Thursday, March 4, 2010
New Project
Just wanted to let you all know I will soon have patterns for download on Knit Picks, the on line yarn shop. I have been reworking a couple of patterns in Knit Picks yarns for them and am currently designing a new pattern for knitting mice. I will let you know when the patterns are available. Just wanted to let you know why I haven't been posting any stories recently. Here is a picture of one of the patterns that will be available soon.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Family Knitting
One of our granddaughters is married and living in Florida. Now while one usually thinks of Florida as hot and humid, this year they have had some very cold weather so this granddaughter bought herself a pair of mittens. They are open at the palm to allow the fingers to be free if wanted. She informed me that while buying them she thought, "My grandma could make these." A call to arms! I just finished the mittens, and next week they are on their way to Florida. I resisted the temptation to embellish them with a pretty heart on the back as she is now twenty one. Here are the finished mitts.
I tried several internet patterns but thought them too bulky where the cap went over the fingers and joined the mitten. Came up with this design. It is an old one but available for free on the net. You can find the pattern here
The pattern only comes in one size, woman's. However, making the cap for the fingers is a simple technique, and one should be able to convert any mitten pattern of any size.
I tried several internet patterns but thought them too bulky where the cap went over the fingers and joined the mitten. Came up with this design. It is an old one but available for free on the net. You can find the pattern here
The pattern only comes in one size, woman's. However, making the cap for the fingers is a simple technique, and one should be able to convert any mitten pattern of any size.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
A Pie for FaFa
This is not a story about an historical event or even about knitting. It is a story about two people that loved and nurtured their grandchildren leaving them with lovely memories that guided them through life.
When I was about seven, my mother, my sister, and I went to live with our grandparents. All the grandchildren called our grandmother YiYi and our grandfather FaFa. Now of all the people I knew, FaFa was my favorite. He would take us for walks, and when my sister and I would hide in doorways and jump out at him, he always pretended to be scared. During the week he would pretend there was a story about us in the newspaper and read it to us, and on Sunday he would read us the funny papers. When he read books to us, he would always stop at the most exciting place, and no matter how much we begged we had to wait until the next evening to find out what happened.
YiYi was a quiet, little woman. She cooked and cleaned and made a nice home for us all. Her biggest claim to fame was her pie. Everyone that ate one said it was the best they had ever tasted. Every time YiYi made pie I wanted to help, but each time she said I was too little. Then one day my mother came home from shopping with a baking set for me. It had a little pie tin, little cake and muffin tins and a real wood rolling pin with red handles. Best of all YiYi said next time she made pie I could make one too.
I waited and waited. Every day I asked, “Are you going to make pie today, YiYi?” Every day she said, “Not today”. I began to think she had forgotten all about her promise. Then one morning she said, “Get your baking set, Yvonne. I am going to make pie today.” I ran to get my rolling pin and pie tin. YiYi explained they had to be washed first and I had to wash my hands. “My pie is going to be for FaFa”, I announced as I scrubbed. YiYi just smiled, and pinned a towel around my waist for an apron.
I watched as she made the pie crust. When she was done she gave me a little piece of the dough for my pie. I watched as she rolled out a big piece of dough. Roll, roll, and suddenly the dough had become an even, perfectly round circle. With one move it was in the pie pan. “Well, that certainly looks easy,” I thought, and I began to roll out my piece of dough. I rolled and rolled, but no matter how I tried it wasn’t even, and it certainly wasn’t round. Finally, just when I thought it looked about done, disaster! When I tried to put it in the pan it broke. YiYi told me not to worry, just scrunch it up and roll it out again. I wadded up all the dough, and I rolled and rolled, and then, very carefully, I tried to put it in the pie pan, and it broke again. I was getting very angry with that stupid piece of dough. I was about to give up, when on the umpteenth try; the crust went in the pan nice as can be. Success! I was a little worried, however. My crust didn’t look like YiYi’s. Hers was even, smooth and very white. My crust was lumpy, kind of stretchy and decidedly gray. Still,YiYi didn’t say anything so I supposed it was all right. We put in the apples dusted with cinnamon and sugar, then pats of butter. I got another little piece of dough for the top crust. Again, I tried and tried to make a nice smooth, round crust, but to no avail. That pie making business was not as easy as I had thought. When the pies were ready, YiYi put them in the oven. Soon the smell of apples and cinnamon filled the house. It seemed like a long time, but finally YiYi said the pies were done. She put them on a rack to cool. I kept going to the kitchen to admire the little pie I had made for FaFa. I thought it looked beautiful. Well, maybe it was a little crooked, but it wasn’t gray at all but a pretty golden brown. Steam came from the little hole in the top, and it smelled wonderful. I could hardly wait to surprise FaFa.
