft. Apparently, if you don't want to go buy a spindle, you can make one with one of those AOL discs that frequently show up in the mail, a dowel with a pointy end, and a cup hook to hold the yarn; the heavier the spindle, the thicker gauge of yarn you can spin. There were several woodworkers who specialized in spindles made from exotic wood, and there were even some made with enamelled faces; I opted for a less expensive, less exotic, less complicated spindle. I'm a novice, so I thought it'd be best to start out slow and work my way up.
Mom discovered that one of the stalls nearby carried natural dyestuffs including cochineal beetles (dead and crushed to powder) and insisted on buying some because it's hard to come by. She also decided I needed some of the osage orange sawdust since we both really liked that yellow-green-celery color that comes from using Alum with it. And it turns out we have a box of red henna powder in the bathroom -- I'm not sure why or where it came from -- but it works as a dye for wool, apparently, and that's where it's going to go. And when I finally start those seeds, things will definitely get interesting.
Here's hoping there won't be a drought this year! If there is, I'll still be able to... dye happy. :-P
http://www.sheepandwool.org/ Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival website.
Thursday, April 6, 2006
Yarn Addicted
I never thought knitting would lead to an addiction, but now I wonder if there's some sort of twelve-step program to help sufferers of the strange phenomenon that is yarn addiction.
When I started knitting (again) in late December of last year, I accumulated enough acrylic yarn to fill a 50 gallon RubberMaid tub by visiting both Walmart and Michael's often enough to drool and dither over the gorgeous range of colors and textures arrayed before me on the shelves... and then picking skeins of yarn from the colors that appealed to me most. That was before I fell in love with natural fiber.
My first experience with natural fiber was with Peaches & Creme yarn from Walmart. It's stiff and fairly coarse, but the colors were pretty and I thought the price was fairly reasonable. However, after I completed what I thought would be an adult woman's size 8 sock, I was dismayed to find that I couldn't get the fruit of my labor over my heel! As a result, I have a bunch of balls of yarn that I have no plans to use for socks. The colors are lovely, but I've lost the receipt so I can't return it to the hell that is Walmart's Customer Disservice.
By the time my birthday rolled around, my knitting addiction was a full-fledged mania; my interest in natural fiber yarn, though, was just beginning to blossom. I went searched for local knitting supply shops, but the closest ones were -- I thought -- in Frederick and Winchester, neither of which I have any great desire to drive to; and then I found a listing for a shop in a small town about 16 miles away. I wrote down the directions provided by MapQuest and took off in pursuit of the most dangerous game known to knitters: the local yarn shop.
When I walked through the door, I went into sensory overload. So many textures ranging from the soft, fringed eyelash yarn to the bulky yarn used for felting, and two whole shelf units devoted to sock yarn, and another shelf unit with yarn made from soy and bamboo fiber. And the colors! Right as you walk through the front door, you're met with a piece of clothesline strung across a staircase and hung with hanks of hand-painted cotton yarn that literally glows with color. And did I mention that there's a cat in-house? I'll withhold her name since she's young and innocent and isn't likely to want obscene phonecalls; she's adorable: a fluffy calico who doesn't bat at the balls of yarn displayed on the antique sofa in one of the rooms, and who snoozes in a basket lined with one of the owner's felting projects. Both the owner and her cat (maybe that's the other way around since cats like to think they own humans) are very personable; the owner, Susan, is also extremely knowledgeable and helpful if you have questions.
That first visit, I tried to limit myself to a small number of things even though I knew I wanted a dozen of everything, cost be damned. Especially the gorgeous cashmere yarn by the window, and the hand-painted cotton yarn on the staircase! I left that day with two types of Lang Jawoll sock yarn (it comes with its own cute little spool of thread for reinforcing the heel and toe of the sock, and the thread is dyed to match the yarn), a ball of wool yarn made by the Brown Sheep Co. in a lovely medium green called Limestone, and some Sierra Quatro yarn. Subsequent trips also ended with the acquisition of more sock yarn, as well as more Sierra yarn in a different dyelot (see "Tanzanite Socks" under Completed Sock Projects).
