I HATE TO ADMIT

     I'm crocheting.

    I hate to admit it, but I'm crocheting. Yes, I am. Not knitting.

    But I am trying use up part of my stash.

    I like to crochet what I call origami pot holders.

    You start with a row of chain stitches, crochet back on the starting row, and just keep crocheting. After a while you artfully fold the piece and you have a double-thick potholder. The yarn should sort of be the same weight -- well, fairly close -- and the colors can be anything you like, the wilder the better.

    Add new colors by knotting the end to a new color. Be sure the knotting occurs on the same side so the ends can be tucked inside. You don't have to weave them together with the finished product and they add more thickness to the pot holder. The size will depend on the length of the original chain.

    They are fun to make even if I have to admit I am crocheting.

WHAT'S HARDER THAN KNITTING?

unknitting!

I had one of two panels of my new project almost finished, and I could see that the panel was not going to be either wide or long enough. Even the clerk at the knit shop admitted that the written pattern for the jacket/shawl did not match the illustration. And it was easy to see that three skeins of yarn were not going to be sufficient. I went back home and with the skein wrapper in hand telephoned back with the color and dye lot.

Waited for the order to be filled.

Several days later went back to the knit shop to pick up the extra skein of yard -- did I say this yarn is Peruvian? Lovely. Soft, delightful to the touch. And a heavenly denim-y color. I should mention that the knitting was being done with two strands of thread at the same time. The clerk was knitting her jacket/shawl with two different colors of thread, producing a mottled effect.

Drat! The new skein, in fact the two new skeins, since apparently the minimum order is two skeins, were a different dye lot. The color difference was slight, but still enough to make a difference.

So what was the logical thing to do? Buy both of the new skeins, of course. Knit the panels using one skein from one dye lot and another skein from the second dye lot.

And face the task of unraveling the first panel. Took me hours to complete the unraveling. I tried several different approaches to the problem, but they were all tedious. Some involved stretching the yarn across the room. The two strands had not been twisted together, but they clung to each other like entwined vines.

I have come close to completing the first panel, but I have not bound off the stitches in case I decide to add a few more rows. I'll make that decision when I am near to completing the second panel and can better envision how the finished garment will look.

Thinking of how stunning the finished garment will look keeps me going, but it sure takes a long time. When I do finish, I'll be more than ready to go back to ankle warmers.

A BIGGER PROJECT

You know how it is -- you walk into the knit shop, only needing one little skein for a small project, like ankle warmers, the construction of which requires very little imput from the brain, and you walk out with $45.00 worth of Peruvian yarn and the pattern for a short jacket.

You didn't even spend much time thinking about it. You walked around the corner of the display shelves, and there it was, hanging about eye level, a jacket/shawl sort of thing, only you didn't especially like the color and even more enticingly, one of the clerks was making the same garment.

The pattern doesn't look too complicated, and if you have any difficulty, well, there's the clerk, quite a few stitches into the project, which is good, because if you have any trouble figuring it out, there she is, a ready resource. (Well, ezcept on Sunday or Monday when the shop is closed -- oh, how agonizing to have to wait until the shop opens again on Tuesady morning -- it is true, a harrowing experience, should it ever befall to you, yarn withdrawal symptoms.)

Even as I cast on 94 stitches, the highest amount, the biggest sise in the pattern, I knew the piece would not be long enough. Hardly fourteen rows, and I decided to take it all apart. Done with two threads, even more tedious to unravel.

I added 30 stitches, and then because I still had some length in the tail, add six more stitches -- 130 in all.

This is going to take a lot longer than a pair of ankle warmers.

BAMBOO WILL WEAR OUT

Bamboo needles wear out. I should have been prepared. I bought my first pair very reluctantly, thinking that the shafts would not be sturdy enough, and they soon became my favorites. Metal knitting needles have become my absolutely, avoided-whenever-possible, last choice, and plastic needles are hardly any better.

Sadly, I've now discovered, the points will eventually show some wear. The erosion is visible, as the points are now misshapen, but even worse, the new irregular shape creates an inaudible click at every stitch. ("Inaudible click" might be an oxymoron, but you knitters know what I mean.)

On a website about recycling I once read that any clever person could find a new use for the chopsticks they received at an oriental restaurant by converting them into knitting needles. Shaping the points was the hardest part, it was admitted, and the resulting needles might be a tad shorter, but after all, the motivation was recycling, not knitting.

The next question is, how does one recycle used bamboo knitting needles? Put them aside for the moment. Sooner or later someone, perhaps a child, will express an interest in learning to knit. Start them out with the the less-than-perfect bamboo needles, but point out that they will want to get a new pair of their own as soon as they get the hang of the craft.