All through dinner I waited impatiently for everyone to finish. When it was time for dessert, YiYi bought out the little pie and put it in front of FaFa. “Ernest, (that was FaFa’s real name) Yvonne made this pie just for you”, she said. FaFa looked surprised. “You made this? Well, lets see if you are as good a pie maker as your grandmother”, and he took a bite. He chewed. He wrinkled his forehead. He said, ”mmmm” in kind of a questioning way. I was suddenly kind of scared. What if FaFa didn‘t like my pie? What if he thought it was the worst pie he ever had ever tasted? I leaned forward, holding my breath. He took another bite. He chewed some more. He nodded his head. He said, “mmmmm” again, and I waited and waited. After what seemed like a very long time, he looked up. “Effie“, he said, (Effie was my grandmother‘s real name) “you’d better watch out. Yvonne is going to be as good a pie maker as you are”. I took a deep breath and settled back in my chair with a grin, and I knew that I had the best grandfather in the whole world.
And oh, I did turn out to be a pretty good pie maker too.
When I was about seven, my mother, my sister, and I went to live with our grandparents. All the grandchildren called our grandmother YiYi and our grandfather FaFa. Now of all the people I knew, FaFa was my favorite. He would take us for walks, and when my sister and I would hide in doorways and jump out at him, he always pretended to be scared. During the week he would pretend there was a story about us in the newspaper and read it to us, and on Sunday he would read us the funny papers. When he read books to us, he would always stop at the most exciting place, and no matter how much we begged we had to wait until the next evening to find out what happened.
YiYi was a quiet, little woman. She cooked and cleaned and made a nice home for us all. Her biggest claim to fame was her pie. Everyone that ate one said it was the best they had ever tasted. Every time YiYi made pie I wanted to help, but each time she said I was too little. Then one day my mother came home from shopping with a baking set for me. It had a little pie tin, little cake and muffin tins and a real wood rolling pin with red handles. Best of all YiYi said next time she made pie I could make one too.
I waited and waited. Every day I asked, “Are you going to make pie today, YiYi?” Every day she said, “Not today”. I began to think she had forgotten all about her promise. Then one morning she said, “Get your baking set, Yvonne. I am going to make pie today.” I ran to get my rolling pin and pie tin. YiYi explained they had to be washed first and I had to wash my hands. “My pie is going to be for FaFa”, I announced as I scrubbed. YiYi just smiled, and pinned a towel around my waist for an apron.
I watched as she made the pie crust. When she was done she gave me a little piece of the dough for my pie. I watched as she rolled out a big piece of dough. Roll, roll, and suddenly the dough had become an even, perfectly round circle. With one move it was in the pie pan. “Well, that certainly looks easy,” I thought, and I began to roll out my piece of dough. I rolled and rolled, but no matter how I tried it wasn’t even, and it certainly wasn’t round. Finally, just when I thought it looked about done, disaster! When I tried to put it in the pan it broke. YiYi told me not to worry, just scrunch it up and roll it out again. I wadded up all the dough, and I rolled and rolled, and then, very carefully, I tried to put it in the pie pan, and it broke again. I was getting very angry with that stupid piece of dough. I was about to give up, when on the umpteenth try; the crust went in the pan nice as can be. Success! I was a little worried, however. My crust didn’t look like YiYi’s. Hers was even, smooth and very white. My crust was lumpy, kind of stretchy and decidedly gray. Still,YiYi didn’t say anything so I supposed it was all right. We put in the apples dusted with cinnamon and sugar, then pats of butter. I got another little piece of dough for the top crust. Again, I tried and tried to make a nice smooth, round crust, but to no avail. That pie making business was not as easy as I had thought. When the pies were ready, YiYi put them in the oven. Soon the smell of apples and cinnamon filled the house. It seemed like a long time, but finally YiYi said the pies were done. She put them on a rack to cool. I kept going to the kitchen to admire the little pie I had made for FaFa. I thought it looked beautiful. Well, maybe it was a little crooked, but it wasn’t gray at all but a pretty golden brown. Steam came from the little hole in the top, and it smelled wonderful. I could hardly wait to surprise FaFa.