Then, on Superbowl weekend, Susan held a sale. I went the day before and found some Brown Sheep Co. yarn -- sport weight this time -- in a sort of burnt orange color called French Clay. It was an unusual color, so I grabbed the last two -- the yarn was cleverly arranged for display in an antique baby pram -- and bought a couple more skeins of sock yarn. The French Clay yarn has since been knitted into a pair of socks for my father as a belated birthday gift (there's a picture posted under "Completed Sock Projects"). Most of the yarn I've gotten from Susan is housed in a plastic box to keep the moths out... just in case.
In March, during Spring Break, I went to Minnesota to visit my father and meet his companion. I'm not going to say very much about the trip, but St. Paul is much quieter than I was expecting, and the people were -- mostly -- much nicer than I expected. As part of the entertainment on the trip, Dad took me to the opera (fabulous production of Don Giovanni set at the turn of the century) and to Hamlet at the Guthrie Theatre., as well as a 1950's style malt shop called Snuffy's. If you're ever in St. Paul, go to Snuffy's and have a milkshake. They're absolutely the best milkshakes in the entire western world. I'm not kidding! The hamburgers are about the size of a dinner plate and delicious.
He also took me to several yarn shops recommended by folks on the sock knitters' forum I'm on, and that was quite an experience. The first yarn shop was Three Kittens. I was a bit disappointed that there weren't actually kittens or cats on the premesis, but there was a huge amount of yarn, and that alone was worth it... even though there were no kittens! The shop stocked more mainstream yarns like Lang and Sierra, but had one whole wall devoted to kettle dyed yarn made by a company in Uraguay, and a whole display unit for Mountain Colors hand-painted yarn. There was so much stuff I had a hard time limiting myself, but I finally picked some alpaca-merino yarn in a pine green, and got some reinforcing thread in a much lighter hue to make a contrasting toe and heel... and I splurged and bought a hank of Mountain Colors hand-painted yarn in a colorway called Ruby River. It's variegated reds and the picture I took doesn't do it justice at all. In fact, no pictures I've seen do the yarn justice... even on Mountain Colors' own website!
The next stop on the yarn shop list was The Yarnery. It occupies half of what used to be a residential building; it was a little hard to spot until you were on top of it, and then you knew it was there by all the little bits of yarn that had drifted out the door and down the front steps. Again, there were too many options to choose from, but they had amazingly organized displays and the staff were vere friendly; no fewer than three employees came to check on me while I was looking around. I had to limit myself there, too, so I only bought some pure alpaca yarn.. just enough to make a pair of socks. It's hand-painted shades of turqoise and white, and it's so soft it's almost decadent.
The third and final stop on the tour of yarn shops was Borealis. Borealis, I think, was my favorite of the three, but it's really hard to say that because they were all so wonderful. Borealis was also very organized, and the staff were also very helpful and friendly. The yarn was displayed on shelves, hanging on the wall, on little bookshelf units arranged throughout the shop, and in bins and baskets. The colors were grouped more in the way the spectrum works: ranging from red to violet and beyond with tints and hues of every possible variation. I went a little nuts at Borealis and left with NatureSpun sport-weight wool in Bordeaux, Lana Grossa in a sort of variegated wine red, and two skeins of silk-wool blend in a beautiful sort of cross between turqoise and sky blue.
Fortunately, I didn't buy so much yarn that I ended up having to ship things home for lack of space in my luggage. Yarn is pretty squashy, though, so I didn't have any trouble stuffing it into my duffle bag. Since I got home, I've finished one pair of socks (the Tanzanite) and started two more (the Mallard and Blueberry), and I still have several a couple pairs to do for some friends. And I still haven't knitte a pair of socks for myself!
Once Spring is fully sprung, I'll have more to write about because I'm going to clear one of the raised beds and plant some dye plants: amaranth, safflower, indigo, woad, and beets, and possibly coreopsis and a few other things if I have space.
