One Does It in Public

Dear Hearts,

How did you observe I Love Yarn Day?

I am at present in Spain, on the hunt for the perfect paella and–it goes without saying–the perfect saffron yellow. But I pause to share with you the souvenirs of my own celebration.

Here in Chicago we were kissed by the most perfectly crisp, sunny fall weather. Thirty-five of us gathered in the Boeing Gallery of Millennium Park.

We appeared at first to be no more than an everyday assemblage of visitors until noon sharp, at which moment we caused a spectacle by rising as one and beginning to knit.

As we'd hoped, this caused more than a little comment and curiosity among passersby. Many were in town for the Chicago Marathon (as was one of our number–Kelly Momsen of Yarnology in Winona, Minnesota).  We were only too delighted, of course, to talk about our passion and lure them to join us.

We played a knitting-bag version of "Let's Make a Deal," with prizes of Mrs. Crosby and Lorna's Laces yarns given to those who were first to produce a blue stitch marker, and a length of dental floss for holding lace lifelines.

Everyone received one of our signature Mrs. Crosby luggage tags. Here is one proudly displayed by
Janet and Gail, sisters from Boston who were among the out-of-town knitters we welcomed into the fold.

So golden was the day, and the company, that we lingered in the park until fully two in the afternoon.

I do hope to see you next year, whether in my home city or yours. Or perhaps we shall meet in a place foreign to both of us–but we shall become fast friends, bound together by a love of yarn.

Yours Ever,
Mrs. Crosby
Barcelona, Spain

O, Canada!

Dear Hearts,

One of the delights of visiting Canada–and if you have not yet, you must–is that the nation is so very much what you imagine it ought to be. Friendly, polite, outdoorsy, and unabashedly generous when it comes to handing round the beer.

I fell in love with the idea of Canada as a little girl, curled up on a balcony seat in a fading second-run movie palace, watching Nelson Eddy (as a Mountie with a golden voice) crooning to Jeanette MacDonald in Rose Marie.

At that moment I knew I wanted nothing more than to cross the border into a magic land of moonlit lakes, clear air, and handsome law enforcement officials with perfect pitch.

It has never yet disappointed me.

I cannot myself spend as much time in the gorgeous north as I might wish, so I am over the moon to report that after the most recent Knit Trade Sunday our yarns will be débuting at no fewer than eleven Ontario shops.

Here they are:

AB Originals (Rockwood)
Eliza's Buttons and Yarn (Barrie)
Grey Heron (Collingwood)
Kniterary (Whitby)
Purlin' J's Roving Yarn Company (Kingston)
Serenity Knits (Newmarket)
Sheeps Ahoy (Nepean)
Singing Hearts Studio (Orillia)
Stix and Stones (North Bay)
Sweet Yarns (Sudbury)
The Wool  Boutique (London)

Elsewhere in Canada, the wonderful people of The Needle Emporium–who have been friends from the first–brought us to the Kitchener-Waterloo Knitters' Guild Knitters' Fair, where much good company and many fine knitters. You can read all about it (and marvel at the number of suitcases required) if you'll just pop over to the shop's blog.

Must dash now, darlings, as the clock on the mantel indicates it's time to dress for my curling lesson.

Yours Ever,
Mrs. Crosby
Calgary, Alberta

I Fell In with Playful Companions

Dear Hearts,

It does a woman good to sit down at an internet café in Dubrovnik, open her blog and find more than a dozen dauntless souls have joined in her game.

As I expected, our circle of friends does not run short of imagination. I laughed aloud to find myself compared variously to Mary Poppins (quite a compliment), Neville Longbottom's grandmother (ditto), and Lillie Langtry (I blush!).

A good hostess? I do hope so. An optimist? I should say so. A clotheshorse? Guilty, darling. So guilty.

I do hasten to reassure all (including the gentleman himself) that my beloved husband, Dash Crosby, is still very much in the present tense. You may read the story of our first meeting here.

As to the rest–the dark, the fair, the slim, the less so…I think it best at present to leave the veil of mystery in place. Not to mention that veils are very much au courant this season, at least in certain happy quarters where a good hat is still an object of admiration.

Now, as to the winner. Who shall be our winner?

This was our first game, and upon reflection I find myself inclined to dispatch grand prizes (one skein of Carpet Bag, and the "Bettie's Bell" pattern), to three of you:

CanAm, whose suggestion that I nearly toppled a monarchy with a love affair hit terribly close to the mark. (You mustn't ask, dear hearts. One has pledged never to tell.)

Widha, whose evocation of perfect hospitality reminded me of the person whom I wish to be, and hope I sometimes am.

Mommaontherun, who carries off the prize for cleverness with her imaginary (?) conversation with a skein of our yarn. (We thank you for giving it a good home.)