All through dinner I waited impatiently for everyone to finish. When it was time for dessert, YiYi bought out the little pie and put it in front of FaFa. “Ernest, (that was FaFa’s real name) Yvonne made this pie just for you”, she said. FaFa looked surprised. “You made this? Well, lets see if you are as good a pie maker as your grandmother”, and he took a bite. He chewed. He wrinkled his forehead. He said, ”mmmm” in kind of a questioning way. I was suddenly kind of scared. What if FaFa didn‘t like my pie? What if he thought it was the worst pie he ever had ever tasted? I leaned forward, holding my breath. He took another bite. He chewed some more. He nodded his head. He said, “mmmmm” again, and I waited and waited. After what seemed like a very long time, he looked up. “Effie“, he said, (Effie was my grandmother‘s real name) “you’d better watch out. Yvonne is going to be as good a pie maker as you are”. I took a deep breath and settled back in my chair with a grin, and I knew that I had the best grandfather in the whole world.
And oh, I did turn out to be a pretty good pie maker too.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Christmas Past
In 1942 the McCall pattern company came out with a mannequin doll. It came in a box with two patterns scaled down to doll size. In 1942 it was thought that every woman would, when married, be sewing for her family, and McCall wanted to be sure it was their patterns being used. Even so, it was a wonderful gift for those like myself who loved any kind of needlework.
I got my McCalls set on Christmas day of 1942 and immediately began planning all the good things I would make. My grandmother gave me some needles and thread, and after a shopping trip came home with a number of remnants from our local fabric store. I cut, I sewed, I fitted, I sewed some more. Soon I had the best dressed doll in town, but where was this every growing wardrobe to be stored? My grandfather came up with a cigar box. Oh, not your usual cigar box but a presentation box. It was beautiful, made of some kind of dark wood and lined with cedar. It stood on four little legs. It had a tiny gold hasp on the front so it could be latched
One day my grandmother asked why I didn't knit a sweater for my doll. She gave me some yarn and needles. With her help I began to knit. I am not sure how much I learned about knitting during this project, but I learned a lot about ripping out. Finally the sweater was done. If I remember correctly it rather overpoweed my doll as the yarn was too heavy. However, it fit, well at least I could get it on her. I ended making several caps, scarves, and a vest for my well dressed mannequin.
I did not take up knitting in earnest until years later, but the lessons learned so many years ago stayed with me.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
More Christmas Stuff
Well, I am one up on gifts for next Christmas. Found this pattern here It is made on two needles but with some ingenious shaping by designer Joy Green, it looks like a traditional stocking when seamed. The names are put on with duplicate stitch which you will have to chart yourself, but there are details giving you the size of the letters. The pattern calls for more ornamentation, but I decided to go with the basic knit. I have one more to make, and next year the two will be stuffed with toys and sent to two of my great grandchildren one of whom will be four next year and the other five. That leaves several years yet to come when the stockings can be hung on the mantle for Santa to fill.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Christmas Memories
In 1999 my family was gathered for Christmas at the home of one of our grandsons. After dinner everyone was talking about their Christmas memories. I said I would tell them of my memories of the first Christmas after Pearl Harbor. The children were instructed by their parents to sit down and listen. "Grandma's going to tell us a story" I related the events of that day, and the children sat wide eyed and motionless. They were so enthralled I decided to write down my memories of that day, print them and have them bound. Each family got a copy. That was the beginning of my writing down these stories for later generations. Now here is the story.
THE LITTLE CHRISTMAS TREE
When I was eleven years old the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor where I lived with my mother, stepfather and sister. My sister and I thought being in the middle of a bombing was pretty exciting stuff. We saw planes diving, huge plumes of black smoke, adults crying, people running, and there was noise, lots and lots of noise. Soon, however, we found war meant we couldn’t go to school because our school had been bombed, it meant we had black paper on the windows so the light wouldn’t shine through and show the enemy where we were, it meant we had to take our gas masks every time we went out, it meant we had to sleep downstairs on cots and it meant there were no Christmas trees.
Christmas trees were shipped to Hawaii in big cargo ships. Now they were saving the ships for important things people needed like food and medicine. As Christmas approached Daddy looked and looked for a Christmas tree but couldn’t find one anywhere. Then one day he came home with a big grin on his face. He held up a little artificial tree he had found in a department store. My sister and I weren’t too sure. Back in that time they didn’t know how to make trees that look real as they do now, and the little tree didn’t look real at all! It was only about sixteen inches tall. There were big spaces between the “branches” which were made of sticks covered with what looked like green crepe paper. Mama just smiled and said, “Wait and see.”