If Mr. Snowyfox has his way, I might move to New Zealand and raise sheep... and dye plants. If that happens, then there'll be no stopping me, or breaking this yarn addiction!
Oh..and, yes, I'm actually using the yarn I've accumulated. And I haven't bought any more since I came home from Minnesota. See? I'm being good! Sort of...
When I started knitting (again) in late December of last year, I accumulated enough acrylic yarn to fill a 50 gallon RubberMaid tub by visiting both Walmart and Michael's often enough to drool and dither over the gorgeous range of colors and textures arrayed before me on the shelves... and then picking skeins of yarn from the colors that appealed to me most. That was before I fell in love with natural fiber.
My first experience with natural fiber was with Peaches & Creme yarn from Walmart. It's stiff and fairly coarse, but the colors were pretty and I thought the price was fairly reasonable. However, after I completed what I thought would be an adult woman's size 8 sock, I was dismayed to find that I couldn't get the fruit of my labor over my heel! As a result, I have a bunch of balls of yarn that I have no plans to use for socks. The colors are lovely, but I've lost the receipt so I can't return it to the hell that is Walmart's Customer Disservice.
By the time my birthday rolled around, my knitting addiction was a full-fledged mania; my interest in natural fiber yarn, though, was just beginning to blossom. I went searched for local knitting supply shops, but the closest ones were -- I thought -- in Frederick and Winchester, neither of which I have any great desire to drive to; and then I found a listing for a shop in a small town about 16 miles away. I wrote down the directions provided by MapQuest and took off in pursuit of the most dangerous game known to knitters: the local yarn shop.
When I walked through the door, I went into sensory overload. So many textures ranging from the soft, fringed eyelash yarn to the bulky yarn used for felting, and two whole shelf units devoted to sock yarn, and another shelf unit with yarn made from soy and bamboo fiber. And the colors! Right as you walk through the front door, you're met with a piece of clothesline strung across a staircase and hung with hanks of hand-painted cotton yarn that literally glows with color. And did I mention that there's a cat in-house? I'll withhold her name since she's young and innocent and isn't likely to want obscene phonecalls; she's adorable: a fluffy calico who doesn't bat at the balls of yarn displayed on the antique sofa in one of the rooms, and who snoozes in a basket lined with one of the owner's felting projects. Both the owner and her cat (maybe that's the other way around since cats like to think they own humans) are very personable; the owner, Susan, is also extremely knowledgeable and helpful if you have questions.
That first visit, I tried to limit myself to a small number of things even though I knew I wanted a dozen of everything, cost be damned. Especially the gorgeous cashmere yarn by the window, and the hand-painted cotton yarn on the staircase! I left that day with two types of Lang Jawoll sock yarn (it comes with its own cute little spool of thread for reinforcing the heel and toe of the sock, and the thread is dyed to match the yarn), a ball of wool yarn made by the Brown Sheep Co. in a lovely medium green called Limestone, and some Sierra Quatro yarn. Subsequent trips also ended with the acquisition of more sock yarn, as well as more Sierra yarn in a different dyelot (see "Tanzanite Socks" under Completed Sock Projects).
Then, on Superbowl weekend, Susan held a sale. I went the day before and found some Brown Sheep Co. yarn -- sport weight this time -- in a sort of burnt orange color called French Clay. It was an unusual color, so I grabbed the last two -- the yarn was cleverly arranged for display in an antique baby pram -- and bought a couple more skeins of sock yarn. The French Clay yarn has since been knitted into a pair of socks for my father as a belated birthday gift (there's a picture posted under "Completed Sock Projects"). Most of the yarn I've gotten from Susan is housed in a plastic box to keep the moths out... just in case.
In March, during Spring Break, I went to Minnesota to visit my father and meet his companion. I'm not going to say very much about the trip, but St. Paul is much quieter than I was expecting, and the people were -- mostly -- much nicer than I expected. As part of the entertainment on the trip, Dad took me to the opera (fabulous production of Don Giovanni set at the turn of the century) and to Hamlet at the Guthrie Theatre., as well as a 1950's style malt shop called Snuffy's. If you're ever in St. Paul, go to Snuffy's and have a milkshake. They're absolutely the best milkshakes in the entire western world. I'm not kidding! The hamburgers are about the size of a dinner plate and delicious.