And I also wish to hand Honorable Mentions to…all the rest who entered:

Rinkchick

Grace

Abigail Goben

SDKnitter

Tom T

Amy (Noknotz)

Hardknitlife

Debbie VanDerMolen (Debbieamy)

Ilovemycello

Winterspastkris

For keeping me company here in Croatia, as I sip a flavored soda and ponder where to wander next, I would like to send you tokens of esteem drawn from my Ephemera lines of soap (from Thrive Handcrafts); or gift tags (from a. favorite design).

If you are listed above, I invite you (in the next week or so, please) to be in touch via the e-mail address frolic@mrscrosbyplays.com with a mailing address, so that we may dispatch your prizes with all due haste.

Now, what shall our next game be?

Yours Ever,

Mrs. Crosby

Dubrovnik, Croatia

How Do I Look, Darling?

Dear Hearts,

I have had the most intriguing message from a knitter named Emily.

Now, Emily is in the employ of one of our company's dear friends–Eat, Sleep, Knit. Even so, the vagaries of chance have prevented our meeting face-to-face.

Emily offered a veritable bouquet of compliments about a bundle of yarns we'd sent over, and then–and this is the intriguing part–she told me that she'd imagined me to be:

"…a beautiful elderly traveler… dressed in a peacock blue suit with a beautifully knit cream shawl and large gold jeweled brooch…".

Was she right? Am I thus? Perhaps. Perhaps not. The thing is, my dears–though I am not shy in most respects, when a camera is pointed in my direction I will more often than not retreat behind the brim of my hat.

I have on occasion sat with pleasure for a painter or sculptor, but I'm not much for being casually photographed. I travel not only to see things but to watch people. People are most like themselves when I blend quietly into the background. And so there I most often choose to remain.

But after Emily's message, I am curious.

You and I, we have probably not had the chance to sit down over drinks for a tête-à-tête. Have you wondered what I look like? Do you imagine me as tall? Short? Slender? Plump? Pale? Dark? Young? Old? Very old?

Paint me a word picture, if you would please–and just for the ducks of it, let's make it a bit of a contest. In the comments below, tell me how you imagine me to look.

What we judge to be the most creative description will receive a skein of Carpet Bag, and a copy of the "Bettie's Bell" hat pattern by Beth Gonder. Cute, is it not?

(No, that is not me in the photograph.)

Entries posted below in the comments for this post, and only those entries, will be considered.  One per person, if you please – and we regret that wholly anonymous entries cannot be counted as we would have no way to let you know if you've won. Your submission must at least include your Ravelry name.

Entries will be accepted through noon, Central Standard Time, on Monday, September 15, 2014. The winner will be announced here, in the blog, a day or so thereafter.

I shall look forward with great anticipation to reading what you scribble.

Yours Ever,
Mrs. Crosby
East Rosebud Lake, Montana

A Different Kind of Joy

Dear Hearts,

I was passing through Alsace-Lorraine a few weeks ago and paid a call on my old friend Mathilde. You would like Mathilde–handy with a crochet hook, tells marvelous jokes, and makes kugelhopf that is the envy of five towns.

Anyhow, Mathilde and were sitting in her kitchen, she working on a lacy bed jacket and I trying not to lick kugelhopf crumbs off my plate. 

"Take another slice," said Mathilde. "I will bake again tomorrow morning."

One does not say no to Mathilde.

Unless one is Alice, Mathilde's daughter. Alice is newly thirteen. Saying no to her mother is her heart's delight.

"Every day some new rebellion," says Mathilde. "The hair must not be as I would wish it, the dress must be not a style I will admire. If I say I hope for her to study medicine, she will sit with her nose in a law book. If I suggest she might pursue law, she will throw the law book out of the window. Or at my head."

Alice won't even touch the kugelhopf, which leaves more for me.

"Take another slice," said Mathilde. So I did.

"It must be terribly frustrating," I said between bites.

"Like nothing I have ever known," said Mathilde. She set her crochet down on the table. "But also, fascinating. Perhaps from the far distance, rewarding."

"I'm afraid you must explain that," I said. "You have lost me."

"When you have a baby," she said, "you have one kind of joy. You have the joy of the baby whom you may dress as you please, and coo at as you please. For her you dream so many things, all grand. Maybe she will grow to be strong and powerful. Maybe she will be quiet and compassionate. Of course always she will be happy. You dream the dreams for her and right now she cannot tell you no."

My mouth was full of kugelhopf, so I merely nodded.

"Then you have a little girl, and it begins that her opinions are not your opinions. At first she will be led, but less and less so. Until one day a law book flies at your head. And if you are not to be in tears all the time, you must find another kind of joy. You must think, she cannot become powerful or compassionate if she does not think for herself. If she thinks for herself, she will not always think as I think. She will have her own dreams, and make her own way. This is as it should be. Another kind of joy."

I nodded again.

"Also," said Mathilde, "you learn to duck."