Daddy brought the big box of ornaments downstairs. Mama put the little tree at one end of the dining room table. Instead of the sheet we usually used, she put a pillowcase around the bottom to look like snow. Daddy’s job was to put on the lights. He wound a string of lights around the tree. The string was too long so he had to hide some of it under the pillowcase. The lights were turned on, and Mama stood back as she did every year to see if there were too many lights of the same color in one place. She took a red bulb from the side and put it in the back. She took a blue bulb and exchanged it for a green one. Finally she was satisfied. Now it was my sister’s and my turn. Our job was to put on the ornaments until the little tree was covered with bright, shiny balls. Mama always put on the icicles. She was very fussy and wanted them to hang straight and cover every branch. Mama claimed the rest of us just threw them on the tree in bunches.
When we had finished we stood back, and Daddy turned on the lights. The little tree stood straight and proud. My sister and I thought it even looked a little taller. It’s red and green and blue lights were reflected in the silver and gold ornaments. Never mind that the ornaments were too big for the tree or that the icicles on the bottom branches lay on the table like pools of silver. We thought it was the most beautiful tree we had ever seen.
It wasn’t long before presents began to arrive. Some were brought by the mailman. Some just appeared as though out of nowhere. Mama couldn’t put the presents under the tree. There was no “under” to it. She stacked them around the back and sides, and soon the little tree was almost surrounded by bright Christmas paper and shiny bows.
On Christmas morning my parents were expecting company for Christmas dinner. When it was time to set the table Mama wondered what to do with the little Christmas tree. It’s pretty boxes had been torn apart that morning by my sister and me in our search for presents. Still, it didn’t seem right to move it after it had done so much to make our Christmas a happy one, so every one agreed to scrunch down and sit close together. All through dinner the little tree stood in it’s place at the end of the table like an honored guest, and it was the last thing I saw as I drifted off to sleep that night.
THE LITTLE CHRISTMAS TREE
When I was eleven years old the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor where I lived with my mother, stepfather and sister. My sister and I thought being in the middle of a bombing was pretty exciting stuff. We saw planes diving, huge plumes of black smoke, adults crying, people running, and there was noise, lots and lots of noise. Soon, however, we found war meant we couldn’t go to school because our school had been bombed, it meant we had black paper on the windows so the light wouldn’t shine through and show the enemy where we were, it meant we had to take our gas masks every time we went out, it meant we had to sleep downstairs on cots and it meant there were no Christmas trees.
Christmas trees were shipped to Hawaii in big cargo ships. Now they were saving the ships for important things people needed like food and medicine. As Christmas approached Daddy looked and looked for a Christmas tree but couldn’t find one anywhere. Then one day he came home with a big grin on his face. He held up a little artificial tree he had found in a department store. My sister and I weren’t too sure. Back in that time they didn’t know how to make trees that look real as they do now, and the little tree didn’t look real at all! It was only about sixteen inches tall. There were big spaces between the “branches” which were made of sticks covered with what looked like green crepe paper. Mama just smiled and said, “Wait and see.”
Daddy brought the big box of ornaments downstairs. Mama put the little tree at one end of the dining room table. Instead of the sheet we usually used, she put a pillowcase around the bottom to look like snow. Daddy’s job was to put on the lights. He wound a string of lights around the tree. The string was too long so he had to hide some of it under the pillowcase. The lights were turned on, and Mama stood back as she did every year to see if there were too many lights of the same color in one place. She took a red bulb from the side and put it in the back. She took a blue bulb and exchanged it for a green one. Finally she was satisfied. Now it was my sister’s and my turn. Our job was to put on the ornaments until the little tree was covered with bright, shiny balls. Mama always put on the icicles. She was very fussy and wanted them to hang straight and cover every branch. Mama claimed the rest of us just threw them on the tree in bunches.
When we had finished we stood back, and Daddy turned on the lights. The little tree stood straight and proud. My sister and I thought it even looked a little taller. It’s red and green and blue lights were reflected in the silver and gold ornaments. Never mind that the ornaments were too big for the tree or that the icicles on the bottom branches lay on the table like pools of silver. We thought it was the most beautiful tree we had ever seen.
It wasn’t long before presents began to arrive. Some were brought by the mailman. Some just appeared as though out of nowhere. Mama couldn’t put the presents under the tree. There was no “under” to it. She stacked them around the back and sides, and soon the little tree was almost surrounded by bright Christmas paper and shiny bows.
On Christmas morning my parents were expecting company for Christmas dinner. When it was time to set the table Mama wondered what to do with the little Christmas tree. It’s pretty boxes had been torn apart that morning by my sister and me in our search for presents. Still, it didn’t seem right to move it after it had done so much to make our Christmas a happy one, so every one agreed to scrunch down and sit close together. All through dinner the little tree stood in it’s place at the end of the table like an honored guest, and it was the last thing I saw as I drifted off to sleep that night.
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