He also took me to several yarn shops recommended by folks on the sock knitters' forum I'm on, and that was quite an experience. The first yarn shop was Three Kittens. I was a bit disappointed that there weren't actually kittens or cats on the premesis, but there was a huge amount of yarn, and that alone was worth it... even though there were no kittens! The shop stocked more mainstream yarns like Lang and Sierra, but had one whole wall devoted to kettle dyed yarn made by a company in Uraguay, and a whole display unit for Mountain Colors hand-painted yarn. There was so much stuff I had a hard time limiting myself, but I finally picked some alpaca-merino yarn in a pine green, and got some reinforcing thread in a much lighter hue to make a contrasting toe and heel... and I splurged and bought a hank of Mountain Colors hand-painted yarn in a colorway called Ruby River. It's variegated reds and the picture I took doesn't do it justice at all. In fact, no pictures I've seen do the yarn justice... even on Mountain Colors' own website!
The next stop on the yarn shop list was The Yarnery. It occupies half of what used to be a residential building; it was a little hard to spot until you were on top of it, and then you knew it was there by all the little bits of yarn that had drifted out the door and down the front steps. Again, there were too many options to choose from, but they had amazingly organized displays and the staff were vere friendly; no fewer than three employees came to check on me while I was looking around. I had to limit myself there, too, so I only bought some pure alpaca yarn.. just enough to make a pair of socks. It's hand-painted shades of turqoise and white, and it's so soft it's almost decadent.
The third and final stop on the tour of yarn shops was Borealis. Borealis, I think, was my favorite of the three, but it's really hard to say that because they were all so wonderful. Borealis was also very organized, and the staff were also very helpful and friendly. The yarn was displayed on shelves, hanging on the wall, on little bookshelf units arranged throughout the shop, and in bins and baskets. The colors were grouped more in the way the spectrum works: ranging from red to violet and beyond with tints and hues of every possible variation. I went a little nuts at Borealis and left with NatureSpun sport-weight wool in Bordeaux, Lana Grossa in a sort of variegated wine red, and two skeins of silk-wool blend in a beautiful sort of cross between turqoise and sky blue.
Fortunately, I didn't buy so much yarn that I ended up having to ship things home for lack of space in my luggage. Yarn is pretty squashy, though, so I didn't have any trouble stuffing it into my duffle bag. Since I got home, I've finished one pair of socks (the Tanzanite) and started two more (the Mallard and Blueberry), and I still have several a couple pairs to do for some friends. And I still haven't knitte a pair of socks for myself!
Once Spring is fully sprung, I'll have more to write about because I'm going to clear one of the raised beds and plant some dye plants: amaranth, safflower, indigo, woad, and beets, and possibly coreopsis and a few other things if I have space.
If Mr. Snowyfox has his way, I might move to New Zealand and raise sheep... and dye plants. If that happens, then there'll be no stopping me, or breaking this yarn addiction!
Oh..and, yes, I'm actually using the yarn I've accumulated. And I haven't bought any more since I came home from Minnesota. See? I'm being good! Sort of...
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Old and New Year's Res
I've always been a somewhat crafty person. In my childhood, my godmother taught me how to do basic cross-stitch, my elderly neighbor taught me basic knitting, and my mother taught me basic crochet. I've also done a fair amount with cooking, and I've got five years of soap-making experience under my belt.
Last year I didn't make any New Year's resolutions because I usually end up not sticking with what I resolve to do, but at the end of the year, roughly a week before Yule, my trip to the library resulted in an explosion of craft activity (see previous blog entry on Madam Mao Librarian). Mom has a copy of a Reader's Digest Needle Craft book -- knitting, crochet, cross-stitch, needlepoint, and who knows what else -- that I'd also been working from to learn a bit more to round out my knowledge of the basics. The book's project patterns included socks, which I've since become fascinated with.