* * *

This spring, I had the joy of sending our first yarns off to make their own way across the United States and around the world. As finished objects and new patterns begin to emerge, I am perpetually startled and amazed and occasionally flabbergasted at what is being done.

Just this week I had a lovely letter from the designer Joyce Weida (NorthbrooKnits):

Hello, Mrs. Crosby!

I thought you might like to know that I will be posting a pattern on Ravelry soon that uses your yarn.  The pattern is a triangle scarf made with Satchel.  I named it after the Santa Maria replica we have in Columbus, Ohio because of the three stitch patterns (Trinity, Sailor’s Rib, Spanish Windows) decorating the stockinette and garter stitch surface.  I used Monkey Orchid for the small and Vintage Port for the large. The yarn was lovely to work with and is so soft to wear.

I am delighted to hear it and to show you Joyce's pattern (below is the version in Monkey Orchid), which is now available.

It gives me (as Mathilde would say) a different kind of joy to be see what is happening with our yarns after they have left us, but without having to endure anguish or flying books.

To that end, my darlings, I have decided that in the next month or so I shall begin a project, to be announced in this space. I intend that it will help me to make much of what you are doing and where you are going; and also I hope spur you on to more and greater journeys.

Do keep your eyes on this spot, won't you?

Yours Ever,

Mrs. Crosby

en route to Burning Man

The Pleasure of Your Company

Dear Hearts,

It has been my pleasure to host many a party in many an unexpected locale. For example, some of you will have been present years ago for the impromptu baby shower thrown for darling Fatima Malouf as our dahabiya floated serenely down the Nile towards Luxor.

I believe I may say in all modesty that the colorful banner (painted on one of my white silk scarves with a mix of lipsticks, eye shadow, and eyebrow pencils) that read YOU'RE GOING TO BE A MUMMY! was an inspired touch.

What is far more difficult even than procuring cream cakes and tea halfway up an Alp in a snowstorm (and yet, one has done it) is to play hostess from thousands of miles away. Yet that is the position in which I found myself when unforeseen circumstances stranded me in Tibet shortly before our yarns received their official launch in my own, dear Chicago.

In such circumstances, able lieutenants are invaluable. My marvelous collaborator Beth, and the delightful people of Windy Knitty, stepped right into my shoes (bespoke Italian silk, thank you for asking) and made sure all details were in place, from our card...

to the trunkfuls of colors with which to play...

I hear tell the shop overflowed with guests who arrived early and stayed late, always a happy sign. Of course, one must admit that the Pimm's Cup–mixed to Dash's own special recipe–may have been part of the attraction. I cannot say too much how gutted I was to have missed the party; nor how grateful I am to Windy Knitty for their hospitality, and all the knitters and crocheters for coming out to play.

By way of explanation and apology, I did of course send along a telegram.

Perfectly abominable behavior, even for a Yeti.

The lesson to be taken away, I suppose, is that when congenial hearts are determined there shall be a party, a party there shall be. You need neither fancy trappings nor ideal surroundings, only the desire to draw together and perhaps a cup of something nice.

Mind you, lots of drinks and piles of pretty new yarns don't hurt.

Yours Ever,
Mrs. Crosby
Chicago

Little Ripples

Dear Hearts,

Such excitement since last I wrote. Not merely the Incident of the Indignant Emu, about which you have doubtless heard too much already through the gossip (all of it true); but also the ongoing arrival of our yarns across the country and around the world.

Launching a line of yarns is rather like tossing a message in a bottle into the North Atlantic Current.

You may take hours to write something eloquent and heartfelt–and nevermore hear anything of it. Or you may hastily scribble if you get this, let me know on the back of a chocolate wrapper, and as a consequence begin a years-long correspondence with a most delightful woman from Africa (who, as it turns out, is also fond of chocolate).

In this case, we sent forth something very much from the heart. I am pleased to report that our initial offering has been greeted with anything but silence. On the contrary, I woke up a few mornings ago to discover that dearest Ravelry was taking us very much to heart. Witness:

Hat Box, Satchel, and Carpet Bag in the top six. I am grateful beyond words.

Speaking of Ravelry, we've also got a corking good group up and running. Do join us there.

On top of it all, the First Fall 2014 issue of Knitty made its appearance, and in the ongoing feature "Plays Well Together" you'll find the pattern for Grantangle, a versatile crocheted wrap that makes what I judge to be perfect use of three skeins of Carpet Bag.

Kisses on both cheeks (well, all four–two each) to the ladies responsible, Amy O'Neill Houck and Miriam Felton.

And if you've never played with granny squares before, darlings, the introductory essay to the pattern will make you positively dive for a hook.


Our generator is in an eccentric mood today, so I shall sign off and send this out in the hopes that wherever you are, you will read it in peace and feel inspired to play.

Yours Ever,
Mrs. Crosby
Changlung, Tibet