During the month of December I made a handful of scarves from yarn I got at Michael's and Walmart, and then began using the books I'd gotten from the library to learn how to do things like cables and different types of textures like seed stitch. Also during the month of December, I bought enough yarn to fill a 50 gallon Rubber Maid tub... and then some. Yes, I've been using it, but knitting is an addiction. I wonder if there's a twelve-step plan for addictions to buying and hoarding yarn.
Anyway, shortly before New Year, I started working on a simple hat -- a two-needle watchcap -- and found it to be not as daunting a task as I'd originally expected. This led to my decision to learn how to make SOCKS and sweaters in addition to the hats. One of my close friends liked the idea of the watchcap and asked me to make her one that will be highly visible at night since she has to walk home from work, so we settled on white with some lively yellow stripes. For some reason the hat reminds me of lemon meringue pie. After I finished her hat, I decided to move on to socks.
Socks, for anyone who's never knitted, look like a horrendous amount of work. Some people prefer to use circular needles while others prefer to juggle a set of four or five double-pointed-needles. The prospect of using anything other than two knitting needles seemed scary, but I broke down and bought a set of double-pointed needles because all the circular needles I've seen are 29 inches long... and no one I know has a 29 inch ankle. After assembling the materials -- including more acrylic yarn! -- , I googled sock patterns and, after much searching, found one that claimed to be "Basic".
The instructions for this supposedly basic sock contained such arcane language as "turning the heel" and "divide for heel flap", neither of which I understood, and since none of the library books in my care had anything to do with socks, I began to lose heart. The ribbed cuff and the leg of the sock went fine, but once I got to the heel flap, I was lost. The instructions said "Slip first stitch and purl to end of row. Row 2: slip, knit to end of row." I took this to mean slip the first stitch and knit to the end of the row, which ended up being wrong. I think I unravelled my heel three times before giving up and going in search of a sock-knitters' forum on Yahoo. I found one, and the people there have been very, very helpful and encouraging.
The second attempt at knitting a sock wasn't a total success, but it ended much better than my first attempt. I bought some cotton yarn at Walmart; this stuff is about the texture of cotton gardening twine, but is a little thicker and comes in lots of pretty colors. As it turns out, this cotton yarn has very little elasticity, which makes it less suitable for socks than I had hoped.
The yarn in question is called "Peppermint", and the sock was a bit of a struggle to knit because of the yarn's texture. It's a pretty sock, but it's quite small, making it impossible for an adult with size 8 feet to wear. My solution to this problem is to leave it as an individual, and use it as either a Valentine's gift or Yule gift by filling it with candy or something similar. I could probably make more of them for that very purpose, rather than use them as actual footwear.
Additionally, up to the point where I was knitting my friend's hat, I'd only been using acrylic yarn. For my birthday, mom ordered some un-dyed wool yarn from a site called the Wool Peddler, as well as some raw silk yarn. I used Black Cherry Kool Aid to dye the wool, which came out a soft coral with dark red patches where there was undissolved powder in the bottom of the pot. Next stop will be sweaters, hopefully...
Last year I didn't make any New Year's resolutions because I usually end up not sticking with what I resolve to do, but at the end of the year, roughly a week before Yule, my trip to the library resulted in an explosion of craft activity (see previous blog entry on Madam Mao Librarian). Mom has a copy of a Reader's Digest Needle Craft book -- knitting, crochet, cross-stitch, needlepoint, and who knows what else -- that I'd also been working from to learn a bit more to round out my knowledge of the basics. The book's project patterns included socks, which I've since become fascinated with.
During the month of December I made a handful of scarves from yarn I got at Michael's and Walmart, and then began using the books I'd gotten from the library to learn how to do things like cables and different types of textures like seed stitch. Also during the month of December, I bought enough yarn to fill a 50 gallon Rubber Maid tub... and then some. Yes, I've been using it, but knitting is an addiction. I wonder if there's a twelve-step plan for addictions to buying and hoarding yarn.
Anyway, shortly before New Year, I started working on a simple hat -- a two-needle watchcap -- and found it to be not as daunting a task as I'd originally expected. This led to my decision to learn how to make SOCKS and sweaters in addition to the hats. One of my close friends liked the idea of the watchcap and asked me to make her one that will be highly visible at night since she has to walk home from work, so we settled on white with some lively yellow stripes. For some reason the hat reminds me of lemon meringue pie. After I finished her hat, I decided to move on to socks.
Socks, for anyone who's never knitted, look like a horrendous amount of work. Some people prefer to use circular needles while others prefer to juggle a set of four or five double-pointed-needles. The prospect of using anything other than two knitting needles seemed scary, but I broke down and bought a set of double-pointed needles because all the circular needles I've seen are 29 inches long... and no one I know has a 29 inch ankle. After assembling the materials -- including more acrylic yarn! -- , I googled sock patterns and, after much searching, found one that claimed to be "Basic".
The instructions for this supposedly basic sock contained such arcane language as "turning the heel" and "divide for heel flap", neither of which I understood, and since none of the library books in my care had anything to do with socks, I began to lose heart. The ribbed cuff and the leg of the sock went fine, but once I got to the heel flap, I was lost. The instructions said "Slip first stitch and purl to end of row. Row 2: slip, knit to end of row." I took this to mean slip the first stitch and knit to the end of the row, which ended up being wrong. I think I unravelled my heel three times before giving up and going in search of a sock-knitters' forum on Yahoo. I found one, and the people there have been very, very helpful and encouraging.
The second attempt at knitting a sock wasn't a total success, but it ended much better than my first attempt. I bought some cotton yarn at Walmart; this stuff is about the texture of cotton gardening twine, but is a little thicker and comes in lots of pretty colors. As it turns out, this cotton yarn has very little elasticity, which makes it less suitable for socks than I had hoped.
The yarn in question is called "Peppermint", and the sock was a bit of a struggle to knit because of the yarn's texture. It's a pretty sock, but it's quite small, making it impossible for an adult with size 8 feet to wear. My solution to this problem is to leave it as an individual, and use it as either a Valentine's gift or Yule gift by filling it with candy or something similar. I could probably make more of them for that very purpose, rather than use them as actual footwear.
Additionally, up to the point where I was knitting my friend's hat, I'd only been using acrylic yarn. For my birthday, mom ordered some un-dyed wool yarn from a site called the Wool Peddler, as well as some raw silk yarn. I used Black Cherry Kool Aid to dye the wool, which came out a soft coral with dark red patches where there was undissolved powder in the bottom of the pot. Next stop will be sweaters, hopefully...
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Madame Librarian
Yesterday I decided to go return my very-very-overdue library books. That by itself is not a problem, since the library in question no longer charges overdue fees; the problem, though, is that the library appears to feel that books are not to be lent in the first place, but should be locked up in display cases and admired by the patrons as if the books are rare, priceless objects d'art. The scenario goes something like this:
I've taken up knitting -- AGAIN -- and decided to look for some good books for beginners so I can have something to build on. I went on Amazon and looked for knitting books, but I thought it might be a good idea if I went to the library to check out those very books before I bought them, in case they turned out to be duds. After I went on Amazon, I went to the library website and looked up those books, all of which were listed as AVAILABLE.
When I got to the library the next day, I wrote down the call numbers and went in search of those books, which were still listed as AVAILABLE. Problem: I only found one of the books on my list. The other was missing or reshelved in such a way that even the library staff had no clue where it was, and the other was locked in a nice little round display case near the circulation desk.
I approached the desk and said, "Hi. One of the books I was looking for is in that display case over there. Do you know if there's another copy in the library? That way you won't have to change the display."
Librarian: "Let me look." (starts typing on the computer and looking for the book listing) "No, I'm sorry. That's the only copy we have. If you'd like, I can look to see if any of our affiliates have it."
Me: "Umm.. Okay. I really don't want to put you to any trouble."
Librarian: (more typing) "No. Our closest affiliates don't have it. Would you like me to put a hold on it?"
A hold, for those of you who don't know, is when a book has been checked out and people are asking for it, which means that when the book comes back, it's not put back in citculation; the people on the list are then notified that the book is back at the library and that they can come pick it up. Why, if the book is listed in the catalog as AVAILABLE, would I need to ask for a hold, let alone getting it through interlibrary loan? And if the book ISN'T available because it's in the display case, shouldn't the catalog entry reflect that?
Me: "That's okay. I'll go back upstairs and try to find more stuff."
I went back upstairs and spent about half an hour looking through the knitting books which, it seemed, weren't in any particular order. I found several more books and went back downstairs to get some books to read for fun.
Me: "Um.. the third book on my list seems to be missing. I spoke to the lady who was reshelving books and she didn't have it, and when I looked on the carts down here, it wasn't there either. She said I should let you know, in case it really is lost."
By this time the head librarian had been rousted out of her office by lackey-librarian, and she was discussing the possibility of removing the book from the display.
Head Librarian: "Would you like the Idiot's Guide?"
The book in question was The Complete Idiot's Guide to Knitting and Crocheting.
Me: "Yes, please. I do hope it doesn't ruin the display." (By this time, I was getting tired of being polite, but I still wanted the book.)
Head Librarian: "Oh, no, no, no. There are plenty of other books." (Head Librarian goes and removes book from display case, then goes back to the circulation desk to start checking out my books. Now, whether she meant there were plenty of other books on knitting and that I should exercise some creativity by going in search of those -- which I already had... twice -- or whether she meant there were plenty of other books on display in the case -- which there were -- I'm not sure. I assume she meant the latter.)
Head Librarian: "Are you trying to learn knitting or do you already know how?"
Me: "I already know the basics, but I thought I should try here before I bought those from Amazon... I always say that I don't take more books than I can carry.. I guess I didn't do that this time." (I have a stack of five knitting books and five books to read for fun, most of which are fairly large. I'm on vacation, after all, and I like reading. Which is why I go to the library in the first place. Grrrr... I realized, then, that I'd taken a book off the shelf that I own a copy of; I thought I'd taken the book next to it, and wasn't paying close attention.) "Oh! I'm sorry! I already have a copy of that at home."
Head Librarian: (She's been checking out my books, and pauses, book in midair) "So you want to leave this one?" (She slams book on the counter and looks annoyed.)
Me: "No. I'm terribly sorry. I wasn't paying attention when I grabbed the book."
After she finished checking out my books, I fled, and when I got to the car, I called mom to tell her about the exchange.
Mom and I have decided that some of the people on the staff of this particular library are of the opinion that a library's job is to keep books, rather than lend them to the public. Mom pointed out that the library is funded mostly by taxpayers, which makes the librarians the taxpayers' employees and, as such, they should try to remember that. She also suggested that I take the Idiot's Guide back to the library and say I didn't need it after all. I thought, "After all the nonsense I had to go through to get it in the first place? They've already replaced it with another book in the display case... Besides, it was listed as AVAILABLE."
I guess my problem is that I'm triying to apply logic to people who don't fit with a logical pattern: Libraries lend books, therefore patrons should be able to check out books that are available. So, if the library HAS a copy of the book -- it's not checked out, lost, stolen, or being repaired -- and the copy is in circulation, shouldn't I, as a patron, be able to check out that book? If my logic works, the answer SHOULD be "Yes". According to the Head Librarian's logic, the answer is, apparently, "No".
I've taken up knitting -- AGAIN -- and decided to look for some good books for beginners so I can have something to build on. I went on Amazon and looked for knitting books, but I thought it might be a good idea if I went to the library to check out those very books before I bought them, in case they turned out to be duds. After I went on Amazon, I went to the library website and looked up those books, all of which were listed as AVAILABLE.
When I got to the library the next day, I wrote down the call numbers and went in search of those books, which were still listed as AVAILABLE. Problem: I only found one of the books on my list. The other was missing or reshelved in such a way that even the library staff had no clue where it was, and the other was locked in a nice little round display case near the circulation desk.
I approached the desk and said, "Hi. One of the books I was looking for is in that display case over there. Do you know if there's another copy in the library? That way you won't have to change the display."
Librarian: "Let me look." (starts typing on the computer and looking for the book listing) "No, I'm sorry. That's the only copy we have. If you'd like, I can look to see if any of our affiliates have it."
Me: "Umm.. Okay. I really don't want to put you to any trouble."
Librarian: (more typing) "No. Our closest affiliates don't have it. Would you like me to put a hold on it?"
A hold, for those of you who don't know, is when a book has been checked out and people are asking for it, which means that when the book comes back, it's not put back in citculation; the people on the list are then notified that the book is back at the library and that they can come pick it up. Why, if the book is listed in the catalog as AVAILABLE, would I need to ask for a hold, let alone getting it through interlibrary loan? And if the book ISN'T available because it's in the display case, shouldn't the catalog entry reflect that?
Me: "That's okay. I'll go back upstairs and try to find more stuff."
I went back upstairs and spent about half an hour looking through the knitting books which, it seemed, weren't in any particular order. I found several more books and went back downstairs to get some books to read for fun.
Me: "Um.. the third book on my list seems to be missing. I spoke to the lady who was reshelving books and she didn't have it, and when I looked on the carts down here, it wasn't there either. She said I should let you know, in case it really is lost."
By this time the head librarian had been rousted out of her office by lackey-librarian, and she was discussing the possibility of removing the book from the display.
Head Librarian: "Would you like the Idiot's Guide?"
The book in question was The Complete Idiot's Guide to Knitting and Crocheting.
Me: "Yes, please. I do hope it doesn't ruin the display." (By this time, I was getting tired of being polite, but I still wanted the book.)
Head Librarian: "Oh, no, no, no. There are plenty of other books." (Head Librarian goes and removes book from display case, then goes back to the circulation desk to start checking out my books. Now, whether she meant there were plenty of other books on knitting and that I should exercise some creativity by going in search of those -- which I already had... twice -- or whether she meant there were plenty of other books on display in the case -- which there were -- I'm not sure. I assume she meant the latter.)
Head Librarian: "Are you trying to learn knitting or do you already know how?"
Me: "I already know the basics, but I thought I should try here before I bought those from Amazon... I always say that I don't take more books than I can carry.. I guess I didn't do that this time." (I have a stack of five knitting books and five books to read for fun, most of which are fairly large. I'm on vacation, after all, and I like reading. Which is why I go to the library in the first place. Grrrr... I realized, then, that I'd taken a book off the shelf that I own a copy of; I thought I'd taken the book next to it, and wasn't paying close attention.) "Oh! I'm sorry! I already have a copy of that at home."
Head Librarian: (She's been checking out my books, and pauses, book in midair) "So you want to leave this one?" (She slams book on the counter and looks annoyed.)
Me: "No. I'm terribly sorry. I wasn't paying attention when I grabbed the book."
After she finished checking out my books, I fled, and when I got to the car, I called mom to tell her about the exchange.
Mom and I have decided that some of the people on the staff of this particular library are of the opinion that a library's job is to keep books, rather than lend them to the public. Mom pointed out that the library is funded mostly by taxpayers, which makes the librarians the taxpayers' employees and, as such, they should try to remember that. She also suggested that I take the Idiot's Guide back to the library and say I didn't need it after all. I thought, "After all the nonsense I had to go through to get it in the first place? They've already replaced it with another book in the display case... Besides, it was listed as AVAILABLE."
I guess my problem is that I'm triying to apply logic to people who don't fit with a logical pattern: Libraries lend books, therefore patrons should be able to check out books that are available. So, if the library HAS a copy of the book -- it's not checked out, lost, stolen, or being repaired -- and the copy is in circulation, shouldn't I, as a patron, be able to check out that book? If my logic works, the answer SHOULD be "Yes". According to the Head Librarian's logic, the answer is, apparently, "No".
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